[1-2] The Tail

[Amber Veritz]

Though relatively shy, the faunus girl smirked at fox woman. “You’re right. You know you remind me of someone I know: Calm headed and reasonable. I’m in Miss Carmelita, I want to help. While we look for fresh water, we should keep an eye out for any kind of food we can scavenge as well. Maybe we we’ll even find the after-math of the nose of the plane. There could be other survivors on the island.” Carmelita reached her hand out to help Amber up. Removing Razorback from the sand with her left hand and swinging it back into it’s holster Amber spoke up again. “Well, shall we proceed with the mission?” Carmelita missed the question. She was busy wondering how this extremely small teenage girl just swung a sword bigger than her whole body around like it was a tiny dagger. “How do you-? How much does that sword weigh?” Amber seemed surprised. Most people already knew who she was, though she is not in Remnant anymore. She should have known people would ask. “Razorback weighs around 11 pounds if I recall.” 

“And, you can lift that thing in a single hand?” Amber chuckled a little, “Well, things are different in the world I come from. I can explain as we walk down the coast, and maybe you can tell me about your weaponry. I’m quite the weapon enthusiast.” Carmelita, although somewhat still in shock of Amber’s powers, or whatever you consider that, lead the way down the coast. Amber, being the talkative type, went on about what she was capable of as they walked. “I’m not the best survivalist there is, but I assure you that for my age I can put up a good fight. My parents told me that one of the best way to get to know an ally was to spar with them, although in our situation we need to conserve our strength. So tell me, how do you fight?”

“Well, the bulk of my fighting style relies on ranged combat, but my police training has taught me some melee combat maneuvers as well.” Though she actively answer Amber’s questions, Carmelita kept her eyes forward and remained vigilant of anything that would try and end their adventure on this island sooner than they would like. “Ranged support then? Good, as you might have guessed I’m a front line fighter. If we happen to run into trouble, allow me to take point and give me fire support.”

“Yes, well I hope we don’t meet anything on this island. We need to preserve what strength we do have.” The fox woman interjected. “We would just be wasting our energy fighting pointless battles.”

“You are just like Murasaki, but I see your point. Fight to survive, survive to fight another day.” The girls continued their search for resources, quietly chatting amongst each other.

[Deadpool]

”Thank God for seatbelts!” Deadpool said, firmly upside-down. ”Funny thing is, I'm actually right-side-up, but that has to do with science and crap. Remember to study, kids.”

He reached over and unbuckled himself from his seat, promptly crashing down onto the floor ceiling of the plane with a hard thump. Picking himself from the floor, he peered forward. Above, flames engulfed entire sections of seats. The plastic armrests that were once used to do exactly what their name implied were now liquifying. The stench was strong; once Deadpool got a whiff of the odor it was all he could smell.


Thick, black smoke rolled along the ceiling floor of the plane, and out where the aircraft broke in two. The break was gnarly. Mangled framework twisted and clashed over the opening in aircraft. It was as if Deadpool stared at the inside of a monster's mouth, with jagged metal as teeth.


His boots clanked against the floor ceiling of the plane as he followed the smoke to daylight. A man cried out for help, but Deadpool didn't give a fuck, and left him to die. ”Sorry dude, you're not an important character,” he said as he maneuvered his way through the planemonster's metal teeth, and out of its mouth.


As he exited the wreckage the smell of burnt plastic slowly faded away, and his nostrils welcomed the scent of sea-salt and seagull shit. It smelled like teen spirit; like if he ventured far enough he would discover some rascals playing hide-and-go-freak, just for the slim opportunity of losing that embarrassing virginity thing; maybe even having a child, which neither of the teens would be capable of raising properly. 

[Remilia Scarlet]

The walk took longer than it should have, the short stubby legs of Remilia and thick sand did her in, but it also gave plenty time for what has happened to sink in entirely. As she strolled through the disaster zone, he had attempted to summon another parasol to replace the one that had been likely vaporized only to find her newly gained power had vanished along with her flight. Had the white silhouette guardian of this world stripped her of the power he granted? It seemed odd that he would do that to everyone here (even weakened, she could still easily see the others attempting the same and also failing from the other side of the beach), and instead it would be more likely that it had something to do with where they were.

The vampire had an odd sense of clam about her. Although all the primes had thankfully kept their heads screwed on in this emergency, she seemed unperturbed despite her near death and now stuck in a survivor's worse nightmare. She seemed annoyed than anything else, but it was because she was more prepared than a quick glance would give. She could defend herself with power of her spells (either the dangers of the island or from her fellow survivors if it came to that), and with some grasp into fate she could afford to be clam.

She still wished she had something to cover herself before the sun made her life miserable. 

"Anyone find a parasol?" the scarlet devil asked once she finally reached few survivors who were still lollygagging, and between those who looked hopelessly around and those who looked unbelieving at that concern she seems unlucky. She shrugged, and grabbed a piece of aluminum next to her and held it above her head. It'll have to do.

