Dead Rising: Lens of West

A man with a baseball bat walked amidst an army of undead.

He walked with class, his face painted with crass. The grass he walked on was red, and nails protruded out of his bat. A scowl was spread across his face.

And he swung his bat at a zombie like a mace.

Fortune City; an unfortunate victim to the ranks of zombies. It had it coming, though. After hosting so many contests messing around with the dangerous zombies, problems were bound to eventually occur. The terror of an outbreak became a reality. The unthinkable happened.

A young couple cried for help at a casino within Fortune Park. And lo behold, a man who held a spiky baseball bat stood far away from where they stood. He recognized their human status.

“Hold on,” he exclaimed with a voice that elevated their hopes. Those two words foreshadowed the greatness of the hero of Willamette. Excited to see a familiar face, the woman waved as the man cried,

“Hey, it’s Frank West!”

In came the glorious zombie-killer extraordinaire. The dark-haired photojournalist leapt forward, kicking a zombie in front of him before ducking below a zombie that attempted to bite him. The man expertly drove a hand against its forehead, knocking it over before letting his body fall along with it, letting his elbow crush the undead’s head swiftly.

He then displayed a beautiful attempt of martial arts, karate-chopping a zombie away from himself before swinging his bat onto a zombie’s head. With the nails attached to the baseball bat digging into the head, the photojournalist tore his weapon out, causing a majestic stream of red to mark the floor of Fortune Park. With the bat in his hands, the man swung horizontally twice as he moved forward, bringing down two zombies onto the ground each time the weapon was swung. But the zombies were hellbent on bringing the zombie-slayer down. One-by-one, the zombies around him began to crowd over to the sunglasses-wearing hero.

The man smacked a zombie’s head with the butt of his bat before smashing its head, immediately turning to his right to spike the weapon straight into the cranium of another zombie. He pulled the bat out and continued to change his pattern of attacks. As he attacked yet another zombie, however, the bat shattered into pieces, leaving his weapon on the ground. For a split second, the young couple, who barely managed to remain safe around the entrance of the casino, felt horror creep into their hearts. They doubted Frank’s survival for a split second.

But he proved that there was no need to worry about a zombie-killing sensation not knowing what to do with zombies.

Like an angel of death, Frank West took out two weapons slung over his back. He tore the weapons away from the straps that allowed him to carry them around. On his left, he held a broom that had a machete duct-taped onto it, and on his right, he held a power drill attached to a spear. With two weapons in hand, Frank West daringly charged forward like a Spartan without a shield.

“Sharp and daring” described the photojournalist as he tore through waves of zombies. He swung the pole weapon horizontally, using its sharp blade to tear and push through zombies in front of him. Whenever a zombie approached him at an unexpected angle, Frank would suddenly turn and drive his drill straight into the zombie’s body, brutally tearing through the zombie’s chest and head as he swung the weapon in the fashion of an uppercut. The photojournalist never rested as he plowed through the crowd of zombies around him, dicing apart the undead who were unable to reach him and brutalizing those who dared to interrupt his genocide.

Every zombie lined up hastily to experience a firsthand experience of getting their asses handed to the one and only Frank West. And the young couple could only watch in awe as Frank swung both of his weapons at once, clearing the last of zombies that stood between him and them. He ran up to them, a concerned expression on his face as he asked them if they were alright. They said yes.

A smile entered his once stern look, and they soon realized that they were going to be saved. “Keep up,” he said, and they followed every single bit of their savior’s instructions.

His name was Frank; the photojournalist who overthrew lies and uncovered truths.

His name was Frank; the man who took pictures that captured all horrors.

His name was Frank West.

And he was a hero.

...

...

...

“What is that?”

“That ain’t a pony, right?”

“…What kinda pony would walk like that, fool?”

“Whoa!”

“Who could it be?”

“Does it understand us?”

Of course I understand you all, you numbskulls.

Ponyville really was what he thought it would look like. The entire place was colorful; colorful to the point where he had to wear sunglasses at all times to prevent his eyes from burning inside-out. Not only did the sun shine the shit out of him, but many of the residents were ponies that had taken some sort of liking in staring at him.

Though he correctly predicted what he thought he would see in such a strange world, Frank hated every single bit of walking down freakishly bright place. It made Fortune City look like the darkest place in the world despite being located at Nevada.

Frank simply followed Rainbow Dash, with Fluttershy trotting by his side. Whenever he glanced at the pale-blonde Pegasus, the pony would shrink a bit. Rainbow, on the other hand, would simply raise an eyebrow if his eyes fell on her. Silence dominated throughout the journey to wherever the cyan Pegasus was bringing him to.

This, he thought, is boring.

Indeed it was. What could he do to make the walk less boring? The man thought hard…

…and suddenly, he came up with three bad ideas.

The first idea involved him barging into one of the many houses around him and drinking orange juice. Another idea would put him in a situation where he rides on some random horse’s back.

The last idea- which was also his favorite idea- would let him walk in the most over exaggerated fashion while putting on a shit-eating grin.

Well then! Time to put this to a test.

Suddenly, Frank abruptly thrust his arms forward, instantly readjusting his suit as he continued to walk. Cracking his neck side-by-side, the photojournalist prepared himself further as Fluttershy gave him a startled glance.

A few seconds passed, and soon, Frank was walking like a super hyped Disney character. The man held one of the dumbest grins he could come up with as he continued to follow Rainbow Dash, who did not notice him yet. And heck, if she did not notice him, he might as well make the most fun out of her ignorance.

