damned_institute | Nightshift 42: Monkey Wrench Auto Repairs

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Nightshift 42: Monkey Wrench Auto Repairs

[From here.]

It was only a few quick strides to the auto repair shop, but Otacon had seen enough movies to know that was plenty of time for a zombie to bite him. He needed a weapon. Something long or heavy or anything. He dashed across the small lot and into the garage, which held slightly less undead townspeople than the street... but not by much. Hadn't this been a sleepy small town just an hour ago? Where the hell had they all come from? What had happened to his life that he wasn't even really questioning the existence of zombies?

Otacon snatched a couple of wrenches off a tool cart and swung a glancing blow off the closest zombie. Adrenaline propelled him on even as his breath shortened and his limbs ached; he shoved the cart into the approaching zombies and ran for a nearby sedan — locked. "Come on," Otacon muttered, and rammed his wrench into the driver's side window, smashing it. But the creatures were catching up, and he was forced to run again, lest they grab him while he was trying to get through the window.

He threw one of his wrenches at them out of desperation, and landed a lucky shot as the wrench brained one and it went down, tripping others. Otacon rounded another cart and threw a random handful of tools. That... was somewhat less effective. He couldn't keep doing this. Another three steps placed him beside a pickup truck, and Otacon spun away from the zombies, only face another much closer one. It moaned inhumanly; he brought his last wrench down on its head with both hands, and gagged when the rotted skull practically exploded on him. His hand found the truck unlocked, and Otacon darted in without hesitation, slamming the door behind him.

Part of him wanted to just curl up now, maybe vomit first. But somewhere out there in that hell was Fox, and Snake, and while the two of them were battlefield veterans, even a legendary soldier couldn't take on an undead army alone. Forcing himself to ignore the moans and thuds outside of his vehicle, Otacon pried off the access cover and got to work. Most models predating ID-locking and computer automation operated under the same principles, and this truck didn't look nearly that recent. And, hopefully, would have some gas.

It did. The engine ignited, and Otacon straightened up to look at what he was dealing with. "Standard transmission?" He hadn't driven stick in years, but the zombies beginning to clamber onto the hood were enough to convince him that he'd do fine. The engine revved reassuringly as he hit the pedal, and then he was off, plowing straight out of the garage and turning onto Weigal Street.

[To here.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[from here]

The repair bay was the quietest place Taura had seen. The things -- the zombies seemed to follow humans, and this place had been deserted. A tangled wreck of zombie and toolkit lay tangled on the floor, and a few more crumpled bodies showed tire tracks, but the building appeared quiet.

Appearances could be deceiving. Deprived of the sight and sound of fresh meat, the resident population was biding its time, paused mid-step in pacing the small office area, some small remaining human instincts telling them to wait there and people would come to them.

Ken fell into determined silence, Aya's silent stare had said enough. Tomorrow was not going to be pleasant either.

At least if they both lived to see tomorrow.

Ken glanced around the quiet (for now) shop, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. The branch he'd grabbed was working well enough for the moment, but it wouldn't last. On the workbench, in the scattered mess, were a couple of wrenches of some kind or other--dissimilar in look enough that they had to have different functions, but both were long and solid.

Like hell Ken knew what they were called, but a two foot long metal bar was probably a better weapon than what any of them had. Ken grabbed them and tossed one to Aya, and offered the other to Taura first, wordlessly.

[ooc: a breaker bar and a torque wrench :3b]

If? There was no if. He, Ken and Taura would survive this insanity. Pausing to wonder if gave the possibility for failure to slip in and that was something Aya wouldn't accept.

As soon as they got into the shop Aya slammed the door shut. It actually took two tries. Once to get the rotted hand trying to stick through out of the doorway, the second to actually shut the door. His chair came in handy once again as it got shoved under the doorknob for at least the beginning of a barricade.

"It won't last. We need something heavier." He glanced around the bay they were in, taking note that it seemed someone had passed through before they'd gotten in. Taken the car too. There went the idea of trying to hotwire one and get out of the town. Aya turned back to the other two just in time to catch the bar Ken threw at him. He didn't stop, testing its weight even as he went over to the front of the garage where a large rolling cart was stationed. He pushed at it, noticed the locks on the wheels and started to work at getting them undone.