"I'm going to look for something interesting. I'm taking one of you with me" That seemed like such an odd thing to say, since it was unlikely anyone would want to follow her when there were more pressing concerns, but someone found the hard way that she did not mean that by choice as she grabbed one unlucky soul and dragged them by the collar deeper into the untamed jungle that spread across the inside of the island like a thick fog. 

If the world wasn't going to give Remilia what she wanted, she'll just have to take it.

[Gin Yatreg]

After an hour of work, Gin had finally managed to knock enough trees down to make a worthwhile shelter for his fellow survivors. With some help from the syntech employees standing around, Gin brought the tree trunks down to the edge of the beach near the tail section and boulder. Taking a look inside the remains of the plane, it seemed that the rain had finally put out the last of what was once a large fire, all that remained was burnt seats and a layer of wet ash covering the area. Curiously, the fire seemed to be in that one corner of the passenger cabin and nowhere else in sight. "Come to think of it, how did a fire start there in the first place? Unless someone made it intentionally, there's no way a fire could've started right here. But no one's crazy enough to do that." Gin thought.  Realizing he's probably not going to get an answer to this conundrum, Gin went back to what he came in here for. Searching through every drawer and cupboard he could find, he grabbed every piece of spare rope and wire he could get his hands on. "Alright, time to put that improvised survival training I got on the colony to good use!" he said aloud. 

Building the shelter went smoothly; using the fuselage of the plane and the boulder nearby as a side and front wall respectively, Gin and a few others tied together a roof and diagonal wall out of the tree trunks they had collected. Once the basic structure was in place, the next step was to tie any cloth, leaves, and other material to the outside of their improvised shelter, which would help block out the rain and wind that would have normally slipped through the cracks and spaces between the trees. As they were finishing up, Gin felt a tug on his shirt collar, "Wha-?" was all he manged to get out before being dragged off by a small vampire.

Edit: Changed "in the cabin" to "in sight" because it was redundant.

[Karl Jak]

Round Dos
Carmelita
Guilmon
Deadpool
Abner
Arthuria Pendragon
Makota Yuki
Granite
Colonel
Amber Veritz
Tucker Tuckerson (Syntech employee)
Alan Miller (Bartender)
Jethro Miller (Plane crew)
~6 other random secondaries from the plane

Despite the crash, the situation felt very much under control.  Survivors had been rescued.  Salvage had been obtained.  Loose acquaintances had been forged.  It seemed like the group would be okay, even when Gin and Remilia failed to reemerge from the trees.  An attempt by a worried Carmelita to scour the forest turned back no results, and those that remained were left with questions about where the two had decided to go.

Even Deadpool, who had done absolutely nothing worth mention for the last few hours, had a little stride in his step as he sauntered around the beach talking to no one in particular.

“Where do you think Okor may be?  He would survive the crash, yes?”  Granite asked Colonel as the two combed the beach for any additional supplies.

The machine nodded his head without needing time to process the question.  “Okor could survive a few dozen plane crashes.”  Colonel answered as he glanced into the fog-filled forest.  “It’s just a matter of following the devastation until we find him.”

Granite nodded his head and opened his mouth to speak.  Whatever the gargoyle had to say was drowned out by the womanly shriek of a masked man.

Back by the plane wreckage, Deadpool had his hands clamped over his masked mouth and was shaking as if he suffered from palsy of some sort.

“What is it?”  Carmelita shouted with obvious concern, her pleasant nature oblivious to the mercenary’s famous theatrics.

Deadpool dropped his hands and immediately dropped the act.  “Foxy Love!”  He snickered as he waved over Carmelita.  “We got some friends.”

Before Carmelita could figure out what Deadpool meant, one of the very dead passengers came lurching out of the plane and tackled Deadpool to the ground.  The two struggled for a few moments before the mercenary got a hand under his attacker’s chin and held him there.

“You see,” he explained.  “This is an ironic scene, because this is the guy I laughed at as he burned to death.”  With that, Deadpool snapped the corpse’s neck and pushed it off of him and into the sand.  Before Carmelita could reply, more were stumbling forth from the wreckage.

Along the beach, the trenches that had been filled with the dead started to tremble as groaning bodies pulled themselves free from sandy tombs.

You have two options.  You may withdraw or you may battle against the horde of dead.  There’s at least four dozen to contend with, so it’ll be a challenging affair.

Fleeing will result in at least 1 or more points of Damage.  Battling will result in at least 2 or more points of Damage but may also yield a special prize for one person.

[Carmelita]

“Madre de dios!”

Carmelita’s cry of shock after the red and black coloured man had called after her prompted Amber to turn around as well. Both of them stood still for a moment, scarcely standing to believe their eyes as dead bodies stumbled into view around the wreckage of the plane, attacking those around them.

