"I will apologize for calling you an asshole, after you apologize for being an asshole"
                -Lily A. Moch

I've started having real dreams again, which makes me happy - although I'm having a much harder time of remembering them than I used to.


Growing older ftl :|

I would never want to change my devious nature. I love having...not BAD....but "vague" morals, and being a flexible and changeable being that is constantly revising itself. I hope I never stop.

And goddamn this salmon is delicious.

I'd be a solo artist: Mistress Biscuit
First album:             Gravy

trololol XD

Jason Bourne.

XD

 This dream is by no means an excellent story - but it is pretty coherent for a dream - so here goes:

"Moch get back here! They're preparing to launch the rinse soon!"
Her commander's voice came through clear on the comm, even though the surrounding din threatened to deafen her.

"Received! Executing!"
Had to keep it brief, they had one real shot at this, and she wasn't prepared to die yet - she had to get out of here alive. A large group of seething undead spilled in her direction. Hollow eyes fixed on the living meal desperately pushing buttons in front of them. She brought up the transport interface on her helmet screen, throwing two flash grenades to buy her a few moments to remember the code. What was it again? ...

"29.HM...
29.HMM....
29.HMM.TOG.19-2B"

Fssssssssssk

Gingerly removing her riot helmet, she tramped down the the south hallway to HQ, the relative silence of the safe zone putting her on edge after the maddened screech of the outside world. The usually bustling hallways were so still, all the people who had been walking them yesterday were outside, one way or another.

"MOCH get the hell in here!"

"Coming, sir!"
She quickened her pace, half jogging into the commander's office.

"This is the end of the world we're dealing with...you'd think you cadets could show some damn hustle!"
She opened her mouth to reply - but was cut off by Commander Jensen's quiet but clear tones.

"No time for berating, Hank, rinse is scheduled to launch in ten. How are the other cadets managing, Moch?"
She swallowed the lump in her throat threatening to stop her voice box from vibrating.

"Well a lot of them weren't even fully trained as cadets so there have been multiple....casualties. They are faring better than expected, however, and we will be able to follow through with the execution of the plan."

"And what of Captain Zachardelli?"

"Er...He was one of our first casualties, m'am. Turns out he wasn't immune to the air-bourne pathogen."

"I see, right, let's carry on then. Are you ready to go back?"

"Yes, m'am."

"Then go."

"And Moch!"
She paused halfway through turning around and looked at the hawk-eyed commander.

"Seriously, don't fuck this up."

"....Yes, m'am."
She hurried out, Hank's muddle complaints following her hauntingly down the hall to the transport ward. She put on her helmet again, and stepped into the TMDRU platform and brought up the map of the hot areas where he squad was fighting - luring the army of corpses directly into the path of the rinse rocket.

Movement in her peripherals made her twitch, a figure loomed out of an improbable shadow to her left.
Cloaktech...fuck...

"I knew you were too good to go down, Z, don't you think the theatrics are a little much, though?"
Her laughter betraying a little more nervousness than she would've liked.
An awkward silence, followed by the sudden appearance of Captain Julian Zachardelli into the more easily visible spectrum.
A carefree chuckle.

"You act as if we're on the same side, Moch."
Her nostrils flared and she could feel her body chemistry prepping for fight or flight, adrenaline cutting the scene razor sharp. He was holding some wire cutters.

"Really?" Her voice shook, she swallowed. "You're still on about that lover's spat you and the chief had?"
Trying to play the easy going cadet as she un-snapped her emergency MR0 grenade behind her back, and pressed the button on it three times. 20 seconds...
One Mississippi...
Two Mississippi...
Three....
That smile, totally wrong on Julian's face, her trainer and teacher, supposed ally, utterly upside down and wrong.
Seven Mississippi
Eight...

"You don't know the half of it, hope you weren't planning on coming back here, Moch...there won't really be a here to come back to. Rinsed away to nothing."

"Wh-" She stopped herself halfway through as she saw the box in his hand.
Not a box.
Hardware.
Serious Hardware.
Remote detonation hack hardware.
Fourteen Mississippi
Fifteen Mississippi
"Heh, see ya Moch." His teeth flashed with an ironic chuckle. Hand reached out to cut her control of the TMDRU's interface, and back to typing on his hack box.
Seventeen Mississippi
Eighteen Mississippi
The grenade rolled gently out of the transporter, nudging his feet like an affectionate cat. She caught a glimpse of his puzzled expression instantly turn to enraged annoyance. As his thumbs had already pressed both buttons on the TMDRU and hack box.

"Well, fuck you!"

Fssssssssssssssk

Raucous shouts, screams, the aching screech of infrastructure being torn apart, she was back in the fray. But it was all just so much noise as she frantically scrolled through the comm channels.

"Senior Cadet Moch to HQ, do you copy?

 Senior Cadet Moch to HQ, do you copy?



 CADET FUCKING MOCH TO HQ! ARE YOU ALIVE!"

Her voice broke, and she croaked out a single quiet
"Fuck..."
She fell to her knees behind a bench, that was it, they were it, her and her ragged squad of barely trained almost children...There wasn't even static on the other end, there was no line to transmit anything, it was all just so much silicon and plastic.
Heaving a great sigh, she got up and set out to find the others, the old fashioned way.