It was quieter in here, despite the moans and the heavy thuds coming from outside. Quiet enough that as he fiddled by the door he could hear something thudding, several somethings thudding towards the door behind him. "Shit-"

He whirled, just in time to see the door burst open and another horde of zombies struggle to get through. Like cockroaches, honestly.

At least it he had an outlet for his frustration.

The swordsman dove in, just as reckless with zombies as it was with gunfire apparently. He swung for the first zombie's head with as much force as he could muster behind it. Accurate and deadly, even with a new weapon. The wall and floor to Aya's right quickly found itself splattered with rotting flesh, clumps of hair and a general assortment of things he was not going to take the time to categorize. Unfortunately he wasn't ready for the weight of the pipe and his balance was lost. Long enough for another to rush him, grabbing hold around his neck and sinking teeth into the first thing it could get to- which just happened to be Aya's left arm thrown up to try and fend the thing off. A strangled cry left throat as those teeth broke his sink and dug in for a taste.

Not as planned.

Edited 2009-07-27 03:32 (UTC)

Taura took the metal bar -- some sort of all-mechanical wrench. The original purpose didn't matter; she wasn't going to be building a plasma arc from scratch in a primitive auto repair bay. What mattered was the nice rubberized grip and the even balance of the metal in her hand.

She gave it a few experimental swings as she padded around the back of the shop, checking the walls. The mortar between the concrete bricks was cracking and flaking in places, and the paint had aged a century in a few minutes, but the walls were still firm and a good handsbreadth -- her real handsbreath -- thick.

She turned back as wood crunched; the expected weak point had given more quickly than she'd expected, but the second, human, line of defense was holding strong. She was still jogging back when Aya cried out. Within seconds, her wrench was buried in the zombie's eye socket. As the last embers of humanity flickered out of the remaining eye, Taura shoved the wrench upwards, using it as a handle to pull the slackening mouth off Aya's arm.

Then she yanked it out and stabbed it through the other eye, just to make sure it wasn't getting back up. Then she crouched by the cart, trying to complete what Aya had started before they were overrun completely.

Taura had reacted quicker than Ken could, trapped in a fight with yet another zombie, trying to take a chunk out of him. Jesus Christ, hadn't enough things tried chewing on him lately?

The wooden branch cracked against another zombie's skull, dazing the thing long enough for Ken to lash out, kicking it hard enough to collapse the skull. Lukewarm, putrid crap that Ken didn't even want to begin to think about leaked out of the cracked skull, but the thing was still groaning and clawing at his leg, even from a position sprawled on the floor.

The shout from his teammate chilled Ken to the bone. He'd been bitten, fuck. Even if this place didn't decide to fuck with them more by having whatever animated these corpses transmittable, that wound would be absolutely disgusting and it had to be painful. Ken's shoulder twinged in sympathy.

Or maybe that was from exertion. He really couldn't tell at this point. Whatever it was, Ken locked the worry, the fear away--and brought a booted foot down onto the zombie's skull with all the force he could. The thing collapsed under his heel in a stinking mess.

Christ, this was probably the worst night he'd had yet.

The fact that the thing didn't let go immediately after Taura buried that wrench in it's eye was mildly disturbing and past the pain flaring up in his arm Aya felt his stomach give a lurch. He yanked his arm only once before self-control set in and he willed that instinct to stop. The last thing he needed to do was aggravate the wound and get more of whatever was in that thing's month into his system.

Ken was taking care of the other zombies with were shambling in while Taura wrenched the monster's mouth off of his arm and dealt another killing blow- just to make sure. He could sympathize with that and it was only a pity he hadn't been able to shove his own weapon into it's head. The only glimmer of luck Aya could scrape up in his mind was that his left arm had been bitten instead of his right- which was still gripping his bar.

The first thing they needed to do was get that door closed. He saw Taura get the last lock undone and shoved towards her, ignoring the pain screaming through his arm at moving it to grab the cart and yank it away from the wall. He slipped behind it and pushed, aiming for the door. He would just have to trust that Taura would angle it to hit so that the thing closed shut before the next wave got in the way.

Of course, that didn't do anything to stop the handful of zombies still moving in their room, but it was more important to stop the flow right now.

