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Post by Scotland on Apr 7, 2012 7:11:10 GMT -5
[Canada is chomp-proof! \o/ I'm going to assume since we were given instruction to continue to post regardless of whether the zombie mod posts or not, is it acceptable for me to just make my own breaks in the zombie waves when it seems reasonable? Like after this fight. If the Zombie Mod prefers we wait, just let me know. Otherwise we can make a single fight last for a while.]
Scotland was enjoying himself, feeling his sword impact and cut into flesh, sometimes snapping bones as well. It was very much like Monty Python's fight with with the Black Knight. One solid strike, and limbs seperated from the main body. "Your bloody arm's off!" "It's just a flesh wound!"
The afflicted zombies were much the same as the Black Knight. They ignored losing arms, and when they lost a leg, they just started crawling. Only losing a head seemed to put them down for good. If Scotland wasn't pressed for time, he would chop all the limbs off a zombie and see if it still mananged to move itself towards food. By fluke he discovered breaking the spine could buy him time, as a human body just couldn't stay upright with a broken spine. Those either lost control of the lower body (and had to drag themselves) or the entire body, depending on where the spine was broken. Breaking the neck left the zombie lying stationary, groaning and gnashing teeth ineffectually.
They weren't people to him. These afflicted undead were just beasts in the shape of men. Rabid beasts that needed to be put down. If being quiet weren't so important, he would be yelling taunts at them. Though it would be much more satisfying if they actually understood and cared about the words. It was a shame. He so enjoyed taunting.
As the zombies began falling through the hole left by the grate above, the redhead was busily swinging, hacking and chopping; sometimes simply using his sword like a sharp-edged club to sweep a zombie into the sewage with only minor damage (a lost arm, some broken ribs, nothing that really mattered) so he had room to deal with the next. He dealt with them as they staggered to their feet, as the ones trapped under the others weren't problems yet. Why fight a mob when you can deal with them one or two at a time. The tunnel wall and walkway under the grate opening became impromptu chopping blocks, quickly becoming splattered with blood and other rotting parts.
After the first wave had been dealt with and the gaps between the newly falling zombies grew longer and longer, Scotland turned his attention to the zombies in the sewage that were making their way back to the edge. While fighting the zombies that fell through the grate, he had to wait until the sewage zombies were within grabbing distance before he could spare them more than a glance. A few good swings on zombies at sewage level usually allowed him to chop off heads or at least snap necks with one heavy strike, especially if they were close to being in a row. Occassionally he swung low, cutting through torsos, breaking spines and watching the zombies flop over before falling back into the water. Usually, if the blow wasn't stopped by a more solid zombie, Scotland would allow the sword to keep with its momentum and swing back to his other side, keeping that area clear. He only turned his attention that way if he felt the blade strike anything. And he figured if anything was coming from that way, Canada would let him know in some way. As long as he could feel Canada at his back, he didn't fear for hitting the blonde, and knew he had an extra set of eyes watching his undefended side.
No nation once or still in existance had taken Scotland through combat. He'd lost battles, but never lost the wars. Not even to the Romans who had taken over England and Wales. However, he wasn't accustomed to swinging the heavy sword repeatedly for so long anymore. Not like the olden days when he carried the sword everywhere with him, and used it often. Now he was feeling the burn in his muscles and knew he'd need to take a breather soon. No bother though. If he grew too tired to swing the sword, he'd switch to his hand axes. He just needed time to switch them out. He also had boots with heavy soles and solid brick walls all around him that would be excellent bashing surfaces. Speaking of boots, he kicked a zombie with a broken neck the rest of the way off the walkway. They didn't need that to trip them up if they came back this way.
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Post by Zombies on Apr 8, 2012 23:47:18 GMT -5
[[Go on without me. You can control zombies to a certain extent without abusing of your power. You don't need me to do everything, alright?]]
The zombies would simply not give up. Even the ones with heads chopped clean off tried to move, sometimes succeeding in throwing themselves forward, teeth chomping relentlessly as they tried to catch something in their rotten mouths.