Carmelita didn’t know whether she was going to run or move to attack. Dealing with the occult was something she had had bad experiences with, from Chinese undead to dark spirits to voodoo. There was a moment she might have made a run for it, with no obvious villain to take down and a crowd of horrific corpses dragging themselves across the sand.

Amber moved, drawing her weapon from her back.

“We have to help!” cried the Faunus, taking aim and firing the first shot at the undead. Carmelita snapped back to the moment, drawing her shock pistol.

“Understood. Stay at a distance.”

She began firing, balls of electricity crackling as they hit the zombies in sight. Mild static and jerking limbs led to several of the front runners falling over, scrabbling with their limbs before a quick burst from Amber’s rifle stilled their movements, bodies broken apart from the impacts.

They advanced cautiously as the sounds of fighting rose from where they had buried the majority of the bodies. The red and black masked man had drawn swords and run out of sight beyond the wreckage, and so the two only had the occasional scream of rage or pain to guide them. As they passed the partially submerged section, two bodies dragged themselves from the surf and leapt at them from behind.

Four ears twitched in synchrony and the two whirled to meet the attack. Amber blocked a clawing hand with her gun as it began shifting and whirring, whilst Carmelita took several gashes on her forearms before sweeping with a leg and catching the aggressor by the arm. With her shock pistol still in hand, she couldn’t grab at a pair of Fisti-Cuffs, and instead settled for pulling the corpse into an armlock.

Amber, meanwhile, decapitated her zombie with her impressive greatsword. Turning to Carmelita, she proceeded to do the same to the immobilised zombie she held.

“Are you okay?”

“The wounds aren’t too deep, I’ll bind them later,” Carmelita said, eyeing the bloody lines beneath her fur with a calculating gaze.

Amber looked at her with a raised eyebrow, but nodded and shifted her sword back into a gun. Carmelita thought for a moment before activating her cloak. As she faded from view, she spoke to Amber.

“I’m going to scout for you, I don’t have anything that will put these things down quickly.”

Wide eyed, the faunus girl simply nodded. Carmelita proceeded to stride out and look around, before returning and speaking.

“There’s a lot of them out there, six by the sea and a lot more in a mob near the graves. A good dozen or so are coming out of the plane. Several close quarters fights, steer clear of those for now. I’ll watch your back and decloak if I need to deal with something. Ready?”

The cat faunus nodded, a glint in her eye, and the two of them ran forward, ready to fight.

[2B]

Arturia had only just started her journey towards the wreckage, glancing around herself as there were a few corpses littered around her; Likely because no one had yet wandered to her direction, they hadn't been granted a proper burial. As the King of Knights was treading through the sand she caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye, accompanied by the something that sounded much like a pained groan. The knight spun on her heels with a shuffle of sand at her feet, staring in slight confusion as the six bodies scattered across her, all seemed to rise.

Undead; This reminded Arturia of the fourth Holy Grail War, and the despicable caster whom had used demons as their weapon. She knew full well that she was not only at disadvantage by the numbers, but also wounded as well. Holding out her right hand, the blade materialized in her hand, immediately concealed beneath the veil of wind. Unable to utilize her left hand, the knight would have to rely on weaker attacks, as well as dodging, rather than parries.
With a kick into the ground, she sent herself forward towards her first target as the circle started to enclose around her. With a swift, curvaceous slash the knight felled her first opponent, forced to roll as the two on her sides swiped at her. As she attempted to rise back into a standing position, she'd failed to calculate for one thing; sand. Her right foot slid and gave away from underneath her, as she attempted to dash once more toward her opponents.
Forced to catch her fall with her hand, the knight winced in pain as her wounded arm collapsed underneath her weight. All the while her five remaining opponents lumbered towards her.

Shoving her blade into the sand for support, the knight slowly pushed herself upright into a standing position once more, biting down onto her lower lip. The pain surged through her, invigorating her. If she fell here, to mere undead, she'd be a disgrace to all those whom had once served her, as well as Fiara and Amaterasu. In the knight's mind, that was not an option she was willing to accept as she raised her blade once more. The first swipe came and went, riposted by the knight's blade, cutting her opponent's arm off and devastating their midsection. Simultaneously, the two accompanying their now fallen comrades challenged her with a slow tackle, forcing the knight to more extreme measures.

"Invisible Air; Release!" she exclaimed, a typhoon of wind exploding from her blade, as the concealment magic released the wind into her surroundings, blasting back the two opponents, the knight took her opening and cut them down.

Even as the Promised Sword of Victory glimmered with it's golden glory visible for all to see, the knight looked at the two remaining undead before her. As the blade once more concealed itself, the knight exhaled, glancing down toward her left gauntlet, which now seemed to have blood seeping through the plated joints. She'd have to end things quickly, even as she took note that the left side of her dress had been torn; alas the metal plating had luckily protected her leg.