The small office of the repair shop was really little more than a single room crammed full of everything needed to process what little paper work there was. As such, it was easy to overlook the room and its contents; none of which would have really made a decent weapon for a desperate patient. And considering the mayhem outside, it was also easy to overlook the soft sounds of the door swinging open or the faint metallic noise of a sizeable piece of scrap metal being dragged along the concrete floor.

But the animalistic roar that ripped through the air as the thing that had previously been Joe charged at the group was certain to draw attention. In death as in life, Joe only had one arm, having lost the other to an explosion many years ago. But it would have been a fatal error to assume that made him any less dangerous, as the metal bar swinging in a lethal arc showed.

The cart lurched towards the door, with Taura half guiding, half being towed by the momentum. One lone zombie -- whether straggler from the first wave or haphazard advance scout, she wasn't sure -- had gotten one foot through the remains of the door. The cart crunched to a halt, impaling the zombie in several places. It twitched and snapped, the deterrent only temporary. Before it could slide free, she grabbed the cart with both hands and half-slid, half picked it up and rammed it sideways. Then she pushed the other end forward, lodging the cart squarely in the doorframe. The zombie was still hissing and clawing, but neither it nor the cart were going anywhere without either intelligent assistance or overwhelming force.

It had bought them a little time. Time in which they could work on better weapons, and see what had happened to Aya's arm. It hadn't looked life-threatening, but they also didn't have even a first aid kit.

She turned just in time to see that locking the zombies out had also locked them in. It had been a calculated risk, one she might not have taken on her own, but what was done was done. The newcomer only had one arm, but it moved with the balance of the long-time amputee -- whatever had happened, it wasn't recent. Its eyes held a glint of intelligence, and it was carrying and aiming a weapon of its own. She didn't have time to block the lunge -- she was closer to the door than the other two, and farther away from the creature.

"Behind you!" she shouted to Ken and Aya as she dove to her left, hugging the wrench to her chest. Metal shrieked against metal as she tucked and rolled, but she could only hope they'd dodged in time. She came up out of the roll crouched on the balls of her feet, facing the point where the zombie's swing should have carried it.

Edited 2009-08-04 16:04 (UTC)

Ken whirled at the roar, facing the once-human thing behind them--his eyes widened in surprise, and then he was moving--removing himself from the arc of the thing's weapon, shifting his weight to place himself in a better position to protect his injured teammate and trying to size up the monster as well as he could in the dark. Whatever it was, Ken didn't think his makeshift weapon would be much good against it. He had a fucking stick. It had worked well enough against the shambling masses whose brains were too rotted to consider picking up a weapon, but...

Of course they weren't so lucky that they didn't have to deal with a somewhat intelligent zombie. Fuck.

[ooc: augh sorry guys I didn't know it was my turn. D:]

He's just straightening up from the last shove he and Taura had given the cart to seal up door when that shriek echoes through the shop. Aya can only swear inwardly, turning immediately and backpedaling since it was from behind him of all things- how did he not notice that door. The zombie's weapon whistled past his face, close enough for Aya to catch the rip of air in its wake but he was lucky enough not to get caught.

Injured like this he wasn't the best choice for meeting their newest foe head on. That thing had bitten him deeply enough that he could feel blood soaking into the sleeve of his shirt. He saw Ken move into a position, his stance ready to launch into action but a stick wasn't going to cut it here.

"Ken!" Five years apart or no they still moved together like teammates. Aya darted forward, shoving his sturdier weapon towards the other member of Weiss. He'd take the stick and deal with the few lesser zombies that could be easily finished off with it and do what he could to assist the others afterward.

Not only did the monstrous zombie have a disturbingly intelligent spark to his eyes, but it readily became apparent that he was faster than the others as well. No sooner had Aya tossed his weapon and Joe was moving again, charging for the wounded man and his protector, mouth open wide in a bestial roar that revealed a mouthful of teeth much larger and sharper than the other zombies possessed.

The metal bar shot towards Ken, straight out in a jab aimed at his gut rather than an arc this time, though the blow was just as powerful.

The big zombie was fast, but so was Taura. She saw what Aya meant to do -- holding the line and delegating the big guy to herself and Ken. It made sense -- the bite was on his arm, not his leg, and he could still outmaneuver the rest. She'd have to trust his abilities.

