I do not own WWZ
I do own my Ocs
Updates are gonna be pretty erratic, though you guys probably noticed that already, especially now that I'm gonna be transferring this coming Fall and trying to move at the same time.
Another twenty prompts, some a little more crazy than others. Enjoy.
A full narrative is in the works, though it'll be a while before I get the story down.
Children are told to stay away from the shallow ravine down by Weeping Willow Creek. However, children being children, they play there anyway, pretending to be knights and dragons and all manner of fantastic beings. The ravine is their castle, their mysterious dungeon, and their hide-away.
What the children do not know is that a scant handful of feet from their playing forms, in a hidden niche of the "castle" lies a crippled menace. It's legs are broken off at the knees and it's arms are too crushed for movement; all it can do is lie on the ground, flesh kept moist by a thin rivulet. Yet it is still dangerous, waiting patiently for one curious child to find it and unleash the horror of its kind upon the world once again.
222. Hive Mind
"It is my theory that all zombies share a single mind. However, that single mind has to stretch its processing power and cognitive abilities to control millions of bodies, rendering any intelligence or planning capabilities moot."
223. Reality Ensues
"...Did all the ghouls just rot into dust?"
All people freeze up when they see their first ghoul. No one knows why, but some speculate it is because ghouls are so completely unnatural that the human mind goes into a state of shock. Of course, the difference between survivors and being undead yourself is whether or not you can snap out of that state before you get bitten.
He's all alone, hiding in his uncle's little shop. The doors are locked and the shutters drawn, the cast iron bars blocking the windows from the outside keep the monsters at bay. His uncle is one of the monsters, constantly clawing at the door, wanting in. He doesn't open the door though, he can't since the steel door is too heavy for him to move. He wants to go out though, he's really thirsty.
Even the toilet doesn't have water anymore...
The not-blood that saturates the bodies of ghouls is a mysterious substance. Too gelatinous to be a liquid, too watery to be a solid, and too...wrong to be a colloid. What purpose does it serve? Keep ghouls from falling apart? Maybe protect them from the pressures of the deep ocean? Prevent freezer burn? No one knows.
A one to one ratio of water to ghoul "blood" will kill a human after several hours of suffering, but will not reanimate the body unless there is an open wound for the Z-virus to enter the bloodstream.
A ten to one ratio will kill a human, but will not reanimate the body even if there is an open wound for the virus to enter.
A one hundred to one ratio is safe for human consumption, but only in small amounts, a pint or less within a 24-hour period.
A one thousand to one ratio is safe for human consumption in any amount.
…Or so everyone hopes.
"The ghouls are locust and humanity is the field of grain...only some of us have thorns and bite back."
There are ghoul farms, small ones, out of sight and reach of the public eye. Manned by scientists and government officials determined to find out everything about ghouls. It's a risky business, especially with all the renegade zombie killers roaming around the wilderness.
People go to the bathroom in groups.
It's a safety thing, since there aren't any real restrooms when traveling around the wilderness.
Showing your naked ass to everyone else is vastly preferable to being bitten cause you weren't paying attention.
"If you want to live, you'll do as I say." He hisses, eyes dark with repressed rage and the barest hint of madness. "So shut the brat up. His crying is going to bring a whole fucking swarm down on us. And if you can't get him to.." The brilliant silver of polished steel flashes in the moonlight. "I'll make him quiet."
Not a good trait to have these days, with all the undead horrors and stupid people shambling about. Especially cause of the the stupid people, who often believe the most idiotic things that will get the rest of the more intelligent people killed.
"...is that a badger?"
"Why is it in a cage."
Johnny's face wrinkles in confusion, much like a shar pei. "...I don't know? Cause the captain said so?"
"Eh...good enough for me. Let's send it to General Rosen."
"Cause I feel like it."
"Oh. Okay then.
And that is how General Marcus Alistar Rosen got a badger in the mail.