Some of the ponies’ nervous expressions turned into visible shock as Frank managed to sneak up behind Rainbow and begin shuffling his feet while continuously thrusting his arms by his sides, looking like some chicken that knew no limits to drug consumption. The energy of his arm thrusts rivaled that of Pepsiman’s, and his shit-eating smile put the Kool-Aid mascot to utter shame. In addition to his daring dance, he began to spin his head like a disco master.

To the ponies watching from the side, Rainbow Dash looked as if she was apparently being followed by an epic monster performing what could have been the weirdest dance ever. Fluttershy stared at the photojournalist’s sudden decision of dancing behind Rainbow with wide eyes, her mouth agape because she did not know what to say.

Since Rainbow seemed to take the shocked expressions of the ponies around Ponyville to be reactions to Frank’s mere presence, she did not turn around. This caused Frank to change his dance.

With a great amount of energy still within him, Frank began to spin his fists around each other at a counter-clockwise direction. The man turned to one side of the town as he skipped sideways, wiggling his eyebrows at several shocked ponies before turning around to face another side of the town.

His next dance proceeded to horrify nearly every pony who observed him.

The dark-haired photojournalist proceeded to continuously leap in the air, keeping a moderate distance between him and Rainbow Dash. The catch was that he thrust his hips each time he leapt, making him look both daring and stupid. Perhaps a bit perverted, even, considering how Frank sensually wiggled his eyebrows each time he leapt in the air. And holy hell, he was enjoying himself too much at the reactions of the ponies around him as he unleashed his inner childishness upon the creatures he considered to be boring.

Finally, Rainbow Dash turned around to glance at Frank. With her slowing down, however, Frank was unable to control the distance between himself and the pony as he flew towards the cyan Pegasus.

The pony with the rainbow mane felt her eyes widen as she saw a flying set of pants zooming straight towards her face.

“What the-?!”

But it was too late for Rainbow to react. For Frank West’s zombie-destroying zipper collided against her face so hard, the Pegasus was actually knocked into the air before landing on her back.

Frank West could not hold it in anymore. At the sight of a confused Rainbow Dash, the photojournalist laughed uncontrollably.

“HA HA HA HA!!! OH, HOLY CRAP- THAT WAS AWESOME!”

Not only did he prove that he was a radical dancer, but he also presented the citizens of the so-called Ponyville that his hip-thrusts were magical and epic in their own way.

Once Rainbow Dash connected the dots of what just happened, the cyan Pegasus leapt back to her hooves as she sputtered out,

“W-W-WHAT THE HECK WERE YOU DOING?! YOU WERE DOING SOMETHING WEIRD, RIGHT?!”

“HA HA HA!!! OH, HO HA HA HA HAAAAAA!!!!”

“A-ANSWER ME, YOU DIMWIT!”

When Frank continued to laugh at her, however, Rainbow decided to knock him into his senses. The Pegasus flew towards the photojournalist and landed in front of him with a flustered frown.

“Hey, Frank guy,” she whispered angrily.

“HA HA HA-“

“Frank!”

“HE HE HA! HA HA-“

“FRANK!”

“AH, HAHAHA-“

Rainbow Dash lightly slapped Frank back to reality.

“FRANK!”

The feeling of getting slapped and screamed at, however, caused the photojournalist to instinctively slap the pony back. In fact, the dark-haired man used the back of his right hand to slap Rainbow Dash, only to realize what he just did.

“…Ha… Huh?”

A few seconds after he slapped Rainbow Dash, the pony glared up at him with an extremely angry look.

Oops.

Just before the cyan Pegasus could return the favor, however, Frank pointed at the skies as he screamed, “OH MY GOD IT’S A NAKED HORSE!” Every pony helplessly turned up to the skies, only to be met by groups of clouds. Rainbow, however, caught onto Frank’s lie quickly and attempted to drop-kick him, only to find that the photojournalist had rolled out of the way as quickly as he could.

Unfortunately for him, he crashed into a cart filled with apples.

“Ow- SHIT! Ugh!”

Clutching his head gingerly, the human sat still as dozens of apples fell on the ground. As if the pain of crashing into a wooden wagon did not hurt enough, however, he heard a voice crankily cry out,

“HEY! What’re ya doing’ to mah cart!”

Oh, Frank thought, amazed at his own luck. What perfect timing! I bet that’s this cart’s owner, right? It’s always the freakin’ owners that know when I crash into shit.

An orange pony with a… cowboy hat… approached him with a disapproving look. The look, however, soon turned into that of shock when she realized just what she was looking at.

“What in tarnation?! Who’re you?!”

As the he picked himself up from the ground, he grumbled, “Your mom.”

“Excuse me?” The orange pony asked with a country accent as she proceeded to look greatly offended by his remark. “I find that to be quite offensive, mister!”

The dark-haired man sighed as he shook his head. As soon as he fully picked himself up, the man told the orange pony,

“You know what I’m glad about? How these 'offensive things' make more sense than the situation I'm in. Maybe you should grow a pair or something.“

His message caused the orange pony to snap. Not only did he insult her family, but he also insulted her with something that sounded distasteful for her ears. The pony turned and raised her lower body’s legs. Right as her legs flew towards Frank, Rainbow Dash spiraled towards him from afar with her own hooves locked onto the photojournalist.

Oh shi-

For some reason, the man could not remember what exactly happened. He presumed that his face got caved in by four hooves, though.