But given that, she'd made a tactical mistake. Running only counts if you have somewhere to run. They'd cut off their own escape route, and she'd still moved to evade. The only way out was through. Adrenalin and endorphins were her allies; this body was not her own but it reacted; the fit close, a borrowed gun that reminded you with every brush of the holster that it was there. But it would shoot as well as any other.

She was still too far away to close with it, and her reach was limited to her own arms and a small metal bar. The danger only grew with distance; they had to get in, strike fast, and get out. But first, they had to regroup, and regrouping only worked if there was more than one person off the casualty list. She was close enough, barely, to triangulate vectors and lunge towards Ken. To put herself, and her larger, stronger frame into harm's way.

She slammed into Ken, knocking him sideways but not off his feet (she hoped -- hope had no business on a battlefield but she was running out of options and it had worked before), just as the bar connected. It hit her in the right hip, and she grunted loudly with the pain. She staggered, unable to put much weight on the leg. The wrench fell to the ground with a clatter; a hatch banging closed as she threw away one option to wrap both hands around the bar. It had the advantage, as tactics go, of taking a little more weight off her feet, but she wasn't going to show that weakness unless it became impossible to conceal.

Edited 2009-08-07 13:47 (UTC)

Ken grabbed the makeshift weapon Aya turned over to him, and was preparing himself to meet the zombie's attack when he was slammed into by Taura and knocked away, nearly off his feet.

He wanted to curse. He didn't have the time, or the breath to waste. He turned, using all his strength to swing out, aiming for the place where neck and head joined.

Aya turned as soon as he'd swiped up Ken's stick. He heard the scuffle begin behind him but didn't turn back, too busy swinging the thick branch at the zombies lurching close to beat them back. They seemed drawn to him, which was a good thing or a very bad thing and he had an idea that it was part of the fresh spill of blood trailing down his arm.

He drew them away, moving towards the other end of the garage because the last thing they'd needed was for unwanted collision. A few, good hard hits sent the first of the three down but took a hard toll on his injured arm. Aya was also positive he started to hear the branch crack. Apparently there were only so many zombies it would smash. He needed something else...

Something that wasn't both of the remaining zombies lunging at him at once. Or getting bitten again, because the branch gave away with the last hard swing Aya lashed out with. Enough to take down the second, but not the third. Thankfully it wasn't as deep. Aya was able to rip his arm out and kick the other zombie back, hissing low in his throat.

The blow missed its intended target, and now Joe was having to content with Taura's weight slowing down his movements as well, leaving him open for Ken's attack to strike true. Unfortunately the attack only seemed to anger the zombie further, and he roared again, hoisting Taura further off the ground before suddenly dropping both the bar and her weight in order to lunge at her. While he only possessed one arm, it would still be enough to catch her in a crushing grip unless she managed to get out of the way in time.

When the bar swung up, Taura went with it. What were, in truth, just a few seconds of weightlessness were an eternity of inaction -- a vastness devoid of stars. She took a single, pain-shallowed gasp and tightened her grip

The litany of strangeness had a new entry; she could grit her teeth without threat of catching her lip with her fangs. She ground them together in anticipation of her feet slamming back onto the ground.

When they did, she lowered her head, hunching and growling, a bulldog facing a mountain lion who would never admit the possibility of defeat. She didn't try to avoid the grip; instead, she pushed forward, trying to drive the top of her skull into the bridge of the zombie's nose. Her hands were still clutching the bar, but she didn't swing; not yet. She bided her time until she could get room to put real momentum behind it.

Oh for the love of God. Well that hadn't worked very well. Ken's grip tightened on the metal rod, knuckles turning white, but Taura was too close and he didn't want to accidentally hit her going after the damn monster.

So immersed in the fight before him, Ken didn't see the not-quite-dispatched zombie crawling along the floor toward him until it sank jagged, rotted teeth into his leg. He shouted in surprise, growled, and swung the bar down--crunching through the thing's skull and ending it for real. He jerked his leg out of the thing's mouth and kicked it away in disgust. Resting his foot back against the ground for a moment, Ken shifted his weight and lashed out again, aiming a powerful kick at the stronger zombie's temple. If he could get it away from Taura...

Ken's stick was broken but it wasn't completely useless and by this point Aya was irritated enough with these zombies and his own injuries that he was ready to be done with this. He shoved the remaining corpse away and struck the branch down on the slate floor to finish what had begun with the jagged crack. It left him with one side, ragged with sharper points to the broken end sticking out. It would do.

