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TheEarCollector
November 7th, 2004, 02:22 AM
Alright, to give you a little info on the project it's a short story titled, "Will Fight For Food." I just want to put a quick disclaimer up in the beginning warning you that there is some language (I didn't include it to be obscene... it's not even used as vulgarity, and I couldn't find any specific rules on the nature of language allowed so... it can be editted out quickly if necessary). The story as it is now should give the reader a good idea of the background of the world... I will leave the recap until after to see if you get what I was aiming for.

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Another flaming roll of TP rushes through the shattered window and brings the sweet echo of silence to an end.
“Get your asses on the northern wall, make sure nobody gets through!” our employer barks.
They are trying to overrun our defenses again. Our tattered army grabs whatever it finds throughout the battered house as we frantically race towards the barricades which have kept the neighbors at bay for this long. We stack up along the wall, prepared to repel the impending invasion and defend the stronghold we call home.
I take a quick look around. I’m crouching in the game room, at least what used to be the game room, with a sharpened pool stick as my only defense. I know it is not my time to die; some of these other unfortunate bastards will probably die tonight, but Death will not take me.
My eyes continue to scout the room, surveying the others for weakness, determining who will ‘buy the farm’ this time around.
“I got a whole loaf sayin’ that Rufus over there doesn’t make it,” I find myself shouting for the whole crew to hear. I am sticking to the sure bets from now on, I’ve lost too many meals in recent raids to risky bets. Rufus is the new guy, and in my experience that is the surest sign of a deader.
“I’ll take that bet!” a familiar voice calls out from another room.
“What the ****?” Rufus asks.
I shouldn’t have said that, not where the kid could hear me at least. Oh well, it’s too late to take it back now, and maybe I can stand to profit off his unfortunate demise. “No hard feelings?” I start to ask, but before Rufus can acknowledge the apology a stream of his blood sprays across the wall. The defense of the Smith Family Residence has begun.
Blood paints my surroundings as a rusty lawnmower blade repeatedly cleaves into Rufus’ neck. I have no time to gloat over my additional rations now, I charge the window, impaling the man who wields the lawnmower blade before sinking back into the darkness of the room. The clash of household objects grows more intense around me, but soon gives way to relative silence of injured moans.
My eyes strain to maintain my awareness as the orange glow of the fire begins to die out. The black void inches closer to the source of the flames, smothering them, leaving me blind. I am entirely surrounded by the still darkness of the moonless night.
I raise my weapon, aiming it into the darkness to defend myself from what I cannot see until a light starts to peak around the corner. The light steadily grows more intense until it stands between me and someone else. I cannot make out the silhouette holding the flashlight.
“How many did we lose in this room?”
I recognize the voice, it is the employer, Smith. “Only one,” I tell him. The tone of his voice tells me we have not fared well despite our victory.
He moves on to the other rooms without a word, his light slowly fading with the absence of his presence. A new light emerges though, the sinister orange glow of battle starts to reappear all around me, and then the fire rages in the game room again. A Molotov cocktail is hurled through an opening in the wall, crashing against the overturned pool table and bursting into flames. The shadows of our enemy paint the walls of his house against the orange backdrop. The battle is not over.
The shrill cry of the Johnson mercenaries echoes throughout the neighborhood before I spot another foe climbing through the window. I charge him like I have charged all the others, thrusting my pool stick as I rush in for the kill, but he dodges the makeshift spear and knocks me to the ground. I struggle to keep him off me as he struggles to plunge his kitchen knife into my chest.
“Rufus!” I start to call out, not remembering that my only company in the room is spattered across the walls. I am alone.
I reach up with one hand, claw at my attacker’s face, trying to dig my fingers into his eyes and inflict just enough pain to break his will. My thumb finds its target and plunges deep into the sunken eye. There are more screams as the warmth of his blood encases my hand, but these cries of terror are not meant to intimidate me. The knife falls to the floor as the one-eyed man frantically scrambles backwards across the floor. I cannot let him escape. I seize the knife and pounce onto his chest before guiding the blade between his ribs and burying it in his heart. The fighting is dying down in the rest of the house. Their losses sound heavy, they will not come for our supplies again tonight.

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Basically it's a world with Y2K gone bad... everyone stocks up on food and supplies but months later it is all running low so they turn on each other and hire the homeless/bums/hobos/whoever as mercenaries... Are you getting the background that I intended from that? Tell me what all you think of what is there so far. Thanks.

Expendable
November 7th, 2004, 09:36 AM
The story's great, wonderful background but I was wondering - since TP is usually the first thing to run out, unless someone really stockpiled it how likely is it that someone would throw a whole burning roll of it?

But go ahead and write more, it sounds fun!

TheEarCollector
November 7th, 2004, 11:21 AM
lol do you remember Y2K when people were cleaning out supermarkets and walmarts with all the TP they could get their hands on? That and the fact that it is a nonessential... Plus it makes the best flaming projectile ;)

SubZero61992
November 7th, 2004, 04:49 PM
Its scary to me, but some people would read it.
I like how you're using items that are easy to come across for weapons, the rusty lawnmower blade really sent shudders down my spine,

Drew
November 7th, 2004, 05:37 PM
Here are my thoughts...

1) At the point where the employer is standing between them, it says that they thought they won despite the losses. What happened to indicate that the battle was over? There was insane fighting, then the employer appears, and the fight is over? A little hole there or my own misinterpretation, dunno.

2) They bet a loaf of bread on the new guy getting killed... it says in there that the new guys are usually deaders, so why would the man bet that the new guy would win? Is he lacking the wisdom that the main character has? Is he new perhaps? If the characters were more developed, I could see a situation like this, but not with new guys who I am assuming are on the same page...

3) It still manages to be a good read with an interesting concept. Thumbs up, I would like to see a more developed version in the near future. :D

TheEarCollector
November 7th, 2004, 08:19 PM
1) I editted the last line, I meant the raiders suffered heavy losses (to a degree such that they can't raid again until they recoup at least)
2)I am not too clear on that either, I just remember us betting on who would be the first to screw up and it was really twisted... it's kind of a carry over on how messed up we can be with the people on our side
3)Working on the rest now ;)