So, one day before Halloween, and I publish a chapter. No problems there I guess.

Dempsey strode in front of the assembly of soldiers, his new uniform still crisp. He felt the soap still on his skin, the lack of oil in his hair. Not only was he clean, he felt alive. More so then he had in the last, well, fuck how could he know? Time travel really wrecked your mind, till days and years seemed like the same damn thing.

"So, you are the company that I am here to investigate today?" he asked mostly to himself. He said it loud and clear to make his point clear that he meant serious business.

"Well you all look like shit. I am being brutally honest here. You smell like an open latrine and you look like 3-month-old road kill. Not to mention you all look like you eat less than a Hollywood actress. But that last one is not your fault. Anyway, I apparently have to whip you sorry sack of Ping-Pong balls into shape .Now, let me explain your enemy."

He stopped and opened the small box next to his feet. He pulled out a large round sphere and lifted it. It was a human head, one that had obviously been shot off by a gunshot wound.

"This, my friends, is a Jihadist. Now this sorry guy is kinda feeling down on his luck at the moment. All sorts of lightheaded. But enough about him. Time to explain what he can teach us. Now, even though he was shot to death only three days ago, he still has the undying passion to fuck us all up. Not that I know at the moment. He's kinda dead, as you can see. But he spoke of such hatred for the US and all of us in it, that I felt obliged to yell in his face for a while and tear off his various appendages."

He lifted up the Jihadist's arm just to indicate his point.

"Now, where does this lead to? Well simply this. These bastards are tough, they are mean, and they sure as hell go down with a fight. You break their arm, they stab you with the ends of the bone. You shoot em in the leg, they rip it off and beat you with it. So, some advice: Aim for the fucking head. They don't get back up if you do."

He dropped the head. "Now, for the second enemy."

He lifted up another head from the box. This one was far more rotten and mangled then the other. And it smelled worse.

"Now this, this is where shit gets ugly. This right here is a zombie. Put simply, the most hard-ass, tough-as-shit, fuck-you-until-your-asshole-hurts kinda enemy. They grow stronger with time, eventually resurrect when you kill them, and not to mention, eat your fucking face like a plate of nachos that night you and your buddies went out on a strip club and that bitch gyrated you so much your junk hurt in the morning. You know, that night? Yeah, you know what I'm talking about."

He stopped and dropped the head. "Now, here's a piece of advice. You may recognize this one: Aim for the motherfucking head. Yeah, it worked in the movies, it'll work here. For the moment. The bastard who made these things, he's unpredictable. Like me."

To demonstrate this, he loaded an entire clip into the nearest sandbag. The sergeant three inches from it didn't even flinch.

"See, unpredictable. Now just imagine that, except with zombies and shit, and I'm not shooting them, I'm kinda controlling them and shit. Now, it doesn't make sense now, mainly because your lack of IQ points couldn't understand my expressions. I know that. I come from an older time then you. So I'll have Colonel Davis here explain."

He held the floor open for the colonel, who took it gladly.

"Now listen up you maggot-cock melons! This here asshole to my left will be your personal counselor for the next few days. I expect he'll treat you like the dirt-dicks you are. But believe me, he's twice as badass as I am. Now I know that's hard to understand, a guy like me, being less badass then anyone. But it's true. So listen up or I will shove your dick up your ass. Now I know that's fairly difficult to understand, since most of your cocks probably don't go past your balls, but who cares? It's a damn expression."

Dempsey couldn't help but smile. This Colonel and him would become good friends by the end of this.

"Then I told him: 'I don't care what you serve, as long as you serve it dirty.'"

Roger burst into laughter and slapped the table. "Holy crap did you really say that?"

"Hell yeah! That son of a bitch clearly saw I wanted a DIRTY bourbon for the lady, and what does he do? He gives her a fucking gin. A GIN! When I asked for bourbon! And he gave me a whiskey. Fucking dumbass."

"Well he sounds like an idiot."

"You understate my comrade."

They clacked glasses together and took another gulp. Roger sipped beer, Nikolai sipped vodka.

Ever since they got to the Army base, they all decided to make friends. However, after several days of unsuccessful conversations, they decided to do it the indirect way. Acting completely badass and let them come to you. So far it was working wonders with Takeo and Dempsey. Nikolai mainly stuck with Roger or Gersch, they being the only other people besides his original mates he even talked to.

"So my comrade. How is Sidney?"

"In or out of bed?"

"Is there a difference?"

They both laughed and Roger continued. "Well, she's cool. Not to mention hot."

"Ok, now you're just going lyrical."

They laughed again.

"Ah, I hate that song so much."

"Agreed comrade."

"More of a country cat then a pop shit."

"I need no music. Just vodka and women."

"I'd agree, but since Sidney likes country too, I decided to like it as well. It's not so hard either. I actually kinda like it."

"Well, God bless your musically illiterate self."

"Hey, it ain't like I listen to rap."

"Well, you got me there. That shit is truly awful. How the fuck can you understand it?"

"Eh, I don't know. Eminem isn't that bad."

"Who's he?"

"Rapper. White."

"They make those now?"


"Mary mother of Rasputin."

"Yeah. My thoughts exactly."

Nikolai raised the bottle. "To bold new shit."

"And damn good ideas."

They clacked glass together and took another gulp.

"You know, when you said hang out, I didn't expect this."

Sam popped out a mag from her M4 and slammed in another. "So? Target practice is a perfectly legitimate way to bond."

Sidney shrugged and aimed down the sights of her .44 Magnum.

A few of the males around the firing range were giving them odd looks, but a few snarls from them both quickly shifted their gazes.

"So, how's Gersch doing?" asked the German nailing a target in its sandbag head.

"He's doing fine. Still trying to get his freaking black-hole do-hickey thing working. So far the only thing he's done is waste a lot of metal."

"Figured. That thing is like a freaking dimensional rift. Or something like that."

The American looked at her. "How do you..?"

"Remember the MDT? You learn a lot of shit from that. Gersch's device is a tear in the dimensional void."

"I hope you realize you're speaking freaking Dutch to me. I only got a standard diploma."

"But didn't you get a bachelor?"

"Yeah. In art."

"Ah, one of those useless skills."

"Not really."

Sam gave her a dead-pan look. "Name one place in this world as it is that would benefit from a bachelor of the arts."

Sidney sighed. "Fine. I guess you're right."

"Even in the old world it wouldn't get you far."

"Indeed. I planned to get something useful, but look what happened."

"Yeah. Fucking zombies. Then nukes. Now nuclear fucking zombies. Welcome to the third millennium."

The German reloaded for her fifth time that afternoon. "You see Takeo recently?"

"Yeah. Him and Bryan are really starting to become friends."

"Thought they would. Though I was surprised Roger and Nikolai got along so well."

"Yeah. Who thought that could work?"

"Jump pump some drinks into Nikolai, and either he becomes a dick or your best friend. I'd know."

Yeah Sam, you would know.