carbonfibah

Great catch! That is just around the corner! :D

The way I read those is that they want to start fresh, so for the good of mankind they will use the bomb, and then from the embers (ashes,destruction, etc) a new era will arise, the rebirth of man.

Identical!!!! I knew I had seen that somewhere

Ok from the screenshots I posted, this is what I have to say... 1. The plan. To me this embodies society, transportation, people, etc... New society? 2. U238 / U235. These are two types of uranium. 3. The earth shapes into a meteor, similar to the one from shi no numa 4. Atomic bomb going off, in what looks like baseball stadium (yankees) 5. Final stage of the particles reacting/splitting and which ultimately causes the explosion 6. JFK on TV, and some people behind him, not sure who they are or when this was taken, but I know I have seen that before. Cuban Missle Crisis? 7. The plan 8. Shows the uranium 9. Atomic bomb, looks like u238 and u235 on each end 10. a baseball lol 11. baseball stadium, yankees? 12. beginning stages of the particles reacting 13. early phase of the particle reaction 14. The start of the particle reaction 15. an atomic particle 16.shows a reaction between the u238 and u235 17. the earth molding into a meteor

If so that would mean A LOT for info. :D

There is an image before the JFK shot, I am trying to catch it when it comes by for a screenshot. It looks like a closeup of the people behind JFK on the TV. I am still posting up some screenshots, feel free to post your own if you think I missed something.

Anyone notice the end where it shows JFK (John F Kennedy) That tv pic looks familiar.... ;)

Just posted images, tell me what you all think.

Ok so they release a website with a video. This thread is to breakdown that video and post what you gathered from it regarding zombies. If you haven't seen it yet, here is the link http://www.gknova6.com/ 1. The plan. To me this embodies society, transportation, people, etc... New society? 2. U238 / U235. These are two types of uranium. 3. The earth shapes into a meteor, similar to the one from shi no numa 4. Atomic bomb going off, in what looks like baseball stadium (yankees) 5. Final stage of the particles reacting/splitting and which ultimately causes the explosion 6. JFK on TV, and some people behind him, not sure who they are or when this was taken, but I know I have seen that before. Cuban Missle Crisis? 7. The plan 8. Shows the uranium 9. Atomic bomb, looks like u238 and u235 on each end 10. a baseball lol 11. baseball stadium, yankees? 12. beginning stages of the particles reacting 13. early phase of the particle reaction 14. The start of the particle reaction 15. an atomic particle 16.shows a reaction between the u238 and u235 17. the earth molding into a meteor

Having problems with your posts or signature? First of all make sure that your BBcode is not disabled. Check out this link for a pretty good guide about the different things you can do with BBCode. BBCode Guide

Rinny Tin Tin, PAX stands for Penny Arcade Expo, its not E3, its much smaller, but same concept as it is a gaming convention. Cbranger, the headsets we were using were Trittons, and every gaming station in the entire expo had them for each console/tv setup. However Josh being the celeb that he is got himself an Astro bag full of goodies including a headset from one of the Astro guys.

Ray Gun and MG-42 are my favorite.

Flogger FTW!!!! Although killing a zombie with the zipline is fun too.

source?

Sure that would be very helpful. Once we get an even amount of topics done I will start adding them to the menu.