He turned just as the zombie staggered towards him again and kicked the thing back, shoving it against a counter and sending the scattered contents of papers, and odd, small tools chiming in a clatter to the floor. Aya racked his good arm back, and then shoved it and his weight forward to heave the broken end of the branch into the zombies skull, aiming for one of the large, milky eyes whirling around in the thing's head. The zombie screeched almost like it felt bark tear through and damage what was left of a brain. He shoved the branch up, forcing it past scrambling arms reaching for it and him at the same time and kept moving it until the thing stopped. Stopped moving. Just stop moving.

Joe's nose shattered under Taura's attack, the rotten bone giving away with a sick crunching sound as a spray of dark blood pulsed out. The damage barely seemed to slow the zombie down though, as Joe's grip tightened around Taura. He had her close enough now that he could try lunging at her, mouth opened wide to reveal dangerously sharp teeth.

The bite didn't connect however, as Ken's leg lashed out and caught Joe full in the side of the head, causing another sickening crack. Joe roared again, his grip on Taura loosening slightly, and snarled at Ken, clearly realising the threat the other patient posed, but not quite willing to give up his current prize.

[so sorry for not getting to this sooner, I can backthread if you like?]

Taura wrenched backwards, not breaking the grip entirely but gaining a little space. One half-pace back with her good leg was enough, and she brought the bar up towards the stump of Joe's quite literally unarmed shoulder. She didn't have enough room for a full swing, but it was the opportunity she had, and she took it.

[ from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/674856.html?thread=56090152#t56090152), some time after the thread above. ]

It was fortunate that the office door's lock was of a model similar to one he'd studied before. The Batman spared no haste in practically slamming the door shut behind the group when they entered. Or perhaps "slamming" wasn't the correct term to describe it. It was more like "shoving the door forcefully closed against the pushing force of a newly-formed group of zombies trying to come in after them."

The office itself was empty. Small, cramped, but "protected" on both sides with doors...the place could easily turn into a trap if they became surrounded by zombies, but thanks to Landel's improbably teleportation "trick" at the end of the night...all they had to do was to make it through this one night.

Papers. Basic supplies. For once, Batman wasn't interested in examining the content of the writings so much as the materials they were printed on. He looked from the desk to the Flash, then to Bart.

"I'm going through to the other side to get some weapons. The two of you will stay here. Keep both doors locked, but if you hear a succession of three knocks, open the door on this side."

He walked up to the door, silent but tense as he listened to the noises on the other side and waited.

Waited.

Then spoke.

"Impulse—clean Flash up."

Then the door opened and he was gone.

The spots hadn't gone away. Standing there, waiting for Batman to open the door, they'd just gotten worse, crowding out Bart's vision. And then the dizziness had come back, and it'd been all he could do to stay on his feet.

He didn't really remember actually entering the building, just a vague sense of following his companions, knowing that he really didn't want to get left behind. He knew he had to stick close to Wally, for...for some reason, but...Why did he feel so awful?

He thought someone might be speaking to him, but Bart couldn't hear anything over the sudden rushing in his ears -- and then his knees couldn't seem to support him anymore...

Wally wasn't happy with being ordered to stay in the little office, like some kind of kid who couldn't be expected to behave, even if he knew it made sense. Still, would it have killed Bats to at least treat them with a bit of respect?

He turned away from the door, wondering what exactly Bats thought Bart was going to 'clean him up' with. All there seemed to be was a mess of receipts, bits of paper, general office supplies, and Bart falling over like his legs had just given out for some reason.

Wally jerked forward and managed to catch a hold of Bart before he hit the ground, but the sudden weight on his injured arm made him yelp and then bite his lip hard. Bart was clearly out of it and it took him a bit to lower him down to the ground, the blood on his arm making things difficult and getting everywhere. That done, Wally carefully checked that Bart was still, as far as he could tell, okay - still breathing, hadn't been bitten or anything as far as he could see - then shoved a couple of books under the kid's feet which was... about all he knew to do for someone who'd fainted.

Wally slid down to the floor close by, letting exhaustion overtake him. He'd just... sit here for a bit and keep an eye on Bart. Yeah, that sounded like a good plan. And then hopefully he could find out why Bart had just gone out like that.