It wasn't particularly difficult, most of them were pretty much where she had left them, and the sea of rotting people tended to clump around the warm beacons of dinner that had been the junior officer division at Fort Gingsberg Academy. She gathered Chen and Wallace, Dunger and Miller, and could see on their faces that Days and Johnson had fallen in the few minutes she'd been away.

"So what's our situation, Moch? Comms are shot...so I guess that's half an answer already." Chen said bitterly, defiant smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"We're not getting out of here, not unless bloody Zeus reaches down from Olympos and drags us himself." Her voice stale and ragged in her own ears.

"What about the rinse..." Miller's already quiet voice barely audible.
But everyone knew from the silence what the answer was.
Comms did not ever go down, ever, ever, ever. Not since the centralized power converter and transmitter was at HQ. And HQ could survive a direct nuclear strike...from the outside anyway.

"Not time for details, kids, time to figure out how we're staying alive tonight."

Their precarious perch upon the Don Gingsberg monument gave them a decent view of their surroundings, and all that could be seen in the vicinity was wave after wave of zombies. Not a break among them, they'd done their job too well.

She looked up at the power lines a few yards above their heads and back at the lurching horde. Yes, everyone still had their ropes except for Chen, he was small though he could share with Miller. And the big power towers lead straight to Uniheart hospital up on the hill, a much more defensible location, and stocked with supplies.

"Time for some monkey work." she cackled as she unhooked Dunger's safety line and, after a few attempts, made it over a metal rung on the tower.

"Up and over, one at a time, throw your rope back when you're there - our aim is to make it up the hill...conserve your energy because it's going to take a while."

The night was long and laborious. Their desperate grapplings had rubbed their hands raw, and Miller had nearly fallen moments before, her hands slippery with blood, sweat, and midnight dew. If they stopped now, she knew they would be unable to start again. They were so close now, they could just deal with it.
The ropes were looking a little frayed, but would hold till the end. She hooked the line to her belt, pushing down thoughts of the destroyed HQ, the futility and hopelessness of what they were trying to do. Oh well, just have to keep calm and carry on... She repeated it several times in her head. Keep calm and carry on.

She gripped the rope, hand over hand pulling herself along, the roar of hungering zombies below mere white noise to her exhausted brain and body, pain long ago replaced with fumbling numbness. 
She reached out, and there was nothing there...
She suddenly felt the dizzying leap of her stomach and the rush of air in her ears, and heard as some of the zombie screams suddenly manifested as the screams of her comrades. As she plummeted into the sea of dead bodies, her eyes closed with a grim pose of her mouth. Knowing she would soon join the slavering horde.
Hopeless.
Situation.
Almost relieved, at least she had tried, there was nothing to be done now, except fall.

Pain and jostling. The clammy touch of long dead flesh against hers, utterly chilling - she gagged. These last moments were going to be horrible, she wished they'd hurry up. Reaching to her belt, she found the remaining incendiary rounds there, loading them click click click into her firearm, bang bang bang, into some zombies, Shck shck shck, okay NOW she was done. Gripping, consuming darkness, once anything punctured her flesh she was really really done, air-bourne immunity or not.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM

Every head turned, most of them were immediately incinerated.

She was knocked over, sprawling, skidding, bleeding onto the concrete. Some words jerked from her mouth, she thought she was saying "no" over and over again then she was picking herself up, running backing up the now clear hill, quick as she could. Whispering no all the while, she had to keep going, no rest for her yet. Damn it.

She knew they would follow her, she couldn't even see the ground in front of her. Stumbling steps ate up the distance beneath her. Big building ahead, dawn breaking over the hill, sun in her eyes, red crosses and the Shhhhhtttthhhhhck of pneumatic doors opening for her. 
Then collapse, 
she could not go any more,
not a single inch.
Sleep.

She woke up in a room, people warmth, spartan furnishings, smell of sweat and death.
Was that...Matthew Perry? Yes, apparently.
Joints aching she rolled to her stomach, levering herself to her knees, that was as far as she could get, muddy boots marched onto the floor in her line of vision.

"Let's get those hands patched up, Moch."
"Wh-WHAT?! Wallace thank god! You guys made it!"
Stony silence.
"don't....don't tell me...."
"Miller and Chen are still MIA, presumed dead of course, or undead really."
"NO! That explosion last night! It wasn't...."
"It was."
"NO!!!!!!!!!!" She screamed, the lump of frustration and betrayal and mourning in her throat burning out savagely, choking her.
"WHY COULDN'T THEY JUST LET ME DIE!?"
More silence suggested Wallace shared that opinion.
"...idiots..." tears stinging her dirty eyes, creating twin trails of mud down her cheecks.
"...flaming idiots..."
Silence - deafening.

Dunger came across the room, bandaging her scabbed hands, the antiseptic burning like punishment.
"I'm leaving."
"We thought so, we're coming with you."
"I'll get the supplies..." Wallaces face made a weird expression, she couldn't read it. She slogged off to find water to clean the wounds to her shabby self.