With a running step, the knight charged her remaining foes, carving down the right one before the slow being had a chance to act, dropping down immediately afterwards, and slashing the other from behind with a swift movement. The two remaining undead fell, and Arturia stood once more.
The first of many encounters seemed to have dissipated with her ensuing victorious, alas the King of Knights was certain this was only the start. She knew, that if she had had her arm in proper condition, she would've been able to fight in a much more conservative manner, and wouldn't have been forced to release Invisible Air.. But as it was, Arturia was forced to use her body to generate the force of her strikes through kinetic energy which forced the knight to battle with reckless strategies.

Author's note: 
Arturia's left hand is once more bleeding underneath the gauntlet, the lower part on the left side of her dress was torn, and she was forced to use "Invisible Air: Release" in order to deal with the situation. 680/2400 words according to site.

[Albert Wesker]

"Trouble, do you think?" Granite voiced the obvious question.

Colonel's response came in the form of a swift turnabout to face back toward the wreckage of the plane half and a darkening of his expression. "Of some kind, undoubtedly." And he was off, breaking into a swift trot across the uneven sands. "Let's not wait around to find out. Back to the plane." His short, quick strides left the gargoyle in the proverbial -- though perhaps thankfully not literal, given the environs -- dust, though he was likewise moving, following along with great lumbering strides.

The scene that greeted the soldier program's eyes as he finally registered it was enough to bring even him to a halt in his tracks. "What in the name of..."

Granite, coming up behind him, was much more...subdued in his reaction. "They...they were all dead, were they not?" he inquired, surveying the scene warily.

One of the corpses who decided it was a good time to not stay dead turned its face toward the machine and man of stone. It was dumb, blank, and didn't seem to hold any trace of what might have been called humanity remaining in it. Only a dull sort of...hunger? Was that what it was? Regardless, it didn't seem to be in the mood for pleasant conversation, if anything. It turned the rest of its body around to follow the movement of its head, lurching into a ragged, stuttering rush forward.

"Much less dead than we originally assumed," Colonel responded calmly, observing this display, and bringing his saber up to bear. "...but the dead should stay dead. However they died, that's a constant. We should see to it they go back to being dead." He knew, if his digital assistant had been here, he would have piped up with some comment along the lines of "My, but how thoughtful of you, sir. And I didn't think you actually cared!" It was enough to bring a twinge of sadness to his features, but it passed almost immediately, stamped out and forced aside by his focus on the matter at hand.

There were several of them to contend with -- at least a few dozen, by just a quick count. That left them seriously outnumbered here. And outnumbered was a poor situation to be in. For a moment, he briefly considered whether it would be wiser to fight or to fall back. It didn't take a tactical genius to figure out how poorly this could go, and how easily -- and quickly, for that matter -- it could go that poorly. But it took him only until the nearest of the once-corpses was close enough for its shuffling through the sand to be audible for his decision to be made.

A single stride forward, throwing his opposite shoulder into the charge and breaking the deceased former passenger's momentum, and earning himself a shower of loose sand and a flailing, scrabbling grab from the zombie, and then a flash of green and the corpse staggered back, a deep gash scored across its torso, bits of severed bone gleaming among the mass of blood and viscera.

Colonel watched dispassionately as it struggled back upright, refusing to fall, and lurching at him again. It was intercepted with a horrendous crunch as the side of its face was caved in, the stone fist of Granite earning itself a bath in dark red as the thing toppled to the sands, going still and returning to true death once more.

The man of stone just stared at his still-outstretched fist, blinking slowly. His expression was...difficult to read.

"Focus," Colonel said sharply. "If you dwell on it, it'll only get worse. Just move. Act, don't think: solve the problem, worry about it afterward." And he was off, energy saber at the ready.

649 words, according to the site.
649/2400 this round

[Deadpool]

The mercenary turned around and shot his sights over to growing number of zombies rising up from their brief graves. They groaned while pulling their bodies from the sand. It was a haunting sound—pain mixed with an uneasy hunger that could never be satisfied—, and it grew louder as more walkers emerged from the plane wreckage.

“Holy shit!” a man next to Deadpool yelled. “We're surrounded!”

He was a Syntech employee, but not a soldier. His attire consisted of a basic navy-blue button shirt and slacks, black boots, and a flap-top cap with the Syntech name stitched into the front. A label above a chest pocket revealed his first initial and last name:  J. Saunders.

”Don't lose your mustache there, Saunders.” Deadpool said. He cupped the man's shoulder in his hand, and gestured towards the zombie he had snapped the neck of. ”We can cut open this guy, then wipe his insides all over our bodies.”