As the flood of zombies falling down the manhole slowly diminished and stopped completely, the walking masses of the living dead were decimated, left lying on the cold sewer ground. Only the ones that were unable to move their bodies were the ones moving, biting down on thin air, rotten teeth clinking ominously, threateningly.
Asides from the noises of clinking teeth and dirty sewage water flowing, all had soon gone silent.
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Post by [x] Canada on Apr 9, 2012 7:27:38 GMT -5
It would be an understatement to say that Canada was amazed. Indeed, if not for the ever-present odour, his mouth would be hanging open in sheer astonishment at the speed and ferocity that the Scotsman plowed through the zombies with. Even the mass that entered through the manhole coupled with the plethora already in the sewers were no match for just one man.
The blond's eyes roved the walls, taking in the gore and blood that seemed to be a new part of the decor in this particular section of the tunnel. He swallowed heavily, remembering how the gloppy crimson had splattered all around him, and how he had frozen in place, as if that would somehow enable him to avoid getting hit by the stuff.
Though disgusting as all that was, he couldn't help but feel fascinated at how the decapitated zombie heads were still animated. How was that even possible, when logic (heck, even common sense) dictated that it shouldn't be possible? His eye twitched. Oh well, I suppose they are zombies. It's normal for them in movies, why shouldn't it be normal for them in real life?
...Now he was thinking like his brother, comparing life to movies. Troubling times indeed, very worrying.
Gingerly stepping away from the wall (and leaving a stain-free spot that stood out like an island in the middle of a splotchy red ocean), Canada cleared his throat and rubbed his thumb awkwardly on the hilt of his knife, which was still embarrassingly spotless. "W-Wow...just...wow, Unc-, um, Scotland." He did it once without thinking; he wasn't going to do it again. "Uh, right. How 'bout we get going? Since you've obviously made the sewers as safe as they can get now, yeah?" Fidget, fidget. A look towards the dim way ahead.
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Post by Scotland on Apr 10, 2012 4:21:30 GMT -5
[Didn't want to overstep my bounds, so thanks for the green light!]
Scotland looked around for more enemies coming, and waited a few moments for silence before he stepped away from Canada so the younger nation wouldn't be trapped against the wall and turned to face him, panting and letting the end of his sword rest on the ground. Though he wasn't really aware of it happening, he had become splattered with the old syrupy blood that had been in the process of rotting inside the zombies. As he looked at Canada, he felt a roll of it move down his cheek and realized it must be splattered across his face. He spit into the sewage just in case any of it may have gotten into his mouth. The last thing he needed was to become afflicted himself by eating their blood. He wasn't sure if it could be spread through their blood, or if the affliction was spread through bites only.
At Canada's words, he dug through a pocket on the inside of his jacket. He is inwardly pleased at hearing the kind nation acknowledge their familial bond, even if he seemed to be nervous about saying it. He liked England's young ones, even if he'd never managed to really make any of his own. He'd tried, but it hadn't worked out. The closest he had was Nova Scotia, which was Canada's. Though he wasn't going to bring up what the younger nation could call him if Canada didn't ask him. Not with him being fidgety about it, and now wasn't the time.
He pulled out a many-times folded map now smeared a little blood and handed it to the younger nation. "On there's a general location fer th'lab. Tis circle in red. See if ye can figure out where we are. I'll be aroun' th'corner."
With a nod, he pulled out what looked like ear pieces for a cellphone from a small pouch on the gun strap. He handed one to Canada and slid the other in place over his ear. Pressing a small button on the side of the earpiece turned on a small flashlight that would shine forward in the direction he was facing. It wasn't bright and the cone of light was small, but at least he'd be able to see what was right in front of him. He'd expected to enter darkened buildings, and the lights would work well enough for rooms. Not so great to light up a long tunnel.
Coming around the corner of the tunnel they had dropped into, he looked both right and left, checking for the afflicted. Both directions were clear. Apparently they had lured all the zombies in the near vicinity to them already. He didn't know which way they should go, so he waited there, listening and allowing his breathing to calm. He rolled his shoulders and tried to work the burn out of his arms.