Chapter 17 Back at the crash, 5:01 pm. The first thing Wesley noticed was the smell. As he inched nearer to the twisted heap of metal that was once his B-17, the stench of rotting flesh filled the air. The next thing he saw was the amount of damage the plane had taken. The left wing was bent and twisted from digging into the ground and cart wheeling. The front of the plane had plowed into the ground and folding inward, sandwiching the pilot’s body, leaving him dangling out of the windshield like a grotess hood ornament. Most of the upper half of the body was hanging on to the waist by only a few tendrils and intestines, for it had been cut in half by the crushed metal. Wesley asked himself one more time whether or not he wanted to go in there. Yes, he thought, I have to see what happened. As he approached the loading door, he ran his hand along the outside of the hull. When he pulled it back, a thick layer of blood and oil cover his hand. It was as if secreting in oil. The ship was bleeding. With a loud clank the hatch swung open. The stench at this point was almost intolerable. He looked down and saw scraps of raw flesh and fresh blood collect on the floor. He looked into the airborne troopers benches and found not a body, but random meat in the shape of a man. At this point Wesley was trying heavily to control his gag reflex. Wesley then saw the tiny tooth and claw marks that seemed to have picked the pile of meat clean of all innards. That was the last straw for him. He bent down, fell to his knees and vomited the very little food left in his stomach. He got back up and continued to search the plane. Wesley knew about the mess in the cockpit he didn’t need to see that again. As he made his way to the back, a tiny crunch rung out from beneath his boot. He looked down to see a picture of Ox, him, Peter, Doyel, and the rest of the crew in one frame. They had taken that picture only a few days before they set off to Berlin. The frame under it read “To may friends”. Nudged in the corner of the frame was a picture of a young woman holding hands with a young pilot. Wesley notice the pilot in the picture was the same as the one in the other. What was that man’s name? Cole? He folded up the picture and placed both in him pocket. Don’t worry Cole, he thought, I’ll make this up to you. As Wesley walked down the aisle, he gathered supplies from ammunition that they where suppose to transport to large first-aid kits containing dehydrated food. Eventually, he passed the bathroom. Within it Wesley heard something stirring. He couldn't distinguish whether it was a chewing, crunching or slurping, but something was feeding within the stall. The door was only cracked open, so Wesley couldn’t quiet see what was happening in there. Through the crack he could see something hunch over a large red mass. The thing was feeding on the mass, shoveling large loads of liquid and meat into its mouth. The door had to be open via a door knob, maybe the creatures hadn’t figured out doors yet. In just a few split-seconds, Wesley screamed, slammed the door shut, and tuned the knob shut. He retreated to the other end of the plane, expecting to hear a deep throated wail. Instead, Wesley only heard the ever methodical, “slurp, crunch, slurp, crunch, slurp, crunch”. Wesley’s own heart raced in his head. The thing hadn’t seen him. He was going to be okay. The back of the B-17 held nothing, only a twisted 50 cal. That was too damaged to be used. Fortunately, Wesley did find some ammo clips, water, an M2 Flamethrower, and one bazooka with two rockets. He’d return after he brought back everything he currently had. With the M2 strapped to his back, a fully loaded pack strapped to his front, and a few canteens dangling off his belt, Wesley looked as if he was ready to take on the entire undead threat single handedly. That’s when things started going bad. The restroom the creature was trapped in seemed to shake in anticipation. As Wesley passed the door to escape, he heard a low gnawing sound, in addition to a haunting scrape, scrape, scrape. Wesley panicked. As he stormed outside and head back to the bunker and over to his friends, something was out of place, yes, it had gotten dark fast, as it looked as if it was late at night, yes the same eerie fog had rolled in, but some else was out of place. Of course, he thought as he looked at the front of the aircraft. The pilot’s body. It was gone. Where did it go? Almost on cue, a lone zombie shambled over a hill. This one had fresh flesh, a new glow in its eyes and was more determined. But something else was different. This creature’s body was torn in half, and wore a US Airman’s uniform. He pulled out the old picture of the young woman and the pilot. The man in the picture, the man in the uniform, the creature with the man’s face… it was Cole. Wesley didn’t remember running or when he regained consciences, he just remember thinking that he needed to get out of there, and that when he got back, he was gonna burn it to the ground. Chapter 18 Wesley didn’t remember dogging the outstretched hand reaching for him from the ground, nor the large horde of undead emerging from the tree line. In a hop, skip, and a jump, Wesley had darted to the bunker and flung himself in via a gap in the window. When Wesley reentered the bunker he found Doyel and Ox sitting around a pot of Military Rations that resembled something like pea soup. Both of the me sat around the pot with their bowls empty in and, except for Doyel’s half empty bowl laying on the floor with the spoon laying in it as though he’d stopped eating. Oxford got up at the sight of a shell-shocked Wesley running in covered with bandoliers and explosives. Wesley dropped ammo at Oxfords feet and picked up Doyel’s bowl, franticly shoving the “food” into his mouth. He almost vomited at the taste, but he quickly forced it back down. The cold soup sat like a lump in his stomach. He coughed a bit as some of it went down the wrong tube. He quickly got up and started surveying the windows. “Captain!” yelled Oxford. “What the hell is going on!?” Wesley simply handed him a BAR, some ammo clips and shushed him up. Oxford looked inside the pack. Loaded in it was Thompsons, BAR clips, satchel charges, and grenades, along with a few M1A1 clip. It made him wonder why the hell they where transporting this stuff in the first place. The war in Europe was over; all of this should have gone to the Pacific front. He walked over to the window to see what Wesley was looking at and darn near soiled himself. In front of him was a small army of the dead, much larger than the last one they’d fought before. “Oh shit….” Wesley hesitated for a few seconds. “Alright,” he said, opening the valve on the M2, “Let’s show these bastards what happens when you fuck with the US Marines!” He expected a ‘hooya!’, but all he got in return was a “How the hell are we going to do that?” Wesley licked his lips at the though. He had a plan. It was suicidal. “Easy,” he said, handing Doyel a Bazooka, “I’ll go in with the flamethrower and set a Zack fire, kill a few zombies in the process. If I get swarmed Doyel,” he points the bazooka toward his head, “Don’t hesitate.” “You want me to blow you up!” “Only if I get swarmed. God knows how many zombies you’ll take with me.” Oxford wanted to protest, but before he could Wesley was crawling outside the window. As Wesley stormed straight into the horde, multiple hands outstretched from the ground out of the mud to reach him. On occasion, he’d kick the outstretched waterlogged hand and punt it a good hundred yards. The ghouls weren’t intimidated by this; they simply crept closer to meet the Marines, holding their ranks. One moment in particular a full zombie hoisted himself out of the mud, tackled Wesley, and threatened to devourer him before Wesley summoned his strength, flipped the zombies to one side, and rip the zombies arm off. The zombies stumbled a few feet and fell back to the ground. Wesley looked at the severed arm in his hand, still squirming in the air in an attempt to strangle him. He had no idea how he managed to do that. The adrenalin, Wesley thought. It felt good. “Alright freaks,” he said to the writhing horde in front of him. “Bring it on.” Oxford couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Adrenalin powered Wesley was single handedly taking on the zombies in hand-to-hand combat. As one zombie charged, Wesley ripped off it’s arm and used it as a club to beat the owner back into the ground. Another time, he lifted a large boulder and though it into the crowd with great effect, smashing the heads of two or three Gs. After another zombie charged, he picked up another rock smashed the runner’s face in, and continued to beat down the body wail yelling something that sounded like “Die freak!” Afterwards, he opened fire into the crowd with a burst of his M2. In just a few short seconds, one man had destroyed one third of the attackers. “Wow,” Oxford said to Doyel, “Wesley looks pissed.” At that very moment, Wesley stopped in his tracks. Oh no, thought Oxford. Wesley was looking wildly at his feet. Other zombies started to surround him. No. No. No, no, no, no, no. It couldn’t end like this. Doyel had the