One of Saunders' quivering brows furrowed, his adrenaline interrupted by disgust and confusion. He went to speak, but no words came. His mind was stuck as the realization hit him: he survived a plane crash just to die in a gruesome way. James was just an ordinary guy. He made mediocre money working for a major corporation, led by a narcissistic asshole (he once asked for a raise, only for Karl to answer with sexually harassing him—“Last guy I saw rocking a mustache so confidently was John Holmes; he had a big cock . . . do you?”).

”Just listen to me!” Deadpool pulled his hand from Saunders' shoulder and swiftly backhanded him back into reality.

James shook his head a few times. His life sucked, but he still valued it, and would do anything to stay alive. He regained his composure.

“What we gotta do?”

Deadpool's plan was solid. He once saw an episode of The Walking Dead, where the group of rubbed zombie guts all over themselves, and it allowed them to escape; if it's on TV it must be true. The only issue was that the process would take time. Saunders and Deadpool—along with the other cast of characters—did not have the fortune of shelter to buy them time. Instead, they were on a rain-pelted island with a crash behind them, a forest to the east, an ocean to the west, and walkers blossoming from the sand ahead.

”I need you to buy time,” the Deadpool said.

“How?” Saunders asked. “All I got is a pistol. The clip's got 9 bullets, eleven at the most.”

The mercenary cupped his hand back over Saunders' shoulder, smiling. ”Like this.”

Deadpool shoved the Syntech employee forward. The man tried to keep himself upright, flailing his arms around in an attempt to maintain balance, but stumbled into a splash of sand.

”Thanks, buddy! I will remember you fondly!” Deadpool said, waving a last goodbye.

He turned his attention back to the undead man he had put down earlier. Time to gut. The mercenary unsheathed on of his katanas and grasped it with both hands, slamming the tip of it into the man's head. The only way to kill a zombie was kill its brain; through decades of zombie allure that was the one constant. Deadpool retracted his blade, quickly slashing it across the undead's stomach.

He glanced at Saunders. ”How ya holding up?” he asked.

Saunders replied with a gurgling sound, accompanied by muddled weeping. The undead scrapped over him as if he were a football at the bottom of a pileup. Teeth dug into every part of his arms and legs, ripping chunks of meat from his bones. The walkers that focused on his core had already opened his abdomen and began feasting on his insides. Saunders still drew breath as they stretched his intestines like a rubber-band.

”I guess I should hurry up then.”

The mercenary hunkered over his walker, shooting his hand into its guts. They were as cold as leftover spaghetti. He stirred around some before coming out with a handful of insides, which he began to smear on his clothes.

”Just a little bit longer, Saunders!”

Most of the walkers finished their fill of Syntech employee Saunders, but were not satisfied. They shot their lifeless glares towards Deadpool; some snarled, others merely groaned, but none of them seemed repelled by the new decorations on his outfit. As they uncrowded from around Saunders, all that remained of the him was a fresh carcass.

The mercenary kept faith; perhaps mimicking their mannerisms would help. He slouched his posture, and let his arms hang.

”Uggggghhhh—Urgggggghhhh—Arggghhhhh”

807 words, according to site (not including what's in this quote).
807/2400

[Amber Veritz]

Amber readied her rifle and yelled out, “The dead should stay in the ground! That is where you belong!” She was attempting to attract the zombies to her so other wouldn’t be a target. She unloaded a clip into a few but still three charged her. “You get my back Carmelita, I’m going to try and conserve my ammo.” 

“You got it, I won’t let anyone flank you.” She replied. Amber nodded and readied for close range combat. One of the three that was coming for her had suffered a shot in the shoulder, rendering the use of it’s right arm ineffective. As it got close to the cat girl, it lost it’s good arm to her steel and was sent flying back by her foot. As she was dealing with her immediate threat though, the other zombies had shuffled around her to take a bite out of her, before one of them was jolted by electricity. Though it hardly hurt the mindless creature, it slowed it down enough to deal with them one at a time. Amber took advantage of this, cleaving the still fully mobile zombie into two pieces with an upward slash. The dealing with one that had been electrocuted by slicing at it’s neck. It’s head rolled and body fell into the sand. “Heh,” Amber chuckled, “we make a pretty good te-”

Amber was cut off by Carmelita’s scream, “Amber, watch out behind you!” The zombie that had no useable arms had gotten back up and came back at Amber, who was the only visible target. It tackled her to the ground, catching the poor girl off guard. Luckily enough though, Amber was able to get her arm up before it bit down hard and sunk it’s teeth into her flesh. A yelp of pain arose before Carmelita kicked the brainless carcass off of Amber who quickly put it out of it’s misery. She was quick to act, the thing had met tasted her blood. Tearing her sleeve off, she handed it to Carmelita, who had uncloaked by now. “Quick! Wrap this over my arm and cut off my arms circulation! If that thing had a disease, it most likely just intered my body! I’ll turn into one of them! Hurry!” Amber started panicking, she knew full well that she would just be reborn, but that didn’t stop the fear from entering her mind. She was going to become a mindless flesh eater, and that is definitely not how she wanted to go.