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Post by [x] Canada on Apr 13, 2012 10:18:31 GMT -5
Once he saw the redhead's red dashed face, Canada nearly un-slung his pack to grab some wipes, but then stopped dead, knowing that now was definitely not the time to be thinking about appearances. But then what if he gets sick, or worse, infected from some stray blood? I won't be able to forgive myself! Torn between potential awkwardness and potential disaster, he ended up not doing anything. Typical.
His black gloved hand took the battered map from the other's hand and unfolded it, nodding along with Scotland's remark whilst straining his eyes to see the mentioned circle. But then he received the minuscule, wearable flashlight, and put it on, fumbling a bit before finding the little bump on the plastic. The resulting light blindsided him for a moment, since it hit the rim of his glasses, but after a little adjusting on the part of the device, Canada got used to it, and looked down at the map in a new light, literally.
Hmm...this is an above-ground map, of course. His brow furrowed, mind trying to mentally walk through the streets of the city that they were currently under. I suppose, though, that since every building has a drainage system, it would be relatively easy to trace the path. We'll just have to avoid any misleading tunnels. From their position near the edge of the town, they had several blocks to go through, the lab apparently being around the centre of the city. Just like in movies, nothing is ever easy for the protagonists.
Looking up, he realized with a start that Scotland wasn't right in front of him. He was so absorbed in finding the right path, which he thought he did, and relatively being useful for the first time that day, that all else was given second priority. Taking a few paces forward to the mouth of the split of left and right in the tunnel, he cautiously peeked around the corner, and actually broke into a smile when he saw the familiar back and bandanna-ed head.
"Ok, I think I found the way. We need to take this right turn here, and then keep going till we get to a four-way intersection...and then go right again. Um...once we get to there, I'll check the map again." He finished proudly, even if the words were a bit lame at the end. Then concern entered into his voice as he remembered to ask, "Are you feeling alright? That was quite the curb-stomp battle back there, yeah. We could, we could take a short break if you want."
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Post by Scotland on Apr 14, 2012 16:02:44 GMT -5
Hearing Canada's steps coming closer, Scotland turned toward where the blonde would appear and waited. He smiled at Canada having figured out their path. He knew they were better off with the younger nation as the navigator, thinker and communicator. Scotland himself was just there to cut down zombies. He had no delusions as to what he was best suited for. Fortunately, his type was just as necessary to this mission.
"Feelin' jus' fine, laddie." The redhead wiped at the blood spray on his cheek with his sleeve, and only just managed to smear it around. "Ye jus' point th'way. We've no time tae waste."
Scotland wasn't quite sure what curb-stomp was, but anything described as stomping sounded rather rough. With that he hefted the flat side of his sword onto his right shoulder, keeping it near the wall so Canada shouldn't run into it by accident, and started off to the right. To the right and find a four-way intersection. Turn right again and then re-assess. Easy enough. Damn he wanted a smoke. A smoke after a fight, a tryst, and a meal was just the natural order of things. But the zombies would probably smell that. Damn zombies denying a man his vices. First place he found that was safe to do so, he was lighting up. At least he could take out his irritation on the zombies.
With the ear-light illuminating the way, he led them on, finding the occassional straggler zombies and dispatching them with a quick strikes of his sword. He tried to take them down as quietly as he could so as not to draw more zombies to them than necessary. Every fight slowed them down. Between the fights, Scotland tried to think strategy. Should he send Canada into the lab alone or should they go together? A single man could always move faster and more stealthily than two. But if there were alot of zombies inside, Canada might have to use his gun, which would draw more zombies to them. He didn't doubt Canada's fighting skills, but a knife just didn't cut off heads. If he went with Canada, more zombies might come, bunch up and block their way out. He could fight them off, however. So maybe it's better they just stuck together the entire trip.
They came upon the four-way intersection, and he led the way to the right, having to kick back a zombie waiting right at the corner backwards and off its feet before he drove the end of the sword right into its skull. Time for Canada to chcek their course again.