bazooka pointed at the ground crying and shivering violently, Doyel took aim at his friend. It’s easy, Doyel thought, Take a breath, count to three and- Doyel stopped. Oxford was pushing down on the bazooka, preventing it from firing. “We can’t,” he said. “We have to, or the zombies will, which is worse?” “No,” Oxford said, picking up his M1A1. “Get on the MG, take aim, and when we come back aim high. The zombies will be their.” “I’m not going to let you-” “I WILL NOT LOSE TWO MEN!” Well, Wesley thought, this is the end. He didn’t mean to stop. One of the hands had grabbed him. The most have been survivors from the first two attacks. This was it, he thought as the figure hauled itself out of the ground, using Wesley’s leg as its means of escape. Slowly, a face lifted from the mud. Sure hope the bazooka kills me before these guys. The M2 was useless surrounded. It would only make a firestorm that would incinerate Wesley as well. That was the plan. He’d be live bait, and the exploding fuel tank would burn the zombies. This was a one way trip. He paused for a second. No bazooka. Figures. Wesley pulled out his grenade as three zombies around him fell dead. “What the hell?” It was Ox! “Though I told you to kill me.” “We have plenty time to die, but I’m not going to let you live though a war to die now.” Wesley just smiled, pulled the pin, and through his grenade into the zombies. The explosion sent chunks of flesh and shrapnel flying. “Alright, let’s get going.” “Look out!” From beneath Wesley, the face buried its teeth into his. Wesley recoiled and felt. Nothing. Years of rot had rotten away its teeth and gave its gums the texture of rice pudding ageist his leg. Wesley let out a bellowing laugh and curb stomped the creature, smashing its head open like a ripe pumpkin. “Go, go, go!” yelled Oxford, “And keep your head down!” On cue a burst of MG fire ripped out from the bunker, mowing down the zombies. Ox and Wesley leaped in through an opened window to fin Doyel manning the MG. “How do you man an MG with one arm?” asked Wesley. “Very carefully.” A large zombie howled as if alerting the undead army. The undead moaned back in a sort of mass consciousness. A large majority of zombies disappeared into the woods. “What are they doing?” Just then a fireball lit up the night sky. Wesley paused and said “… Get on the radio.” As Ox manned the MG, finishing off the rest of the ghouls, Doyel and Wesley listened in on the radio. Eventual they came across a message: “Oh God, oh God. This is recon flight 217, searching for the B-17 “Wild Wessel”. I crash landed way outside of Berlin somewhere in the Black Forrest. I… I don’t know where I am, there was… a fog. I got lost in it. I can see figures getting closer to my crash site. Are they friendly? No. They…what the hell…………… AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Oh God, what the hell are those things! Please! Is anyone out there! Please! THEY’RE GETTING CLOSER! HELP! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Whack! OH GOD, JUST LET ME LIVE! Whack! >Moan! < AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The message cut out. Oxford at this point temporarily stopped mopping up and was standing in the corner. He shook his head before murmuring “God help us.” As Wesley left the room, Doyel could have sworn he heard Wesley say “God help us all.” Chapter 19 Wesley couldn’t sleep. How could he? Those creatures were out there. Watching. Waiting. He’d been trying to sleep for, what was it? Two, three hours? He looked down at his broken watch on his wrist. The crash had put a huge spider crack in the middle of the face, obscuring the numbers six and nine. It was about 3 o’clock at night. Wesley gave a loud sigh and stair at the ceiling, counting the splatters of blood the way a child would count sheep. He’d come very close to sleeping before. After the battle he just crashed on the floor, not asleep, but in a primitive state of mind where the conscience mind in turned off, but his eyes where left awake, surveying the landscape for an occasional zombie. Once he fell asleep only to awake to a crawling zombie pulling itself into the room across from Wesley, grunting as it did so. Wesley found he was carrying no weapon, he was defenseless. He forgot about Doyel, about Oxford, about Peter, and for a few choice seconds Wesley felt calm. He was entranced in an ancient form of fear. It felt as if nothing mattered, that everything will be okay, perhaps the same form of ignorance an animal feels before it is killed in a slaughterhouse. As the creature pulled itself nearer, he was broken from this trance by a gunshot, exploding the creature’s head. He looked up to find Doyel with his M1919 pistol in hand. At other times he awoke to a loud bark of static and a storm of foul language as Oxford fiddled with the radio. Both times he fell back asleep, but this time was different. Wesley wiped cold sweat from his forehead and hoisted himself up off the ground. He hobbled over to the stair case and looked at the writing on the wall. “‘You must ascend from darkness’,” he said, roughing up his dirty red hair, “And ‘Salvation lies above’. What the hell does it mean!?” He stared across the field and on the horizon. Doyel hobbled over with his bandaged arm and a M1A1 in hand. He looked worse than before and now he was hovelling along on an old salvaged Kar98k as a makeshift braise. “How’s it going?” Doyel asked with as much vigor as he could despite the fact he was clearly sick. “Oh, well, good I guess. I’ve been trying to decode this writing; I think it’s a tip on how to kill these things.” “How do you figure that?” “Well, it says ‘You must ascend from darkness’. Did you ever notice how the zombies only attack at night? Then you must lift yourself from the night, from darkness, to find salvation, and it lies above. And what lies above? The sun! One way or another, sunlight weakens these things.” “That… or the night makes them stronger.” Wesley hadn’t thought of this. What could make these thinks stronger? Like a flash the teddy bear Wesley found was brought to mind. With anther flash, the rock he’d given to Peter ran though his head. The little, evil thoughts Wesley had heard jingled in the back of his mind. He though t of the box. He thought of the box floating in front of him, whispering “Let me out.” He brushed off the thought and looked over to Doyel. His pale face held what Wesley though he could recognize as a warning, as if he where telling him “Don’t do it, don’t open the box.” The quick shift on Doyel’s face from pale to green made him forget the idea. As quickly as his face had changed, Doyel vomited on the steps. There was no deigning it; Doyel was sick. “How are you holding up?” “Bad. The bite got infected and now it’s crippling everything in my system. I’m sick to my stomach, can’t keep food down, have the runs like nobody's business--” “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” “No. I won’t. Even if we get out of here, even if I don’t have whatever these freaks do… I’m sunk.” Doyel tried to lighten the mood with a nasally laugh. He pulled out his sleeve and wiped a long trail of snot down it. Wesley never really knew Doyel before this. He always though he was a nascence a draftee that thought he was hot stuff. Doyel never had any friends but— “Hey Doyel, I think you should see this.” Wesley felt a lump grow in his through as he handed Doyel Cole’s picture. “I found this in the wreck.” A tear rolled down Doyel’s cheek as he handed him the photo. “We where both drafted together. Thank you.” “Your friend?” “No. My brother.” Doyel shutter for a bit before clinging to Wesley and sobbing. Wesley let out a dry sigh. Whether it was coming to them or if they were going to it, Doyel needed help. He got up and walked into the other room to grab some shovels. “Where are you going?” Doyel asked. “First I’m going to go squeeze the weasel; I’ve really got to go. Then I’m going to fortify the building for tonight. I we need to book it tonight, we’ll need any booby traps we can make to get the hell out of here.” Chapter 20 The following message was transmitted from Berlin that night as the Marines where bunkering down for the night. It is unknown to me if Wesley and his men managed access and decode this signal: >Gunshots< Marine 1: Get some fucking fire on those things! Marine 2: SUPPRESSING FIRE! Marine 3: What the hell went wrong!? Where the fuck is our Shermans! >Static< Marine 1: Flamethrower, moving up! Marine 2: RAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! >Torch ignites, scream of zombies and men alike are heard< >Static< Radio Officer: Command wants you to retrieve a high priority target within the asylum! Marine 5: Are you fucking nuts! Marine 4: Not ‘till we get some damn Shermans! >Static< Marine 3: I think I killed it! >Moan< Marine 3: It’s not fucking dead! AHHHHHHHHH! >Five continuess minutes of gunshots and screams, until it falls sillent and sounds as if the radio shifts and is carried off< Marine 1: Looks like Thomas died with the radio. Poor bastard. Marine 2: Him? What about us? Marine 1: Shut up Riley… can’t find a comm link to command. Looks like we're on our own. >Radio shuts off< To be continued...