[Carmelita]

Carmelita raised her eyebrow and pulled the girl away from the combat, keeping an eye out for more of the shuffling corpses.

"Amber, calm down. We can sterilize wounds with salt water."

The faunus spun round and shook the inspector by the shoulders.

"They're zombies, the infection spreads!"

Carmelita fought the urge to roll her eyes as she bound the faunus's arm and rinsed the wounds with sea water. Nearby, a lady with a golden blade was striding along the surf, cutting down any zombies that came into her reach while wincing when she was between combat.

"I don't know where you got the idea these things are biological in nature. So far, the reanimation makes me inclined to believe they're voodoo and MADRE DE DIOS!"

The two of them stared in horror at the torn apart body of the secondary that had previously sheltered with the red and black costumed man, and at said man cheerfully parading around with the remains of a zombie arrayed across his shoulders and interspersing his wild swings of his blades with very bad zombie impressions.
Fox looked at faunus and both of them burst into action.

Taking up their weapons, the two began storming up the beach towards the remaining secondaries, determined to prevent any other non-voluntary sacrifices. The majority of those resting had been sitting amongst the shallow graves when the problems had started, and now were in the middle of a violent melee that most of them were struggling to survive. One or two had been fortunate enough to break from it but the rest were back to back, desperately fending off scrabbling arms and wandering teeth with branches and rocks.

Amber took the lead, cutting a path directly through the backs of distracted zombies. Those that turned to take advantage of Amber's open back were jerked backwards by steady shots from Carmelita's shock pistol, holding the path open long enough for the two to pass unhindered.

They reached the four survivors and kept going, Carmelita ushering them into the narrow gap formed by Amber's nimble bladework. The impromptu convoy returned back down the beach, breaking through the outer edge of the grave mob and finding themselves by the waterline again. The mob, distracted by multiple groups of people, quickly began falling into disarray, spreading out into individual clumps heading for different points across the beach now that their targets had spread out.

"Can we keep holding the shoreline?" Carmelita asked, taking in the cut, bruised and wounded state of those they had rescued. Amber and the female knight responded by simply raising the swords and readying themselves, and the secondaries with the state of mind to do so did the same with their makeshift clubs.

The inspector raised an eyebrow.

"I'll take that as a yes."

The conversation was cut off by the next wave arriving.

[Guilmon]

Once Guilmon had filled up his small bag, he joined the rest of the Survivors. One of them, the guy with red hair that was helping the fox lady earlier, said that he was going to go gather some wood for a camp. Guilmon had wanted to help, but the red-head and a girl with wings took off to the forest before he could say anything. He thought about following them, but figured that he would probably get in the way. Guilmon looked at the other Survivors. A lot of them looked strong; it was a wonder that Guilmon was even invited to this thing with this many people here.

*drip*

"Huh?" Guilmon looked up. It seemed that the sky had begun to cloud over again and was now hidden by dark grey clouds. Guilmon had no problem with rain - he was just as likely to play in it as take shelter from it - but was not sure if any of the others probably felt the same way about getting wet. Despite the start of a drizzle, Guilmon heard some grunting and groaning come from near the water. At first, Guilmon thought someone was taking a dump, but with everyone within a few feet of him, that was obviously not the right answer.

Following the source of the sound with his eyes, he saw several other people coming from the area they had buried the dead from the the crash. He waves and calls out to them. "Hiii~ We're over here!" However, he was drowned out by a high-pitched shriek. Guilmon turned his head to the man clad in a red and black outfit with swords on his back. His hands were up at his face in what Guilmon thought was a funny expression.

Before Guilmon could mention how funny the man looked, the fox lady responded to his shriek. "What is it?"

The masked man's reaction seemed to do a complete 180. "Foxy Love!"  He snickered as he waved at her.  "We got some friends."

"Guilmon has more friends? Yay!" Right about then, one of the people left in the plane jumped out at the costumed man. "Yay! Piggy back rides?" However, when the rest of the group started to attack the new "friends," Guilmon grew confused. Why would his friends attack their new friends? It did not make sense.

When the new "friends" attacked the Secondary that the masked man had pushed down, it all made sense. The people that had come from the ocean were not friends at all! His real friends had seen through that. They must be smart!

Despite the red-and-black man's antics, the zombies seemed to limp over to him. "Anyone up for a song?"

"The hell are you on about?"

"♫Do you ever feel like a Losermon
Drifting through the world, without a Tamer kid?
Do you ever feel, feel so delicious
Like an apple pie, one bite from caving in?♫"

"Hey, that's about me!" "Shut up and fight!"