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Post by [x] Canada on Apr 16, 2012 10:59:08 GMT -5
[ ]
Nodding, though unconvinced about his uncle's state, Canada still had to feel rather fuzzy inside at seeing that smile that was sort of uncommon on the redhead's features. Inwardly, he thought about how it seemed that all England's brothers wouldn't be prone to smiling so often, maybe, as England himself sported more of a frown most of the time. That brought his mind straight back to headquarters, and the tendril of worry wrapped around his head again.
Nevertheless, he side-stepped to allow Scotland to take the lead, falling behind silently, but happy that he now proved his use to the expedition. He tucked the map into his coat, snug against his body albeit a tad bit crunchy when his ribs pushed against it. But it was safe, so that was good. It wouldn't do to be carrying it and then an occasional clumsy moment on his part resulting in a soggy, unreadable mess. They trod on, taking the turns that he had deemed to be the right way (hopefully, hopefully they were), with Scotland plowing down all the unlucky afflicted in their path.
The mini-light knocked his glasses slightly askew, and it was a small pet peeve of his, so he kept reaching up a hand to adjust both objects, but sooner or later they would slip back into their incorrect positions. The constant fiddling kept his mind off the moans and death throes of the zombies that were getting their second death dispatched to them efficiently. He just didn't want to see all that again, if he could avoid it.
When they turned the final right corner, with the failed surprise now flailing weakly, Canada blinked a bit and then pulled out the map, flapping it out. Pursing his lips in thought, he traced their current path with a finger, and then referred back to his mental above-ground map. If all that is right, then we should... "I think we keep going straight here, and keep doing so until we go past two manhole entrances. After that, there should be a short left tunnel that has our exit. We'll be emerging just two blocks away from the lab, I think." If only he was as confident as he sounded, but he was actually pretty sure about this. He could see the end in sight, almost. The worry tendril still gnawed at his heart though, but now for the thought that Scotland might not be able to keep going, and might eventually collapse or something. Well that's what I'm here for, isn't it? Canada set his teeth resolutely.
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Post by Scotland on Apr 18, 2012 10:01:55 GMT -5
[Hush lad, you’ll understand when you’re older. XP I’ll let you move us past the manholes and the turn, cause I’ll have the post to look above ground. I bolded my color to make it easier to see.]
As Canada studied the map, Scotland pulled his sword loose from the zombie’s skull by a foot on the thing’s face, and then started kicking it off the walkway and into the sewage.
"I think we keep going straight here, and keep doing so until we go past two manhole entrances. After that, there should be a short left tunnel that has our exit. We'll be emerging just two blocks away from the lab, I think."
The redhead nodded at the instructions and looked up at the ceiling above them, checking for a manhole cover in the near vicinity. Seeing nothing, he scratched at the bridge of his nose with his free hand as he tried to plan ahead. “So we be close then. When we get thar, I poke me head out, an’ ye be ready tae run if’n I come back down in a hurry.”
He turned to look the younger nation seriously in the eye. Which kind of just shone his ear-light into Canada’s face at first, before he covered the light with the same finger he scratched his nose with. “Ye dun come oot ‘till ye hear me call ye.”
He had no idea how many of the afflicted could be out and about there, but being near the center of the city probably meant there would be more afflicted than they had found so far. He didn’t have any doubt Canada would do as instructed. Of the North American brothers, Canada wasn’t bullishly headstrong. America might have clambered over Scotland’s shoulders in the rush to pop out first, despite the given instructions. Speaking of America, he hoped the kid was keeping England fighting the affliction out of sheer anger. Only France could enrage England as fast and for as long as America did. He hoped France was there as well, for good measure. England would just plain refuse to die in front of his life-long enemy.
The thought gave him a little wry grin as he turned back to leading the way, hefting his sword back up on his shoulder. Since they were closer to the center of the city, the zombies they start to run across are older, more decayed. Some are little more than piles of dried or spongy flesh and bone that wasn’t capable of moving about, but laid there and moaned all the same. Scotland ignored the ones that still lay in the sewage, too heavy to be swept away, but he ended the ones lying on the walkway with a quick punch of the end of the sword into their brittle or mushy skulls. Along with the random moderately-fresh zombies that had wandered this far. With the rear pretty much clear, all Scotland had to do was cut down anything that approached from the front.