She's not sure what is going on. Why is daddy moving again? Daddy has a giant hole in his stomach, he should be dead. But he's moving. Coming closer. Grabbing her leg with cold sick wrong scary hands and pulling closer closer no closer please no closer and dragging himself across the floor leaving red-black goo mommy will be so mad it's icky make it go away. Her body won't move frozen stiff can't move can't move can't move so scared as her bladder empties warm flowing soaking into my clothes while daddy ever so slowly sinks his teeth into her ankle and rips HURTS hurts hurts hurts daddy stop please it hurts no don't out a mouthful of her flesh.
Her blind terror keeps her from fainting, the adrenaline flowing through her body forcing her to stay conscious. This is no blessing, as it makes her last moments into nothing an unending parade of agony as daddy takes another bite out of her leg, filling her world with painpainpainburninghurts. She doesn't die until he's eaten her leg up to the mid-thigh, her own strangled horrified screams the last thing she hears as she slips into darkness.
"Alert. Alert. Ghouls spotted in Section 3. Alert." The intercom blares, echoing through the concrete and steel walls of the factory. "All free workers report to Section 3. All free workers report to Section 3."
"Figures it would happen during lunch break." A denim clad woman grumbles, setting aside her sandwich and standing up.
"Eh...could be worse. Could have happened at the end of our shift." A man dressed in orange flannel replies, voice dry as he hands out SIRs taken from one of many racks mounted on the factory walls.
The woman grunts in reply, already heading toward Section 3, followed by many of her fellow workers.
Hopefully it's only a few ghouls so they can all go back to lunch.
Given that the world has been enveloped by nuclear winter, most people wouldn't think that there would by any bees left to make honey. Well, it turns out that honey bees managed to adapt quickly enough to the icy cold and harvest nectar from the few flowering plants left, which is good. The bad part is that the new species of honey bee are extremely aggressive and have smooth stingers allowing them to repeatedly stab any perceived threat to the colony. Also, they happen to be mildly poisonous and about the same size as half-grown mouse.
It makes harvesting honey rather unpleasant.
"You know. Rust should technically be on anti-depressants buuuuuut...anti-depressants aren't considered a 'necessity' so nobody makes them."
"...so that's why Lt. Rust acts like a moody teenaged girl with PMS."
"Captain..." Sarge sighs, eyes squeezed shut in a gesture of annoyed affection. "You can't use those to seal military missives." The sergeant mentally curses Rust for slipping off and leaving him to serve as the captain's babysitter. Again.
Sylvia gives him a bland look, mouth quirking up into a grin after a moment. "Of course I can. Using stickers is much more sanitary than licking the envelope edges. You can't know where these envelopes have been or who touched them." The mild, almost reasonable tone in the captain's voice makes Sarge's eyelid twitch ever-so-slightly. Sarge knows this tone of voice, and it usually precludes some sort of trouble.
"That still doesn't mean that you can use bunny stickers!"
What are you having? I want some! Oh wait...I can't have any cause I'm DEAD.
"Shut up." He mutters, a habitual response now, bagged lunch in hand as he looks for a table to sit at in the crowded temporary mess hall.
What? And leave you alone? A mocking laugh that only he can hear rings out, broken by odd gurgles and wet coughs. As if. Her voice snarls, as clear as if she was standing next to him. He can almost feel her breath on his left ear, warm and fetid with rot.
He ignores her, sitting down resolutely and digging into his lunch. It's the same as every other lunch that he and his fellow soldiers have ever eaten. Bland, boring but filling and nutritionally complete. Her eyes -one an empty bleeding socket- bore into the back of his head, as if she is trying to kill him with near tangible weight of her hatred.
Her blood-thirsty ghost doesn't bother him though, she's just one of many.
240. The Way Things Are
"The world has to work that way! The strong repress the weak. The strong live the weak do not! Ca-cause...what else explains all the stuff that happened to us?"
Prompts are always appreciated so feel free to PM me ideas. Thanks!