"♫'Cause, baby, you're a Digimon
Come on, show 'em why they're wrong
Make 'em go, 'Aah, aah, aah'
As they walk across the sa-a-and♫"

♫Baby, you're a Guilmon
Come on, shoot a Fireball
Make 'em go, 'Aah, aah, aah'
You're gonna leave 'em all in flames, flames, flames♫"

Guilmon liked the funny man's song. And it made him remember that he could fight, too. "Guilmon thinks you're funny." He takes a breath to prepare his Fireball and aims it at the group of undead shambling towards the singing wall-breaker. "«Fireball»!" While the move wasn't as effective as it could have been because of the drizzle, it still succeeded in setting a couple of the corpses on fire. Guilmon dashes to the funnyman's side and starts to attack the group with his claws.

One of the zombies managed to get close to Guilmon's tail. It reached out to grab and bite, but a quick *thwip* left the zombie without its hand. "Ha! Need a hand? Oh, sorry. Lemme get that for you!" With a maniacal laughter, Deadpool sliced into the walker's brain. "Heads up! Or off? Down?"

"Thank you, Funnymon!"

Did I go a little overboard on using Deadpool?

687/2400 according to wordcounter.net

[Zack Fair]

Zombies. Why did it have to be zombies?

Somehow, throughout the ex-trooper's entire existence in the Omniverse, Abner always managed to wake the dead. Searching for Omni? Better fight these zombies first. End up in Tier Seven? Bash some more zombies. Get lost in the Pale Moors? Well, he’d actually fought dragons that time, but that had been just the beginning of a really strange month all around.

Somehow, seeing these zombies triggered some instincts from his earlier days, and Abner charged at the horde like a deranged linebacker. He just as quickly dropped down and slid behind a stray piece of mutilated metal from the wreckage. He didn’t exactly need immediate cover from a crowd of stumbling corpses, because this obviously wasn’t a firefight, but there was no sense in questioning a good habit. Abner’s blaster rifle still hung across his chest on a sling, so he was able to quickly grab the weapon and maneuver it up into his shoulder pocket. With the weapon steadied, he aimed down the sights at the first of many zombies.

There was no time to count ammo, but between the spare magazines and shells he had stuffed into his bulletproof vest, he knew he could get through a few skirmishes. The problem was, now he knew that he wouldn’t be able to summon more to his side when his current, reasonable stock dwindled away. Fortunately, this was less of a problem with his E-11 Blaster Rifle and its automatic recharge energy packs. This removed any worries he had about conservation, for the time being, so he went to picking off as many of the reanimated corpses as he could, pacing the shots so he wouldn’t overheat the rifle.

From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the trenches they were crawling out of. The sand had been parted and the zombies were gathered closely together as they rose from their graves. With a spark of inspiration he had an idea that might work, but he sure as hell didn’t like it. Not that he was experiencing any sort of moral dilemma, but he simply would have to expend a precious resource. Son of a bitch.

Abner moved from his unnecessary cover, and ran forward in another full sprint. The one-time stormtrooper leaped forwards, slamming his right leg into the nearest snarling zombie with a fierce jump kick. The undead creature flailed as it was knocked backwards and collided with several others, sending them all back into the pit. Abner, for his part, landed with only slightly more grace than his target. Immediately reminded that his joints weren’t as good as they once were, the man stumbled forward to prevent himself from faceplanting, not aided in the least by all this damn heavy equipment he'd insisted on bringing along. His volley of curse words ran concurrent with the moans of the undead nearby, and in his mind they were all communicating similar thoughts, just in their own way.

Abner finally regained his balance and stopped himself, and then snatched his shotgun from his back. He racked the slide to pump a shell into the barrel, and immediately fired it at a nearby zombie that hadn’t ended up back in the hole. Abner grimaced as he drew one of the freshly looted flasks from his pockets. He hated this so much. Being a Prime was supposed to mean he didn’t have to do this MacGyver shit anymore. He held the flask up high, downing just a little bit of whiskey and appreciating its burn on his throat.
 
“Motherfucker,” Abner grumbled to himself as he took one last look around.

Abner grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt, under his vest, and gave a firm tug. The fabric tore with a loud rip as he peeled just a thin strip off the lower portion. It took all of his willpower to shove the piece of cloth into the open container of alcohol, and then take a match and light the end on fire. Abner shook his head in some cross of disbelief and annoyance, and then threw his Molotov cocktail down at the pile of zombies. It collided with one’s head, but did not immediately break or ignite.
 
“Oh, goddammit,” Abner continued his streak of communicating in exclusively foul language. Just the same, he pumped another shell into his shotgun’s chamber and fired down at the flask and the zombies it sat on.

The resulting burst of fire surprised the hell out of him, and he stumbled away from the scene of immolation thankful to still have eyebrows. The fire drew some attention, so Abner slung the shotgun back over his shoulder and drew the blaster rifle again, and proceeded to shoot his way back to the group. Hopefully that had helped thin the herd a bit. To be honest, the way things were going he wouldn’t be too torn up if he’d just set the whole damn island on fire, either.