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Post by [x] Canada on Apr 21, 2012 9:54:47 GMT -5
Don't move until he gives the all-clear. If he comes down, run. Well, that was really reassuring. If Scotland was ever to turn tail from something, that thing would probably be pretty terrifying indeed. Canada murmured his understanding and they kept on moving. It was quiet in the sewers, relatively speaking. The swarm that had come upon them when they first dropped down must have been the main bulk in the underground tunnels, which was fortunate, as they were now all gone. The zombies still bobbing in the sluggish water made for very disturbing decor though, and he wondered whether every city of his now had similar conditions.
Bleakly, he thought that that was probably the case. After this was all over, there would be tons of rebuilding, refurbishing, and cleaning to do, all over the continent. Yeah, that's right. Gotta look forward to it, when it's all over, not if. When. He just hoped that they wouldn't...lose anyone along the way.
The first manhole passed without anything happening, apart from the fact that Canada nearly missed it because of the same color scheme with the wall and the metal. As they neared the second one, and subsequently the end of their tunnel journey (for now, at least. Who knew what might happen later.), he could catch a whiff of the cold air that wisped through the thin cracks of the metal cover. It had a clear, sharp zest that differed greatly from the humid smell in the sewers. He almost wanted to just burst out and inhale. It would probably be his last breath if he actually did that.
Manhole overhead, then behind. Scotland still trimming the zombie population. And then there it was, the foretold left passage. Relief spread throughout Canada's tense mind and body, but then it seized up. What could be waiting outside, he wondered. It was the centre of the city, surely there'd be hordes of the inflicted milling around, right? He had to prepare himself to fight now, whatever the redhead told him. He wasn't going to be a dead-weight, not in his own country, his own turf.
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Post by Scotland on Apr 21, 2012 17:25:50 GMT -5
When they reached the end of their tunnel trip, Scotland hung back a moment, looking back and forth to check for any more of the afflicted wandering down the tunnel toward them. They seemed to have a break right now, as they had moved rather quietly and swiftly.
He did an awkward dance as he looked up at the rungs embedded in the wall that led up to the grate above. It was one of those solid grates in the sidewalk that were strong enough to walk over, hinged on one side. Scotland couldn’t immediately come to a decision about his sword. He tried to hike it up close to his chest and see if he could hook it on his gun strap then changed his mind and held the hilt up to his belt to see if he should try and hook it there, but then he wouldn’t be able to draw it in a hurry. He did this hesitant sword-shuffling dance for a few moments before he realized he would need to put it down and free both hands for climbing the rungs and pushing the grate up.
If there were zombies right around the grate or even on it, he could just close the grate and that would be that. They wouldn’t be able to come down after them, and if the two just waited a bit, the zombies alerted by the sound of the grate moving would just shuffle away again. If he had a clear enough space to get up and out, he could just have to ask Canada to hand his sword up. Or wait for the zombies to get close enough for his hand axes. In an area that should be thick with zombies, he didn’t want to wait for them to get that close. He would be surrounded and overcome quickly.
Finally he put the sword down, leaning it against the wall before turning to the blonde and speaking quietly. “I’m goin’ up. Small change o’plan. Hand up me sword if’n I say. Need me hands free.”
With a small nod as if demonstrating what he expected Canada to do in response, or affirming that he meant what he said, Scotland began climbing the metal rungs in the wall. They weren’t that deep, so he only had eight rungs to climb. Hooking a foot on a rung for balance just before his head met the grate, he used both hands to ever so quietly push the sheet of metal up a few inches. It moved easily enough, so that meant there wasn’t a zombie standing on top of it. That was a good sign. He stretched to peek his head and ear-light up into that small space for a peek at the street. It was dark out, and the snow was falling, with the wind blowing it in swirls. Some flakes hit Scotland in the face, making him blink.