Bart was probably only unconscious for a couple minutes -- not that he had any reliable way to tell. For all he knew, it could have been a couple seconds. One moment he'd been standing up, too sick to even freak out over feeling so sick -- and then he was on the floor.

Standing up seemed like a really bad idea -- why did he feel so awful? -- but at least the spots were gone. He looked around, quickly spotting Wally close by, still covered with blood. The wrongness of it all just made Bart feel worse, but he had no choice but to deal with it, right...?

"What happened?" he asked, honestly confused. Wait...why were there books under his feet?

Wally relaxed slightly, not really realising how tense he'd been waiting for Bart to wake up. "You passed out," he answered, sounding both concerned and tired. "I dunno why."

He scrutinised the kid for a moment, but couldn't see anything beyond the same tired and drained look that was no doubt on his own face as well. "You didn't get bitten or anything, did you?"

"No..." Bart shook his head slightly, setting off another wave of dizziness. After waiting for it to pass, he tried to sit up -- only to groan and curl up as his stomach suddenly made itself known with a flash of pain. It felt like there were knives in his guts! But that was impossible...He hadn't taken any injuries to his torso at all, just his arms!

"What's wrong with me now?" he mumbled, blinking back a sudden wetness in his eyes.

Bart struggled to sit up, but groaned and curled in on himself, clutching at his stomach in pain. Wally pushed himself up to his feet, leaning on a filing cabinet for a moment as a wave of dizziness hit before forcing himself to move over to the kid's side.

"What's wrong? Where does it hurt?" he asked, not quite sure if he should risk touching Bart or not, his hands hovering over the other speedster without making contact. He couldn't think of what could cause something like this; if it was an illness, how had Bart gotten sick? And he didn't have any injuries or anything that could have caused this either. Unless... was it something from what the doctor had done to him the night before?

"Bart? Are you okay? Can you still hear me?"

"Yeah..." Bart mumbled, relaxing slightly as the sharp edge of pain dulled down to a mild ache. He felt shaky, and he'd gone pale again, but this time he was able to finish sitting up. He rested his forehead on one knee.

"My stomach hurts," he said, mystified. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. "And I feel dizzy again." A handful of black spots were hovering at the end of his vision again; Bart shook his head slightly, trying to clear it. Of course it didn't work.

Wally made to help Bart up, but a stab of pain reminded him that that wasn't the best idea with how his arm was at the moment, so instead he sat back down by Bart's side, where he could keep a better eye on him. Provided he didn't end up losing it next or something anyway.

"Your stomach...?" Wally blinked, then it clicked. "Hey Bart, have you been eating enough today?"

...What?

Bart blinked up at Wally, confused. What did his eating have to do with anything? Sure, he knew he had to eat more than normal people, to keep up with his metabolism, but it wasn't like skipping a few meals could hurt him. There'd been that one time he and Max has even gone without sleep for a few days, when they were trying to keep the river from flooding Manchester. A normal person would have collapsed, but the Speed Force had made up the difference and kept them...going...

"Oh, frak," Bart muttered, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head fall back onto his knee. He felt so stupid. He didn't have access to the Speed Force here; how had he let himself forget that? Of course he'd been distracted by everything that was going on, but still...

"I had one of those muffins they gave us for breakfast," he muttered, too embarrassed to actually look at Wally. "I think maybe some yogurt too." He couldn't actually remember what all he'd eaten, for all the difference it made. It was obviously too little, because now he was completely useless...And Wally was injured, possibly depowered...way to go, Bart...

Wally winced as Bart recited what he'd eaten so far today, which would have been far too little even by normal human standards, let alone someone who was running around using superspeed and fighting zombies the whole time. No wonder he'd passed out, they'd mostly been lucky that he hadn't done so sooner.

"Hey, you had a lot on your mind, it's not your fault," he said sympathetically. "Man, what I wouldn't give now for a burger or something." He remembered the first time he'd run into trouble because he hadn't eaten enough before using his speed a lot. It wasn't much fun, even if it had taught him that he couldn't afford to skip meals any more. It had to be pretty hard on Bart, and Wally wished that he had something, even a candy bar to--

Wait a minute. Old habits died hard, and back during lunch when he and Bruce had been chatting and Wally had been loading as much sugar as possible into a cup of coffee around begging the waitress to bring him more little sachets of the stuff, he'd slipped a handful of the packets into the pocket of his jeans. It was a habit that sometimes meant he collapsed from exhaustion at the end of a fight instead of in the middle. Unfortunately he didn't think pure sugar was going to help Bart as much as a solid meal (or twelve) would, but it was better than nothing, right?