They made for the southwest mountains, Dunger had never been out of the academy, and her own knowledge of the surrounding area was limited to hiking hot spots and the city. Wallace took the lead. She fell in line behind, listening for pursuers, the steep path dusty and hot in the midday sun. 
There were strange waxy trees by the side of the road.
"Don't touch those, they're insanely poisonous." Wallace uttered blandly.
She started walking more towards the center of the path.
Shouts and grunts, rhythmic thumping behind them.
"Fuck...they seriously followed us?" she said, all three travelers pausing for a moment as they all heard with increasing clarity the shuffling sound of someone behind them.
They dodged waxy trees and bushes, pushing forward to a glassy building in the distance, their quickness leaving the sound of pursuers behind.

Dusty broken windows and overgrown plants, some kind of greenhouse. The heat was even worse in here, but that was good, heat was bad for corpses.
She turned around to see Dunger and Wallace digging around in some glass-covered planters, strangely hinged glass tops somehow perfectly clean. She started looking for one herself, they were all too small!
She might fit in this one - no
that one - no
this one - no...fuck they're coming.
Shuffling footsteps outside the door.
Her leg was absolutely not going to fit in the box, the lid stood ajar - obvious and awkward among the otherwise fairly neat greenhouse.
There's gonna be a fight now...she thought glumly.
I'm so goddamn tired.
Rusty hinges creaked as a pack of three or four zombies moved into the space, she dared not breathe, frantically thinking of something in the room that could be used as a weapon....nothing but maybe large pieces of broken glass...which would do more damage to her as the thing she was stabbing.
The frantic horror created a tightness in her chest. 
She watched in horror as three of the four immediately headed towards her, mouths ajar in anticipation.
She scrambled as the undead faces leered and uttered mumbling jeers as they advanced. 
Turning toward the shelves in the back a gasoline can stared back at her.
OH god please be full...
She shook it, half a can of gasoline shook back.
Close enough...

She caught the first one square in the face, careful to avoid getting any on her own hands she nailed the other three and cast around in her belt pockets for a match. She found her waterproof match case and, jogging about in front of the zombies.
One match left.
She held it in her hand like a baby bird - as if there weren't enough pressure to perform in this situation...
Ahh well, she struck it on the can and flicked it expertly at the front runner. Pretty orange flames bloomed from the rotting chest, and stunned annoyance blossomed on the zombie's face. The others - too stupid or too hungry to notice the fire consuming their companion bowled over the crisping carcass, igniting themselves in a prodigious, writhing, fire ball.
Breaking off a nearby chair leg, she beat them into the back room to burn.
The stink was unbearable.
Acrid smoke refused to exit her lungs, she slid to the floor and pulled her t-shirt over her mouth, closing her burning eyes and kicking open the door. After letting some of the smoke escape she surveyed the room, stomping out tiny flames scattered throughout the room.

"Smooth, but smelly." Wallace's voice made her jump as she saw him unfurling himself out of the nearest glass-topped box. "We're going to have to sleep here tonight, you know."

"Yeah I thought so...suppose I'll have to find a  more secure place to sleep."

Wallace nodded curtly, "I think Dunger might have accidentally touched one of the plants, he's got their acid eating a giant hole in his arm, pass me the aid kit please."
She stared blankly at Dunger's rapidly disintegrating flesh. This is what's happening to the world.
Dunger grimaced and you could almost hear the scream he was suppressing.

Night came suddenly, the agonizing pain and exposed flesh of the last few hours making fluttering disgusting images in her mind. She was pondering moving some boxes to sleep behind when a key jiggled in the front door.
A key...
A BLOODY KEY?!
What business does a key have being in this door? She thought frantically as she dived under the nearest table. Everyone was dead, dead people didn't use keys.
She spotted the bare skeletal feet of someone who had been very dead for a very long time. They seemed tall. There was also....a broom? Was this the long dead janitor, doggedly completing his duties?
She might have laughed had the situation been slightly less dire.
As it was, she watched the feet and broom move methodically toward her, around the room, around the other tables, up and down every isle coming ever closer.
At least he didn't seem to be looking under the tables. She knew that any unnecessary noise would attract the attention of the yowling things that had been forming an ever increasing din since sunset. Wallace and Dunger had been asleep for a while. There would be no help if she screwed this up.
Carefully, she shifted away from the broom probing under her table. Rolling on her back she glimpsed the eyes of the janitor through the drop leaf crack. Blazing in hollow sockets. Dead and alive at the same time.
It was staring straight back at her, right into her terrified round eyes, yellow but cold - hungry.
Quicker than expected, the thing ripped her out from under the table, strength surprising for something with no muscles. 

It did not waste a moment.
Just bit straight into her neck flesh.

But she couldn't even scream. 
She made no noise at all -
She had to protect Wallace and Dunger...
Had to....

Yes, definitely. Although it needs a bit of love. I am of the opinion that it should be mandatory and more widespread, but that there should be more options to choose from so people can find something they personally enjoy, which can lead to healthier life habits.

I would probably want to be a firework, it would be a swift but brilliant life.

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>:(