They were everywhere on the street. Some were badly decomposed and just lying on the road as they had in the sewer. Some only had one half of them still operational, either dragging themselves by their arms or lying in place with their feet scratching at the street in an attempt to get leverage and move their useless upper halves. Others shuffled along and he watched a lower jaw fall off one of them to fall to the street. It didn’t appear to notice and just kept shuffling along. Scattered among the old decaying zombies were the random fresher zombies that still had enough flesh and substance to be a bother. There were a few on the sidewalks, bouncing off the walls of the building they were next to. Scotland shifted to look in the other direction and saw more of the same. When he lifted the grate and it slammed open, all of those bastards were going to come right at him. And he still wasn’t sure which of the buildings around them was the one they wanted.
The swirling snow was really only going to be a detriment to the living as the undead didn’t have to worry about seeing through it. Maybe it would mask their living smell or whatever else the zombies used to hunt with. He was going to have to climb out while holding the grate so it didn’t slam open, and wait for Canada to climb out. If he was lucky, he’d be able to lower the grate again quietly, and the afflicted wouldn’t notice them right away. So he held onto the grate and lifted his hooked foot to a higher rung, which allowed him to lift his other foot up. He raised the grate higher on his shoulder, hearing a slight groan of the hinge that he hoped would mix in with the moans the zombies were making and the whistle of the wind.
He wrestled the grate open further, and climbed the last rungs till he hooked a knee on the sidewalk and tried to shuffle out as quietly as he could. Still holding the grate mostly open, he rested on a knee and shoved his free hand back down into the opening to his elbow, making a groping, grabbing motion. He looked back and forth to make sure he had reaction space and then leaned forward to duck his head down and hiss a harsh whisper, “me sword, an’ come quiet.”
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Post by [x] Canada on Apr 24, 2012 7:25:06 GMT -5
Once Scotland shoved the grate open, Canada couldn't help but gasp aloud following the mad rush of crisp air that flooded his lungs, chilling the metal on his glasses in a very pleasant way, much welcomed after the walk through the underground maze. He could feel small bits of icy snow, riding the air like the seed puffs of dandelions, caress his face, leaving mini drops of water behind after they evaporated rapidly. The wind also flew by his ears, sounding like someone's soft, sad sigh. It was a bit like the weather was crying to him, pleading for release from the decayed population that held the land in it's grip. The back of his throat started to hurt, and he swallowed thickly to stave away the pain.
Some more commands were given to him, and as per usual he agreed to them, answering the nod with a meek one of his own. Maybe it was a tad bit subservient of him to let his experienced uncle call the shots so obviously, but therein lay the reason itself. There were familial ties present (though for a nation, those didn't quite justify the reasoning, but he digressed), as well as the fact that the redhead himself was confident in carrying out such procedures with wisdom and skill. That was the key here, and that was something that Canada would not try to override just for the sake of his 'pride'. Besides, he would just get in the way.
He inched towards the broadsword that was used so much today and carefully grasped the hilt, feeling some remnants of the warmth of Scotland's grip on it. A sword in his hand was not something the blond was used to, at all. He had started fighting battles after they gradually became obsolete and progressed to be a ceremonial object. However, this blade was not a pretty trifle. It was a be-header, a de-limber, and many other things that he didn't want to think about.
Luckily for him his thoughts were interrupted by the owner, the wielder of the proud weapon motioning for said weapon to be given to him, in all haste. Canada turned around, eyes wide with apprehension. "Me sword, an' come quiet," Oh alright, so they were going to make a run for it. Somehow that thought didn't really calm the Canadian down, but it was better than something having captured Scotland's attention in a fight-related way. He jerked the hand with the sword forward, then slowed down considerably when it neared the other's. Once secured, Canada steadied his wits and the stuff on his back to clamber up the cold, iron rungs into the colder, harsher-than-any-metal world above.
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Post by Scotland on Apr 28, 2012 9:25:02 GMT -5
Scotland felt the hilt of his sword nudge his palm and and he closed his fingers around it quickly, pulling the sword out with care to ensure it didn't bang against anything on its way out. He stayed kneeling on one knee, and planted the blade end of the sword against the sidewalk next to his leg. If he'd had a hand free, he would have helped Canada climb out, but as it was, his non-sword hand was holding the grate open. So Scotland just kept watch, watching carefully for any signs of the zombies being aware of their presence or any coming close enough he would have to react.