STORY UPDATED, 9 / 1 / 09 AT 6:35 PM! HOOORAH! Amherst set the note down, and shook his head. Haswell’s face was grim and confounded. Yager sat, attempting to piece together all the information he had just heard, and trying to comprehend it. “Well, we know why there were more of them,” Yager finally said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them, “They must’ve somehow come across bodies somewhere nearby.” “But where did these bodies come from? Where is there a graveyard or a morgue here, in the middle of nowhere?” asked Haswell. “The Chinese fought the Japanese as they encroached upon their land. No doubt several battles and massacres took place around this area. The corpses of the fallen, buried or otherwise, must’ve been stumbled upon by those things,” Yager said coolly. “How did you know about this box?” Haswell asked Amherst quickly. Amherst looked over at him with a confused look on his face, as if he did not understand. “The box?” Haswell questioned again. “I’m… I’m not sure,” Amherst replied with that same expression of confusion on his face. He lowered his head and observed the box questioningly with his eyes. How had he known about it? He hadn’t seen it loaded onto the plane with the other cargo. One of the professors must’ve put it in there, no doubt Dr. Bieber, if anyone. Amherst shook his head, “It matters little.” Yager then suddenly got up from his makeshift seat and grabbed his MP40 that had been resting in its usual place by the staircase. “I’ll take first watch. Haswell, I will awake you when it is time for your shift shortly after midnight. Amherst, Haswell will wake you half through the night, and you will keep watch until dawn. If they come back, we’ll be ready,” Yager instructed as he made his way slowly up the stairs to the above floor. Haswell put the cooking set and all the dishes back up, and then picked up his crate and relocated to one of the corners of the room, making sure to keep away from any of the windows. Amherst began to collect all the objects and put them back in the box. He laid his hand on the teddy bear, and again the strange sensation that had come over him when he had first thought to retrieve the box had overcome him. He sat, dumbfounded, for a moment, and then shook his head and placed the stuffed animal in the box. Amherst stood up and looked for another corner, making sure to keep away from where Haswell was resting. He placed the crate down, along with the box, and stretched himself out on the cold, concrete floor. Amherst felt the urge to peer back into the box. He retrieved it and opened the lid, and began sifting through it. After a few moments of looking, he found a small journal. Curious, he opened it and flipped through the pages. All the pages were blank. He suddenly felt that he needed to write in it. He had no real understanding why, only that he wanted to. He continued looking through the box, searching for a pen. He found one, amazingly enough, and flipped to the first page of the book, and dated the top left corner. “December 14th, 1941: We are trapped here: Yager, myself, and that filthy Juden. Our plane went down as the monsters tried to get in at us. I am unsure what else to call these abominations other than simply monsters. I however feel that they deserve a name. Something that classifies them distinctly for what they are. They are terrible, walking cadavers, arisen from their graves to murder the living. They seemingly have no motive or thought, only some strange urge to kill and feast on flesh, as we have found from the notes from those hapless men. I recall during my studies in Germany about a certain culture of Bantu origin that told stories of men who arose from the dead without free will or thought. They called these creatures “zonbi.” Therefore, I dub these abominable cadavers “zombies.” This place is strange to me. A thick fog lays all around us, so dense we can hardly see two meters from our face. We perceive twisted trees and burned wreckage to be these horrid zombies, lurking around in the mist. Their moans are utterly horrid. A guttural noise emits from the bottom of their throats and seemingly echoes through your skull, sending terrible chills through your spine. Their eyes glow yellow, and they look as if they are diseased. As for this box… it is strange. I had no idea it existed, but after the first encounter, it became the most prominent thing in my mind. A strange urge to find it overcame me, and somehow I knew it would provide us with answers, which it thankfully has. But all the same, the strangeness of it all confounds me. Maybe I simply need sleep.” With that, Amherst dropped the pen and closed shut the journal, dog-earing the page, and attempted to sleep. He shut his eyes and curled up into a ball, using the rough crate as a pillow. The fingers of sleep clung to him, beckoning him, and though his conditions were completely unfavorable, he slept heavily and dreamed of bloodless hands with open sores clawing in at him in a dark metal room… December 15th, 1941 – 0342 Hours Military Time Amherst awoke with a start. An unseen force was shaking him, pushing hard and vigorously on his shoulder. Amherst felt groggy: it felt as if he had only been asleep ten minutes. As he opened his eyes, his eyesight was blurry and his head was dazed. After a few moments, he began to hear and see correctly. Haswell was shaking him, shouting in his face, “Wake up, they’re here!” Amherst’s mind immediately made the connection; he jumped up, grabbing his rifle as he did so. “Where are they?” he asked quickly with clenched teeth, gripping his rifle. “Yager is upstairs. They’re pushing through the front entrance. We must hurry.” Haswell said in a flood of words, and then rushed over the stairs and disappeared from Amherst’s sight. Amherst took a step, but then he hesitated. He turned to where the journal was, lying on the concrete floor next to the crate. He stooped over and hid it in his coat pocket. He didn’t want for the others to discover it. Amherst turned around and ran up the stairs at full speed. When he reached the area of the building with the collapsed roof, he found Yager and Haswell firing wildly into a mob of at least three dozen zombies. Their horrible eyes glowed furiously yellow, and they growled and moaned as they pushed towards the men. One zombie got close to Yager and threatened to topple on top of him, flailing his arms as he did so. Amherst fired without stopping to think. The zombie’s head exploded in a flurry of brain matter, gray flesh, and black liquid. The liquid spewed over Yager, but he took little notice. He had just finished reloading, and had begun to spray another clip of his submachine gun into the never-ending onslaught of zombies. Amherst continued to shoot, until suddenly he heard the ripping of wood and metal just behind him. He turned to his right to see two zombies ripping haphazardly at the boards of a windowsill. He ran up to the window and hit the zombie standing to the left with the butt of his rifle. It stumbled and fell to the ground with a loud moan. The other zombie continued to rip through the boards as if nothing had happened. It appeared that the zombies were almost totally unaware of each other. They were all single-minded units, and they had all come here through their own instincts. Amherst fired at the standing zombie, more thick black liquid spewing from its neck. A large portion of its neck had disappeared, and the head was bobbing to one side. It kept ripping at the boards. Amherst fired again, disconnecting the head. The head rolled off the backside of the body and fell to the dirt outside, and the body spewed black liquid from the open neck before finally falling over in a pool of its own “blood.” Amherst checked to see where the other zombie had gone. It had just begun to stand up. Amherst fired a quick clean round into the eye socket, and then turned back to Yager and Haswell. The numbers of the zombies had greatly decreased. The flood of cadavers had slowed down to more or less a trickle, and their numbers continued to lessen. After a few more minutes of combat, the last zombie dropped onto the pile of corpses. Haswell sat down, catching his breath as he rested on his rifle. Amherst observed the bodies closely. They were soaked in the dark viscous substance, and a large pool had formed around the primary pile of bodies. Some of the corpses were dressed in military attire, wearing what they had died in. There were a few Wehrmacht uniforms, but doubly as many Imperial ones. Several more were dressed in night time clothing, as if they had been sleeping in their beds at home. Strange, Amherst thought to himself. Yager was rooted to where he had been standing, his eyes shifting from side to side. He listened intently, waiting to hear if there were any others coming. After what seemed like forever, he lowered his weapon and exhaled a deep breath. “Come. We must rest,” he said as he began to walk back towards the stairwell, “Haswell, it is your turn to keep watch.” “Yes sir,” he replied quickly, and remained where he was sitting. As Amherst and Yager began walking to the stairway, they heard a low guttural snarl. Yager looked quizzically at Amherst, who returned the look. They turned sharply, holding their weapons up, ready to fire. Amherst listened for the source of the noise, and concluded that the noise was emitting from the window he had protected from the two zombies. He crept up to it, and slowly looked between the ripped boards, trying to see into the mist. He could hear the snarling even louder now, but he could not see the body. It was as if the zombie was right on top of him, and yet he could see nothing. Then he looked down. At the foot of the window, he could just barely make out the shape of the head of the zombie he had blown off. It was rolling around in the dirt, black liquid pouring from the open hole, still very much alive and very furious. It snapped and snarled as it tossed around vigorously. Amherst was confused: How could it be making noises if the head was unattached from the neck? That was when he noticed the larynx and lower portion of the vocal chords and airway, along with a lot of the interior throat, was hanging from the open hole. The organs and tissue looked dead and sickeningly gray. Black liquid continued to pour out, and a small pool of it had formed. Amherst turned away in disgust. Yager had come up and also seen the gruesome sight. Yager nearly retched. The two then turned, stomachs churning, to the entrance to the stairway, and descended into the floor below. Amherst returned to his corner and withdrew the journal from his coat pocket. He retrieved the pen and began to write as Yager stretched himself out at the other end of the long room. Darkness mostly enshrouded Amherst, keeping him out of sight from Yager’s watchful eyes. “The Juden woke me up shaking me and shouting at me. Dozens of them had returned this time, even more furious and enraged than before. After the battle, I discovered one of their heads. It had been removed from the body, but it was still moving. I nearly vomited at the sight of the disgusting thing, groveling and fighting in the dirt. The most recent creatures seem like new bodies, as if they have risen from a fresh grave. Others are wearing pajamas, as if they were slaughtered and reanimated in their sleep. I fear for the worst. I go to sleep with a weary body and a disturbed mind.” Amherst forced shut his eyes closed, trying to wipe the memory of the severed head from his memory. He knew the memory would be imprinted there for the rest of his life.