[Makoto Yuki]

My hands plunged into the depths of my pockets, as my back arched back by a few degrees. The motions came as if of their own volition, with me barely registering the change in posture, after all, who'd take note of something as natural to them as their own breathing, or the beating of their heart?

Taking one careful step after the other, I strode after the rose colored bundle of disgruntlement, an improvement over her previous rage. Any notion of approaching her and striking up a conversation was struck down, deemed to be too much trouble for too little gain. By the time I'd made it to the same group of very colorful people that was her destination, she'd already set off towards the nearby forest with some red-haired sucker to do something or another. I'm pretty sure the poor boy was actually dragged off against his will, but that didn't concern me now with both of them gone.

The ones left behind were an android of some sort, a small red dinosaur(?), and a living gargoyle. Off in the distance a female knight, furry lady, and cat eared teenager could be seen nearer to the water. The tall android regarded me with a steely gaze, the man looked both reasonable and dependable, it was clear to me that he was the de facto leader of this unlucky bunch.

Before any words could be exchanged between the two of us, a high pitched scream captured everyone's attention and directed it to someone I was only just now noticing, a muscular man clad in black and red spandex clinging tightly to his body. His hands plastered to his cheeks as he continued to dramatically wail.

His ridiculous performance was interrupted by a half charred Syntech employee missing half their skin tackling him to the ground, prompting everyone to explode into motion, even the dead and buried. 

Growling bartenders, waiters, and flight attendants clawed at each other as they slowly rose up out of the sands that must've served as their grave, a final cosmic middle finger to those who were deemed to be too boring and insignificant. I felt sorry for them, although I'm sure I'd have found it in my heart to be more sympathetic if they weren't currently trying to murder us all and feast on our flesh.

Gunfire and grunts of pained effort filled the air as the overcast sky decided this moment to be sufficiently dramatic and a light rain fell from the heavens. Delaying the obvious course of action would be extremely foolish of me, even more so than usual. If I wanted to survive this mess, I'd have to fight the empty husks of the innocents unlucky enough to have died first. Or were they actually the lucky ones? They didn't have to deal with the zombie army, for one thing.

Ugh, even my inane rambling was not enough to distract me from the painful haze that'd settled over my head, a light concussion most likely. This was just not my day, it'd started so well  though. Damn shame.

I roughly swept my sodden fringe from my eye, adopted a low stance, and held my hands out in front of me in a loose grip hoping against all hope for this to work. The blade formed in my awaiting hands, gradually turning from an image in my mind's eye to a tangible reality as it reliably had so many times before. The sturdy sword was almost as long as I was tall, boosting nothing other than size and durable craftsmanship.

It was more than enough for the job, as the first undead to rush me found out, the blade whistling beautifully in the air as it swept down, slashing clean through the pale neck of the freshly deceased, separating head from shoulders. The cool blood didn't spray from neither body nor head, it trickled instead, more gelatinous waste than life giving blood. My eyes locked onto the detached head's one last time, burning the dull expression of vague hunger and wanton aggression, the sunken eyes and the blue lips, into the inside of my eyelids.

That was incredibly easy. Having only sank my blade in monster-kind before, it disturbed me how easily human flesh tore apart with a sharp enough edge. I immediately clamped down on my sudden nausea. It wouldn't end up a pretty sight, barfing in front of the enemy, and for more than one reason.

The next zombie to rush me with flailing arms and pained moaning was met by an overhead smash and a skull full of metal. The range on this thing was amazing.

"Argh!" A lucky zombie sneaked up behind me with the pattering of the rain covering his footsteps, and rammed full strength into my back, clawing me in the process. Halfway down I turned my fall into a roll and put some distance between me and the former employee, but the pain had forced me to drop my weapon where I stood. It clattered to the ground by the zombie's feet, no way I could dive and retrieve it without being ripped to shreds.

An alternative popped to mind, yes, that should work. Not like I had much choice in the matter, it's do or be eaten alive.

I thrust my arm skywards, making a fist and willing my muddled brain to mold its energy to my needs, and to do it quickly. The formerly deceased didn't care for the final theatrics of its prey and darted at the defenseless human. A  loud crackle, followed by a bright yellow spark were all the warning afforded to the abomination before its easy meal ducked under its vicious swipe, and rose up with a lightning bolt in its hand, aiming straight for the jawbone.

Sand stuck to my jacket and hair as the powerful discharge knocked me off my feet, while sending the barbecued zombie a foot in the air. It landed with a sickening splat, and a noxious smell I realized with disgust to be burning human flesh took over. The struck head had a vertical tunnel through it, from the jaw upwards, and it was oozing a steaming liquid, probably grey matter.

Right, I don't know how much my stomach more of this abuse my stomach can take. I hastily grabbed my fallen sword and got the fuck away from all that noise. Maybe helping the other living survivors will be distracting enough.

[Karl Jak]

End of Round 2