Wally slid his hand into his pocket, digging out the paper packets and checking them. One had split open, but the rest where fine, and he offered the seven of them to Bart. "Sorry," he apologised, "but it's all I have. I figure it's better than nothing though, right?"

Despite the efficient haste of his movements, it seemed to Batman as if his time in the interior of the auto shop lengthened with each corpse he had to fight, with each corner that he needed to search. Each second delayed was another gaping, uncertain hole cut into his concentration; the phrase "out of sight, out of mind" did not apply when the people "out of sight" were hurt and possibly getting more hurt every second. Batman would not put a surprise stash of zombies in the office past Landel—or whoever was creating this mess.

Whoever creating this mess.

...the Flash and Impulse were speedsters, with only average physical strength without the force of speed to back their blows. Batman paused for a moment as he surveyed the items he could see in the darkness, the shadows obscuring the tools and yet leaving enough suggestion of their outlines that he could guess their true form. He didn't have much time, and though he suspected the semi-instinctive way he chose the weapons would come to bite him again later, he wasted no time making his decision and going.

For the Flash: a long, slender monkey wrench with a clamp-like crushing mechanism on the other end. For Impulse, a long but not overly cumbersome metal cord with a hook attached to the end, stripped off one of the workbenches. And for himself, a utility belt not dissimilar from one of the models that had inspired him so many years in the past.

Instinctive.

But there was no time for regret.

[ from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/684997.html). ]

The story about how Hijikata got from ~~running like Hell~~ chasing after his dreams into the glowing ~~albeit eerily~~ horizon to trying his best to shove ten or fifteen zombies away from the Auto Repairs Shop door was this:

1. He had been running, and fighting, and somewhere in between running and fighting he'd come across this building, and maybe it was just the increased adrenaline levels in his bloodstream but somehow this building seemed that much more attractive than the building that had come before it, and--

2. He was sick of running.

3. Zombies look a lot less frightening when clamoring around a closed door like the overzealous fan of that new Latin pop idol who can't really sing, but looks really hot with his hair slicked back, and so. Yeah.

4. His dream-filled horizon was probably waiting for hid behind that door.

5. ....okay, point is, he was somehow at the door, okay?!

"Frikkin' moroni--" Hijikata growled between blows as he attempted to just shove his leg through the corpses and kick the door open through them. It was just his misfortune that instead of the "kick, and they all go flying apart into surprisingly neat pieces" zombies so often featured in video games, he was stuck with the "slimy, completely biologically realistic" zombies featured in the slasher films Okita Sougo was no longer allowed to watch. His leg was promptly stuck in the middle of a crawling, biting mass of zombie whose jaws came shockingly close to penetrating Hijikata's flesh. Trying his best not to panic and scream, Hijikata made several awkward (but frantic) one-legged hops backwards in an attempt to pull his leg out.

"SHI--" he started as his stuck leg caused him to pivot suddenly 180-degrees that way, shoving his back hard into the afore-mentioned door. Before a yelp of pain could even escape his mouth, however, the door behind his back suddenly gave way, and--

--and that was the story of how Hijikata Toshirou ended up inside the repair shop, with a still-crawling mass of zombie attached to his leg. On his back, crowd of undead corpses topping him...Hijikata took only a minute to observe the sheer level to which he'd sunk before doing what the only thing a defenseless man lying on his back with corpses on top of him could do.

No, he didn't "scream like a girl."

He grabbed the first object he could touch and started hitting.

....at the end of the struggle, Hijikata was left, still on his back, makeshift weapon in hand, and no fewer than three zombie heads chattering their teeth beside and around him. Hijikata panted, sweat on his brow and the remainders of headless corpses on top of him, fingering the improbably long metal file he'd grabbed, caught between terror and relief.

Terror.

Relief.

Terror?

Relief?

Terror?

..............he fainted.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Nightshift 42: Monkey Wrench Auto Repairs

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wtf repost

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