STORY UPDATED, AUGUST 9TH AT 2:51 PM EST! Amherst stepped outside, his eyes squinted. Even in this dim light, his eyes needed to adjust from the darkness he had been in moments ago. He protected the box with his arms around it, like a school girl clutching her book. "What's that?" Yager asked, turning around as Amherst stepped onto the ground. "The answer to the questions we have," he replied solemnly, clearing the devious grin from his face. Haswell walked up, somewhat nonchalantly, to them, though he was still somewhat tense, his eyes shifting every few minutes to look around him. Haswell said nothing, simply staring at the box. Amherst simply walked by him, calling over his should "Let us return to safety." Yager and Haswell followed close behind as they walked back to the entrance. The walk back to the entrance was just as slow as the walk to the plane, if not slower. They had noticed by the dimming of the light of the fog that the sun was slowly setting, and would soon pass underneath the horizon they could not see. Every sound seemingly grew louder as the fog grew darker, hastening the men's pace back to the safety of the interior of the building. Strange echoes seemed to form into moans as odd figures in the fog formed into strange, broken humanoid figures, only to dissolve into twisted trees and other fauna. Finally, after what seemed as though they would never reach the collapsed part of the building before darkness befell them, they found the entrance into the abandoned outpost. They stepped inside, making great care to avoid stepping on the bodies or the dried black liquid that was scattered across the floor. Once they had returned to the lowest level of the building, they sat back down on their crates. Yager retrieved a small cooking kit and poured the contents out onto the floor. Haswell grabbed a pot that had been resting in the corner of the room and placed it on top of the cooking stove from the set, and retrieved his matches. He lit the stove on fire, and allowed the pot to boil. Yager pulled out three small silver packets of powdery food. As the water boiled, he poured the contents into the pot of water. After several minutes, Yager retrieved his knife and began to stir the goopy substance inside the pot with the hilt of his knife. He passed out two small bowls to Amherst and Haswell, leaving the last one for himself. He then poured the "food" into their bowls. Haswell looked over at Amherst and Yager, who were quickly scarfing down the contents of their bowl. He looked back down into the strange substance floating around in his. He had never had these portable meals before, as he had always eaten at any given cafeteria at the place where he would've landed a delivery, being part of a delivery flight crew. The substance had no foul odor, if any at all. He convinced himself to eat it, and raised his spoon to his lips. The first bite was terrible. His gag reflex caused him to spit it up and onto the floor. Amherst made a disgusted sound in his throat, but Yager simply ignored the two of them. Haswell tried again. The second bite wasn't as bad. He managed to push it down, but it did not rest easy in his stomach. The second bite was worse than the first. This cycle repeated, the substance getting gradually worse and worse as he went, until the bowl was very nearly empty. Haswell set the bowl down on the ground, and fell onto his back, resting himself on the cold concrete floor with a groan. "You will get used to it, in time," Yager told him, "Now, Amherst, what is inside that box of yours?" Amherst looked up, and then simply grabbed the box and rested it in his lap. Haswell craned his neck from his resting position to see. The box was very simple, made of a hardwood like oak or hickory. Though Amherst was no carpenter, he could tell that this box had been designed to stay durable and not allow the contents to be lost. There were pretty inscriptions and engravings on the box. The maker of this box had put much time into decorating it, and it appeared that he had done so with much care: the edges of the box were flawless and smooth. The box had a simple gilded lock on the front, to which there was no keyhole. Amherst pulled the simple metal bar that was holding the lock in place, and popped the lid off. Inside was a few items he had expected: notes, a journal, a vial, and many other papers and diagrams. But at the bottom of the box was a small stuffed teddy bear. He disregarded it, and kept it in the box. Amherst began reading through the notes, observing the diagrams. He picked up the vial and looked at it as he held it delicately in his hands. The vial's contents were hard to see, actually impossible to do so with the naked eye, but according to the journal, the contents didn't need to be seen to understand the terrible and tremendous value that it held. STORY UPDATED, AUGUST 10TH AT 11:59 PM EST! Haswell reached down to pick up some of the notes that had fallen. As he lifted them off the floor, he began to read one of them. Amherst quickly snatched the notes out of his hand with a glare. Haswell backed down, returning the glare with one of his own. "Well, what is in there that is so important?" Yager asked, hiding the impatience from his voice. Amherst looked up, a grin on his face. "Allow me to read them to you," he replied as he lifted up the closest note to his eyes. He cleared his throat and began to read: "Dear Dr. Maxis, I am pleased to inform you that we have reproduced your findings here at Ramree Island. We have successfully reanimated over two dozen corpses into fully functioning bodies. Their behavior is little different than the behavorial actions that you have reported being seen. We have tested on corpses that have been in swamp water for several days, as well as bodies that were, at one point, infected with a number of different diseases. We have noticed little to no different actions in behavior than what you have reported from fully healthy and clean corpses. This proves further our thoughts that it does not matter what state of mind or body the subject was in before death and reanimation. Sincerely, Dr. Adler" Yager urged Amsel to go further. Amsel selected another note and began to read carefully, lifting up the glass vial from the box again as he did. "Dear Dr. Maxis, Some of my research team collected a small amount of Ununpentium from the meteor in the swamp today and concentrated it into very small portions of high density. They injected this concentrated version of the element into one of the test subjects. The subject's radiation levels began to sky rocket as the element entered the system. It began to behave in a fit of rage, more so than usual, and burst from its chains. It attacked one of my researchers, and he was fatally wounded. We have moved him to a quarantined containment room where he will be medically treated as we await for the outcome. I have encased with this note a small vial of this concentrated element, as I thought that you may be able to use it and possibly reverse the effects so that you may be able to calm and control subjects instead of having them explode in rage. I wish you luck. Sincerely, Dr. Adler" Amherst carefully handed the vial to Yager, and he began to inspect it as Amherst read another note. "Dear Dr. Maxis, A problem has arisen. Late last night, one of the test subjects managed to escape. It broke from its bindings and actually smashed through the wall. Before my men could contain it, as we did not want to harm it or kill it in fear of losing our research, it escaped into the swamp. I fear what may happen if that creature makes it to the coast, and somehow floats off. Or worse..." Sincerely, Dr. Adler" "Dear Dr. Maxis, That creature returned. But it was accompanied by a few others. I gave the command to take them down before they could do any damage to our other subjects, or my men. One of my men downed them and later recognized one of the bodies to be that of one of the subjects that had been buried in the swamp days before. But that's not the most troubling part. The subject that was recognized had not had any amount of element 115 radiation or infusion. Do you know what this means? I have hypothesized that the element radiates from any one host's body. The particles from this radiation seep into nearby corpses, or into the ground. From there, any body underneath the surface of the ground soaks up these particles, like a sponge, and then reanimates after enough exposure has occured. But that does not explain why the first subject escaped in the middle of the night, only to return. I will have my men investigate the swamp to see if they can find anything. Sincerely, Dr. Adler" With this, Amherst looked up at the other two men. They all shared the same thoughts. This must've been how more zombies had come to attack them than previously. Amherst kept reading with further tension and quickness. "Dear Dr. Maxis, My men came back, rag-tag and defeated. Three of them were missing. When I asked their leader what happened, he reported to me that they had stumbled upon a nest of saltwater crocodiles that had made their home deep into the swamp, near the coastline. However, when they had discovered the nest, they only found many mutilated and decomposing carcasses. The zombies had consumed their flesh and left the bodies to rot in the swamp. This explains why the zombies came back, because they could not find a food source close enough, and so returned to a point of origin where they must've known there would be a food source: Our outpost, with all our thriving and blood-filled men. My men had then been attacked by a number of the creatures rising up out of the swamp. Three of them were killed, and I fear that soon they will return to us with unwelcome arms. I am going to investigate myself. I plan to take a team of my men into the swamp and eradicate this problem now, before it gets out of hand. Sincerely, Dr. Adler" "Dear Dr. Maxis, I would like to inform you that there are no more problems. We have begun testing as normal, and have cleared up the problem. Dr. Adler has since been promoted, and sends you his regards as he relaxes a bit before being transferred to another facility where he may better serve the Reich and all of Germany. Sincerely, Dr. Bieber"