His breath fogged heavily around his head but Scotland was used to this kind of weather in his Highlands. He was practically a Nordic and the other Nordics had expressed willingness to share the title with him when and if he re-gained independence. When Canada was climbing the rungs, Scotland also checked the buildings around them, trying to figure out which was the lab. Domestic Imports, nope. A bank. Nope. A boutique. Nope. There, he saw part of a cement overhang above a set of still intact glass doors. All he could see of the building's name was "The Biomedical Re-" but it was enough. That had to be it. Only problem was it was a block away, across the street, and there was a block full of zombies between them and it.
"Gawd suff'rin' fuck," he hissed under his breath. This was where it was going to get ugly. In the tunnels they had a wall to throw their backs to. Up here, they were vulnerable on all sides. Maybe they should do a mad dash, simply cleaving their way through. The straightest line was always the shortest. But that was guaranteed to lure all the zombies in the vicinity after them. If they moved building to building, they had a greater chance of running into zombies, which would also lure all the zombies in the vicinity. There was no way to get there without notice, short of flying or teleporting. So mad dash it was. He'd get Canada through the door and stay there to hold it, and retreat further into the building till he had a defensible spot, preferably at a stairwell or hallway. He wasn't sure what papers they had to grab, so he'd just keep backing up as they searched further into the building. He'd figure out how to get back out once they came to that. Hopefully with most of the zombies in the building, they could escape out a back door and have a clear path back to this grate.
[Once Canada is up, Scotland will explain the plan and off they go]
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Post by [x] Canada on Apr 30, 2012 8:04:58 GMT -5
[[Roger that, Cap'n!]]
The cold was even seeping through his gloves, traveling gradually, ever so gradually up his arms. His thick coat deterred most of the increasing chill, but there was always a percentage that crept through that barrier, and the coldness built up. Soon, Canada would be feeling stiff-ish, he knew. But he was used to that, so much so. In his north, the temperatures sometimes plummeted down to below -58 Fahrenheit, and if his people there could survive, then he could too. But one could never help feeling stiff, and that was the main point here.
The swirling combination of wind and snow that greeting him head-first lifted locks of his blond hair and made them sway. His glass lenses got snow plastered onto them, obscuring what was left of the visibility for him above-ground, and he cursed himself for forgetting to pull his goggles down before climbing up. He'd do that when he was standing, if they had the time. Feeling the pavement, Canada placed his hands on the slippery cement and pushed, bringing his knee out of the hole, crunching snow. Then, the rest of his legs followed, and he stood up shakily.
He could feel that Scotland was somewhere next to him, but couldn't see at all. So he quickly snatched his glasses off and thrust them into his coat and brought his goggles down, fiddling with his attached ear-light along the way. They were fitted with lenses as well, so now he could see properly, although the goggle bands made it feel like the little light wasn't secure next to his head.
...Well, he should have expected the sight that greeted him, none too pleasantly either. Their target, just a bit off, had a welcoming party of loads of the zombies on the way. Assuming that they could get past, once they got into the facility they'd only have a limited amount of time on their hands to look for the 'papers' (what a general term that is) before they were swarmed. What if there wasn't a back door? Might they have to break a window or wall or something? He edged a bit closer to Scotland, waiting to hear the verdict of the situation.
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Post by Scotland on May 1, 2012 6:36:49 GMT -5
He should have brought a scarf. And long underwear. The weather was worsening right before his eyes. He can't help but shiver as Canada scrambled out of the tunnels, and Scotland lowered the grate as quietly as he could. He didn't let go of the collapsable metal handle until the grate was firmly in its seat. Then he carefully lowered the handle as the moans of the afflicted melded with the whistling of the wind between the buildings. By the time he was done, Canada had lowered his bike goggles down over his eyes. Not a bad idea. Scotland carefully put his own goggles down over his eyes to keep the snow out while trying to keep his bandanna in place. Though at this point, it was unlikely his hair would be noticed, taking into account the poor eyesight of the zombies and the low visibility in the falling snow. But it helped keep his head warm. He also had to adjust his ear light with the shifting.