STORY UPDATED, AUGUST 4TH 2009 AT 9:50 PM EASTERN! Amherst waited, peering out into the heavy mists. No more zombies appeared out of the fog, but he dared not move away from the window. He crouched near the lower part of the window, looking out, trying to pierce the fog with his eyes. Fingers of lazy mist curled around, making every small object seem as if it were rising from the ground, or crawling up to him. His mind was playing tricks on him, and he felt as if he was beginning to experience hysteria. The noises and moans returned to him, and he began to see the zombies clawing through the metal door back on the plane. The metal being wrenched and torn screeched in his mind, the arms reaching out, the open sores dripping no blood. He felt bile forming in his throat, and felt as if he was about to vomit. The noises and moans became more horrendous and unbearable. He felt a scream welling up in the back of his throat. Suddenly, a hand grasped him. He yelled in terror. He looked at the hand, but there were no open sores or torn fingers. Amherst observed the arm with wide-eyed pupils, noticing the arm did not have torn sleeves or gray flesh. Amherst looked up, and saw Yager's calm face looking at him. "They are gone," he simply said with his regular tone of authority and serenity. Behind him, Haswell stood. Black, viscous liquid was splattered on his tattered uniform as if an inkwell had spilled on him. His face was grim and filled with anxiety and apprehension as he looked around, observing the silent walls, as if the threat was still near. "Are you all right?" Haswell asked Amherst, still keeping his distance. Amherst stared blankly at him for a moment, trying to think of words. "Yes," he said dumbly. Yager helped him to his feet. He looked over at the window, untouched since he had downed the last zombie. He had gotten lucky. "How long was I out?" Amherst asked, retrieving his rifle which had been dropped by the window. "We saw you scream and pass out as we came back down the stairs. You've only been out for a few minutes. Everything's fine, they're gone." Yager said, reassuringly. Amherst realized what he now needed to do. He looked at both his comrades. "I need to go back to the plane," he said. Yager and Haswell looked at him, confused. "Don't ask questions, I just need to. Now how do I get out of here?" The two men looked at Amherst, still with confused expressions on their faces. After a moment, Yager stood up and said "Right then, this way." Yager began walking towards the staircase once more, and signaled for Haswell to stay behind. Yager retrieved his MP40, which was resting in its normal place at the foot of the stairs, and put the strap on his shoulder, allowing the gun to hang freely. The two men walked through the rest of their foritified outpost. Amherst felt good, given the circumstances, about being able to walk around more freely, his legs adjusting and slowly working off the aching pain in his back. Amherst observed the rest of the structure. Papers, books, and other clutter was scattered all over the ground. Bookshelves lay overturned, a few desks thrown against the walls or smashed on the concrete floor. It seemed as if everyone here had just picked up and disappeared, leaving a wake of trash and other debris as they went. Amherst was about to ask if the outpost could've been an abandoned Chinese one when Yager stopped walking abruptly. !Amherst nearly collided with him, having been only a few feet behind Yager. He almost asked why they had stopped, when Yager motioned for him to be quiet. Amherst looked past Yager, and saw what must've been the center of the structure. A staircase was attached to the left wall, leading up to the second story of the building. Just past the staircase, the roof had collapsed, and a large concrete slab lay smashed on the floor. Around it, the bodies of the most recent attackers were still strewn about, limbs and body pieces missing from the corpses, some drenched utterly in black liquid. Then Amherst heard it: A faint moan. Yager must've heard it the first time, for he was now searching wildly with his eyes, trying to locate the source of the noise. Yager began to walk forward, slowly and stealthily. He had removed the strap from his shoulder and was now clutching it tightly, his finger lightly brushing the trigger. He signaled for Amherst to wait. Amherst had already turned the safety off on his rifle and was now holding it in front of him, staying ready for anything. It seemed as if the place had lost all warmth, the little there was, instantly, as if something had sucked it from the place like a vacuum. Yager kept walking, his black boots tapping against the floor ever so softly. Just before him, the staircase began. Overhead, he knew, there was an opening where you could see down into the main room from the second story. He looked up, pointing the barrel of his sub-machine gun as he did so. He kept walking, waiting to see if anything would fall from the second story. Nothing happened. He returned his gaze down just in time to reach the edge of the dark pool of viscous black liquid. He stepped over the corpses as best he could, trying to avoid looking at their distorted faces and bloodshot yellow eyes. Suddenly, something grabbed his leg. He looked down with a yell, and saw a zombie with no legs grasping his pants leg with an iron grip. He tried to jerk it off of him, but it would not let go. Amherst came running up, about to fire a round. Suddenly, a black figure fell from the second story in front of him. He came face to face with a set of bloodshot, yellow eyes. It grabbed him, and began to pull him in. Amherst tried to break free, but all he could see was the zombie's wide-open mouth with the set of blackened, jagged teeth as he realized its grip on him was like steel. Amherst managed to grab his knife from its sheathe on his belt, and began to grapple with the monster, trying to stab it as it tried to bite him. Yager managed to fire a round into the crawler's head, and then stamped down on the hand that was holding him, hearing the bones crack as he did so. The hand released its deadened grip, and Yager managed to recover in time to see Amherst stabbing the zombie in the stomach. The zombie's guts and bowels spilled out, though no blood ran, all over Amherst and onto the ground. It continued to try to bite, and it nearly nicked his face. Amherst fell over, sending the zombie sprawling with him as they continued to struggle. Suddenly, a pistol discharged. A round entered through the back of the zombie's head and out the left eye, causing the black substance to splash onto Amherst's face. The zombie was dead. Well, even more so than he had already been. Haswell appeared in the doorway, Walther clutched in his hand, his face grim yet confident. He smiled a bleak smile at Amherst, who had looked over at him. He walked over and assisted Yager in helping him up. "Come, let us get to the plane." Haswell said, and with that the three men walked through the rest of the outpost exited through a door Yager and Haswell had reinforced with rough scraps of lumber when Amherst had been unconscious. Once outside, they walked around the side of the building, past several oil drums, rustic trucks, and twisted metal that lay scattered on the ground. They intentionally tried to stay as close to the concrete exterior wall as they could. They didn't want to venture too far into the fog. They finally reached the downed plane, after what seemed like an eternity of walking silently, stopping to listen, checking behind them, and preparing themselves for a fight at the slightest sound. Amherst and the others stepped over the wreckage, slowly making their way to the back of the plane, which was one of the only recognizable parts of the aircraft that was left. On the back wing, a black mark was the only evidence that it had been struck by a bolt of lightning. The metal had twisted as it melted under the extreme heat, leaving it looking contorted and odd. Amherst came up to the hatch that led into the cargo room. Haswell and Yager stood directly behind him, Yager clutching his MP40 and pointing it at the door, Haswell staring off into the oblivion with his rifle ready in his hands. Amherst braced himself. He opened the door, and peered inside the cargo plane, into the darkness. STORY UPDATED, AUGUST 6TH AT 8:46 PM EST! Amherst stood at the opening of the door, frozen. He watched, trying to see through the darkness that stood before him like a black wall, but to no avail. Amherst waited, listening intently. Anything "alive" inside could stir at any moment, becoming aware of his presence there. He waited. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound. The metal hull was bone-chillingly cold and was eerily silent. Amherst took a step, his black boots echoing against the metal. Still, nothing moved. He said a short prayer under his breath, and took another, larger step inward. Satisfied that nothing that could feast on his flesh was still in the hull, so he began to move more freely and slightly more confident. He found a lantern that had magically survived the crash without breaking into glass shards, and walked back to the opening. "Do either of you have a match?" he asked, gesturing towards the lantern. Yager searched his pants pocket. Haswell reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a book of matches and threw them over to Amherst. Amherst grabbed them out of the air and opened the book, withdrawing a match as he did so. He struck the match and lit the lantern. He pocketed the matches and went back into the cargo hold. This time, the hull was lit up by the blazing light emitting from the lantern. Scraps of metal were scattered about the floor, many crates were turned and their contents spilt out. Several glass tubes, beakers, calcinators, and other alchemical and scientific instruments were smashed or damaged. Black liquid was stained onto the metal like ink to a white shirt, creating large splotches of the viscous substance on the walls. Amherst stepped inside timidly. A piece of glass shattered underneath his heavy boot, startling him. He jumped and looked down. Outside, he heard Yager chuckle, though very grim as it was. Amherst shook his head and continued in. He searched the ground for anything of use. Few papers were on the floor, so he hoped that the small box he was looking for had not been opened during the crash. He raised the lantern to the corner he thought the box may be in, judging from the tilting of the plane and the possibility of it having been thrown into that corner during the downward spiral. On the wall to the left side of the corner, a pair of wrought iron wrist-chains were bolted to the wall. Hanging from one of the chains was a twitching hand. Amherst yelped, stumbling. Yager rushed in from outside, and saved Amherst from the fall that would've occured had he not appeared. "What is it?" Yager asked quickly behind clenched teeth. His free hand he had not used to help Amherst was fingering the sheathe to his combat knife that was attached to his leg, his eyes sliding in every direction. "Look," Amherst answered, pointing at the hand. Yager made a sound of disgust as Amherst's stomach churned looking at the sight again. "Just ignore it," Yager told him, stepping back towards the cargo entrance. It was too obvious that Yager had as little interest to study the hand further as Amherst. Amherst averted his eyes from the grisly sight, and began to search the cold, steel floor for any signs of his missing box. After several minutes of careful searching, he found the box underneath a pile of rubbish and glass, among other garbage, covered in the same black liquid as the walls. It seemed a puddle of it had formed in the corner. Amherst noticed several trails of the substance twisting and turning as if they were small streams towards the corner, where it had built up and gathered the foul-smelling puddle. Amherst shook his head, holding the box between his arms, guarding it, as he made his way back to the entrance. The box was about the length of a large-sized hardcover book, and possibly double or triple the size, though the contents inside were much more valuable than any book in existence, even more so than the Bible. Amherst smirked. Of course it's more valuable than the Bible, the contents in this box have defied its word several times already. With that, he stepped back out of the cargo, throwing the matches back to Haswell as he went, the evil smirk still stuck on his face.

Beauty of Annilihilation Story by GhostG45 Introduction Raising the dead. Reanimating the deceased. These have been the fevered dreams of madmen and geniuses. Controlling those which can not be killed in an army to destroy their enemies. As the ranks of the confused and panicked enemy lessen, the ranks of the dead are bolstered. There would be no stopping them. Their need for rest, unknown. Their need for hunger, they have none. Their need for flesh, a craving desire. Their numbers... Near endless. What entire armies and weapons could not do, an army of those who have passed on could do in days. In a blitzkrieg, a lightning war. The perfect weapon. A wunderwaffe. They would be man's crowning achievement of destroying each other. A monument to all the years of advancing in weapons to kill man's enemeis. They would be the beauty of annihilation. Many theorized after the second world war what the Germans had had in store. It had been proven for a long time that the Third Reich had commissioned experiments on nuclear warfare. But what else, exactly, had the -blam!-s been planning? Designing? Creating? Conspiracy theories of propulsionary flight, weapons capable of razing cities and rooting up entire armies. The discovery of lost journals and reports are still today giving more of an idea of what the Third Reich could've created, had the war not turned sour for them... December 13th, 1941... A plane flies high above the clouds. Its cargo: an experiment on the way to "the Giant." To a specific scientist who plans to utilize them to help turn the tide of the war, in the name of the Fuhrer. The plane had departed only just two hours ago, from a deep swamp on an uncharted island off the coast of Japan. The night is black as pitch. The winds are near gale-like, and the clouds have turned dark in threaten of a storm. Below, there are abandoned homes and structures. Old military outposts from Japan's spread into China, and burnt out hiding places where the fleeing Chinese had attempted to take refuge. Lieutenant Yager and Captain Amherst lounge quietly in the ****pit of the cargo plane. Yager reads a small book that he had withdrew from his coat pocket and Amherst holds the controls of the plane, allowing it to glide through the air. Taking into consideration the highly serious and volatile cargo they were carrying, they were rather calm and nonchalant. Corporal Haswell sits on one of the seats attached to the lower wall in the small metal room that seperates the ****pit from the rest of the aircraft. He rests his back against the wall, sleep clinging to him at the edges of his mind. He closes his eyes for a moment, to gain a little concentration and focus. Haswell thinks of home, and of the events that have taken place since he last saw his family. Were they still back in Germany? Had they evacuated? Were they still alive? These thoughts brought him no comfort. Haswell could not but fear for what may have happened to his family. They were unwanted. Undesirables of society. He had joined the army to hopefully throw off the trail and convince the Reich that his family was truly German. A feeling of discomfort and loneliness comes over Haswell as he clutches the Star of David hidden underneath his layers of clothes. Sleep clang to him, and he succumbed to it willingly... A clang of metal. Somewhere nearby, the twisting of steel seemed to screech through the depths of Haswell's mind as he jumped with a start, awakening from his slumber. He looked around, confused. The noise continued, louder now, as metal raked against metal like nails on a chalkboard. The ****pit hatch opened, Captain Amherst standing in the opening with a worried look on his face. In his hand, he held a Walther pistol, his finger brushing the trigger. Haswell jumped to his feet, and spoke hurriedly to Amherst in German, "What is it?" Amherst only rose his finger to his closed mouth, signalling him to be silent. Amherst made his way over to Haswell, and stood right in front of him. Amherst, a large man standing at 6' 3" and weighing 230 pounds, made Haswell pale in comparison, only standing at 5' 7", standing before the giant. Haswell looked into Amherst's eyes. They were filled with some sort of burning hatred. Haswell saw the fire that only filled the eyes of those few in the ranks of the German military forces that truly hated people of Jewish kin. They were the ones that truly believed every word Hitler spoke, and hated the Jews as much as their Fuhrer did. Haswell was shocked. How did Amherst know? He must know, there was no other explanation. Amherst pointed at the floor of the metal cabin. Haswell looked down, and the Star of David was there at his feet, looking up at him. The necklace must've fallen from his neck when he had fallen asleep holding it. He looked back up at Amherst, who had moved the sidearm up to Haswell's head. Haswell braced for the end. He knew it was over, that Amherst was about to fire the round through his skull and cause his brain matter to spew out all over the wall of the cabin. Amherst would land with Yager, and he would be decorated as a hero for eliminating the scheming Jude who had planned to sabotage the plane and cause the cargo to fail. All lies, but Amherst would tell it his way, and the others would believe him. Haswell would never see his family again, and would die hundreds of feet in the air, thousands of miles from home. However, in this shocking turn of events, both Amherst and Haswell had forgotten about the screeching metal. Haswell still didn't know what it was, but suddenly the thick steel door that sectioned off the cargo hold from the rest of the plane was torn open. A pair of bloodied hands ripped through the metal, grasping with sickly palms and shredded fingers. Open sores that had no blood running from them were riddled on the backsides of the hands. More hands quickly joined the first pair as Amherst and Haswell looked on in terror. The hands grasped at open air, and continued to try to rip through the door with an inhuman fury. Bone-chilling moans and terrifying growls could be heard from the other side. Amherst knew immediately what had happened: The "experiments" who had been in the next room along with the other cargo had been bound to the walls by welded metal and put into cages. They must've broken free of their binds and begun seeking to quell their hunger by searching for the nearest living beings, those, unfortunately, being the three-men flight crew. Haswell was stuck in a shocked stupor, unable to move. He was rooted to the ground, only able to stare on at the evil that was clawing in to get at him. Amherst ran back through the slightly ajar hatch that led to the ****pit. "They're free! They're trying to break in!" He shouted in German. Yager turned and looked at Amherst, a horrified expression on his face. "What will we do?!" Amherst queried, still yelling in panic. Yager knew that he had to land the plane. The chances of making it to the ground were slim, but he still had to try. "We will land." He replied quietly, and turned back to the controls. From the other room, shots could be heard discharging from a Kar98k, a more or less standard bolt-action rifle that had been issued to Haswell for special cargo operations for use in situations just like this. Haswell shouted a cry of terror, and Amherst looked back through the open door. The monsters had broken through the metal door, and were shambling towards Haswell and the men in the ****pit. Haswell ran to the ****pit door, stopping only to glance at his Star of David before just barely avoiding one of the monster's flailing arms, and running into the ****pit. Amherst and Haswell sealed the thick metal door just before the first of the terrors could reach them. Haswell looked over at Amherst, who, even in this dire situation, glared at him with that same fiery hatred. Haswell attempted to avoid making further eye contact with Amherst. The loose monsters outside were banging and smashing the door, trying to get in. Yager calmed himself, trying to focus on the plane's controls. "You may want to take a seat," he advised the two standing men. They quickly sat down where they could best manage a seat, and braced themselves. The plane began to dip, heading almost straight down. Through the ****pit window the clouds were moving quickly, evaporating from their sight as they sped out of them. The lightning from the storm had become, and they could see distant flashes of the light as they sped, ever faster, downward. Suddenly, one of the streaks of hot lightning collided with the back end of the plane. The aircraft shook violently, throwing Haswell out of his seat and sending Amherst sprawling against one of the metal walls of the ****pit. Their downward descent became a chaotic spiral as the men were thrown around inside the cabin as the plane circled to the ground, falling out of the sky. The clouds and fog dissipated only two hundred feet from the ground, and they all got one good glance at the earth before they smashed into it. Everything went black... STORY UPDATED, AUGUST 3RD 2009 AT 5:36 PM EASTERN! December 14th, 1941... Amherst woke with a start. He looked around, confused. He saw the concrete walls around him, and suddenly felt cold. He realized he was lying on a hard floor, the cool concrete prickling at his back with icy fingers. His eyesight was still blurry, and he could just barely see a tall figure walking nearby him. His ears felt stuffed with cotton, and he could hardly hear what he assumed was two men speaking. As he came more to his sense, he realized that the two men were Haswell and Yager. Amherst sat up and tried to take in more detail of his surroundings. In the corner of the room was a staircase. To his immediate left was a window boarded up with nails and rough planks of wood, as if they had been haphazardly sawed and nailed onto the frames of the now windowless opening. Outside, there was only fog. He looked down at his wristwatch, but it was cracked and the fingers had stopped turning. He assumed that dawn must've been approaching, for a strange hue of light emitted from the fog, as it would on an early morning in Berlin, where the mists crowded the streets and made it hard to see, and blocked out the rising sun. Yager looked over at Amherst, and realized he had regained his consciousness. Yager rushed over to the man, and helped him up. Amherst felt sore all over the place. Yager asked, "Are you all right?" "Yes," Amherst replied, feeling his back, trying to locate the main source of his soreness and misery. Amherst looked over at Haswell, who was sitting on a crate, and immediately felt the same burning passion of hatred he had on the plane, "You! Juden!" Amherst felt for his pistol, but it was not there. He instead rushed over to Haswell and kicked him off the crate and grabbed him by the collar of his tattered uniform. He was on the verge of smacking Haswell and sending him sprawling, but as he lifted his arm Yager grasped his hand with his iron grip, refusing to let go. "No." It was only one word, but Yager said it with such serenity and authority that Amherst unintenionally relaxed his arm and let go of Haswell. Yager let go of his arm, and returned to his seat after helping Haswell up off the floor and helping him retrieve his seat. "But don't you realize, he is a Jew! He is undesirable!" Amherst shouted, regaining his sense of confidence and hate. "Yes, I know. But he is not a bad man. He saved your life." Yager replied. Amherst looked over at Haswell in shock, but Haswell only returned the look with a blank face, empty of expression. "When the plane went down, the... Um..." Yager paused, unable to think of a word. "Zombies," Amherst said blankly, his face turning pale at the thought of them clawing out of the metal door back on the plane. "Right, the zombies. When the plane went down, the zombies began to shamble towards you. They were completely unaffected, given that the plane had just crashed. They don't suffer from shock like we do." "Yes." Amherst replied. "They began to shamble towards you, but Haswell regained his sense in time to fire a few rounds into the first few, and then dragged you to safety. Luckily for us, we found ourselves just outside of this abandoned structure. We assumed it was some sort of outpost, being maintained by the Chinese just before the Japanese ran them out, and then retreated back into central China." "And where are the zombies now?" Amherst asked, looking around with apprehension. His mind began to imagine them, coming down the stairs and tearing at the windows. He thought he heard noises, their muffled moans above him and around him. Yager's voice snapped him back to reality. "They retreated into the fog. You were unconscious for a day. While you were gone, they returned. We were out looking for lumber to board up the windows, as you see we have, when we discovered them trying to get into the outpost when we got back. They were trying to find us, but you were the only one inside. We managed to repel them, and a few escaped back into the fog." "Strange," was all Amherst could manage to say, "How many were there?" "About a dozen. Considering the five or so Haswell killed when he rescued you, and the six that we counted that were dead from the impact of the crash, there were -" Yager began, but Amherst cut him off. "Than there were when we took off... That's not good." he said, his face losing more color. How could there be more? Amherst began to make a theory, when all of a sudden, a moan penetrated through the room, sending chills down the men's backs. "They're back," Haswell said as his face flushed. He picked up his rifle and went up the stairs. "Let's go!" he shouted from above. Yager turned to Amherst. "Wait here. There may be a few coming from the opposite side, and that means they'll try to break through the barricaded windows down here. You repel them, since you are still weak and may not be able to handle going up there with us." With that, Yager handed Amherst a rifle and headed upstairs, scooping up his MP40 that had been resting on another crate near the stairs. Amherst stood up, still sore and aching. He looked at the opposite wall. Luckily, there were only two windows, both well boarded up. There was room for him to peer out, and so he limped, as his leg had a strange sensation of burning pain, to the nearest window and looked out. Through the fog, he could see nothing. Just before the wall of fog enveloped everything, he could see the crashed plane, crates, metal, debris, and other wreckage flung everywhere. Signs of fire were evident on the ground, where scorched earth could be seen. As soon as the danger was over, he would have to go out to the aircraft and look for the remaining cargo, whatever else there may be left. He had to recover something. It may be the only clue as to why the zombies are seemingly multiplying. Suddenly, a figure animated out of the mist. It shambled toward Amherst. From deep in its throat, a hollow and deviant moan echoed. Amherst shivered as the noise passed into his ears. He took aim, and fired. A significant amount of black liquid spurted from the neck, but the zombie kept shambling onward as if nothing happened. Amherst took aim again, and shot it in the head. The skull cracked, and the zombie fell over, black liquid pouring from the hole where its eye had been. Amherst took a moment to rest, calming his nerves after seeing the zombie. They were truly a horrid sight, still wearing their clothes they had been wearing before they had perished on either a battlefield or on a sick bed, now covered in mud and dirt. Their eyes seemed to glow yellow, but their eyes simply gave the impression that they were. The eyes were truly just sunken and colored to a pale yellow, and were bloodshot. Similar effects on pupils had been seen in the late 1700's, during the Yellow Fever outbreak in the newly formed Americas, as well as in other countries where Yellow Fever ran rampant during the summer time of the year, when the mosquitoes carrying the disease were most active. But the yellow eyes effect on the zombies were not caused by disease-infested flies, or of any other natural causes. Amherst knew this, having read many of the notes, reports, and journals on them. The researchers had found out that the "Yellow Eyes Effect" was the cause of Ununpentium, element 115, which had been used in the later experiments. The element emitted a yellow gleam, that was reflected in the zombie's pupils and was what gave the eyes a strange hue of yellow, causing their eyes to seemingly glow yellow. Amherst began to contemplate more, but suddenly he turned to the window, which was on the opposite wall of the one he was standing at, to see a zombie ripping off the first of the boards. Amherst shrieked, and aimed his rifle. He fired, and hit the zombie on the arm as it tore at another one of the boards. Amherst fired once more, and the zombie fell to the ground outside. He panted. He had been taken off guard, and he would not allow his thoughts to wander again. It could cost him his life. Or maybe save him from this waking nightmare. Or become a part of it.