He stood and identified the double glass doors of their target building by pointing out towards them, extending his arm in a straight line. He leaned in close to Canada and whispered, "we be makin' a path, go straight in. Nae be stoppin'. Break t'glass if'n ye hafta."
Shifting his shoulders to try and shuffle his collar up just a little higher up his neck, Scotland hefted his sword up onto the shoulder away from Canada. A couple zombies were starting to shuffle up on them, so there was no more time to delay. He figured Canada would know to follow and stick close. With a couple deep breaths of cold air to pre-expand his lung capacity, Scotland shoved off the sidewalk and headed straight for the nearest zombies in the chosen path. With a grunt of effort he swung the sword off his shoulder and into a wide arc in front of him at chest height to hopefully cut them down, or at least throw them aside. In the time it would take them to get back up, Team Nova would be far past. The first two zombies went down in parts, unable to stand up to his blade, and the third was flung aside. Of course it crashed into other zombies. No matter, Scotland used the sideways momentum of the sword to swing it out to his side and then back up over head with no break in movement. The following downward slash of the sword was diagonal, heading in the opposite direction of his first slash to take apart the nearest zombie at the hip and fling aside the two by it.
It was then that he had to start the cycle of movement again, jerking the sword up and slashing out across the front of his body again. Having to heft the sword only every two strokes saved on energy, and neither of the backswings extended the blade out behind him. The sword swung upward at outward angles from his shoulders. Using these simple repetative motions meant he couldn't attack behind him, but he expected Canada to be occupying that space, so it all worked out. Fortunately zombies didn't think tactics and had no fear, so they just moved in to be cut down. Scotland pushed forward each time the sword was in a upward swing, keeping them moving forward and adding just a bit more power to the slashes. He didn't have to incapacitate like he did in the tunnels. He just had to get them out of the way, which saved time.
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Post by [x] Canada on May 6, 2012 9:02:31 GMT -5
"we be makin' a path, go straight in. Nae be stoppin'. Break t'glass if'n ye hafta."[/color] Trajectory located. Sad to say that said trajectory was a straight charge ahead. Right into the herd (swarm? flock?) of undead denizens. Canada set his mouth into a grim line of resignation. Since Scotland didn't seem to be open to any other idea anytime soon, and since he was the leader of their little two-man squad and knew best, so be it.
If anything major happens he'll just whip out his C7 and take care of things. At least his rifle was something that he had some experience with. Speaking of which, he quickly grasped at the strap that held the gun to his back and tugged, making sure that it was loose enough for him to pull down in a hurry if the need arose. The tiny clack comforted him, even though it was drowned out by the sound of the whirling snow.
Feeling his uncle tense in preparation for departure, Canada hastily shifted his own feet to a running start, tucking his head in a bit in an attempt to decrease wind resistance. He'll just follow like a furry bullet behind the redhead, and do his best to keep out of the way of the sword swings he knew would occur. That man was just a beast...No offense intended, uncle.
And off the Scot went! Canada had to jerk his legs into action, and caught up relatively well, breath steadying out after the rough start. Thankfully the crisp snow-smell overcame the odour of decay that would probably have gagged him. If he flicked his violet, goggle-clad eyes up, he could see the flash of that bold metal just plowing through the zombies with mechanic precision. He realized that it was his job to keep the rear clear and whipped out his dagger, pressing the flat blade against his wrist in case he needed to keep something at bay.
Unsurprisingly, with Scotland clearing the way like he did, they had no serious problems making it within range of the doors of the facility. Well, there was one time that Canada, heart racing, had to hit out at a rotting, eye-less parody of a face when it got too close. He accidentally slashed at it some too, and by the time they got out of that particular crush, it was more of a mass of shredded 'skin' than anything. He found himself mentally saying sorry to the poor soul.
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