How did you get involved with CoDz, how and where did you find out about it?

Hey how nice of you to drop by It was great meeting you at Pax East

My thoughts on the new map pack is that its alright. however.... fourzerotwo gave me a free map pack code since I met him at Pax, I guess we are friends now lol anyway I got them for free so even if I don't like them, it was no skin off my back but ya they are cool, I like crash and overgrown.

10 / 65 :ugeek:

Ok, so to start of... pax was amazing! From meeting people to playing the new games, it was just an all around awesome experience. Pax is definitely a networking type of event and I was able to meet some really great people in the gaming industry. As for games, well let me try and list off some of the ones I played.... Splinter Cell : Conviction Split Second Mafia 2 Breach BFBC2 in 3D Bioshock 2 Aliens vs Predator Game Room Arcade Other games that were also there that were awesome were.... Crackdown 2 Skate 3 Prince of Persia RUSE Red Dead Redemption This is not a full list just some of the ones that stood out. Being able to play some of these games when they haven't been released yet was so cool. Being able to talk to some of the devs, give some feedback, and even play with them. I really don't know what else to say other than everyone should try to make it to a video game convention at least once, it is an incredible experience if you are gamer like myself. Josh Olin, the community manager for Treyarch (JD2020) was there as well. Not to release any new CoD7 info, but to just enjoy the event. We spent most of the days together, mainly playing the Splinter Cell co-op, browsing some of the new games, and chatting with Industry folks. I would try to list everyone I met, but I am sure I would leave someone out as the list would be extensive. Anyway all I can say about CoD7 is that it will be AMAZING. Now for the fun part, here are some pictures from the event. Captions are on top of image. Frag Doll Cheri and myself chillin at the Splinter Cell booth The sick Alienware computer that I played BFBC2 in 3D Massive amounts of Alienware computers for BFBC2 The other 600 computers for l4d2, bfbc2, counterstrike and more.... Me and Major Nelson from Microsoft The new Breach xbla game booth JD2020 playing Splinter Cell Me and Stephanie from SpawnKill.com JD2020 and some other SpawnKill reps JD2020, me and 402 (Treyarch CM, and Infinity Ward CM) Robert Bowling, IW's CM Some nerdy bar lol JD2020 Cheri, myself and Melonie who are Frag Doll Cadettes at the Splinter Cell booth JD2020 and myself tearing it up with some Splinter Cell co-op (played a good total of 3 hours ) Me and JD2020 from the Inside Xbox Pax video on your xbl dashboards Jd2020, Bowski and myself More pictures...