DEFCOИ: Rewritten

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Alone.

That was all he ever was anymore.

Alone.

Through the trees, the Northern winds howled and wailed, their eerie song surrounding him. Winter was closing in fast. There would not be much time. A man sat alone on a fallen log, the long-dead wood providing a seat in the snowy forest. As the wind pushed against his jacket, he cursed, and pulled his gasmask back on. He rubbed his gloved hands together quickly, and kicked snow over the once lit campfire. Turning around, he saw his kill lying on the ground, still uncooked. Muttering under his breath, he knew it would be best to leave it behind, there was no need in pulling the extra weight. As he turned to leave the camp, he grasped the necklace around his neck, brushing his thumb over the metal plate, a name hastily carved into the shiny material.

Alexei

He did not remember who it was for, or why he had it, or if it was his own name. He hadn't the time for things like that. What he did remember; he was being followed. He shook his head, and pulled his SVD out of the snow. Maybe if he could escape, he could think about that. He began jogging through the trees, and while he didn't know where he was going, he knew that it would be better than here. With his ice-pick tinkling against his equipment, he stopped.

Suddenly, all was quiet.

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'Alexei' went silent, his heart sinking. The forest around him seemed to grow, and the sky was darkening rapidly. Phantom noises echoed around him. He could hear something in the trees. A low hissing sound soared above him, and his head shot up to see nothing but a dark grey sky. Hugging his SVD to his chest, he continued slowly, now painfully aware of the crunching his boots made in the snow. His pulse rose, his eyes dilated. He felt as if there were something watching him, and he became extremely frantic. What started out as a small jog, had now turned into a full-on sprint. He ran as if hell was upon his heels. Fear gripped his body, and the feeling of dread consumed his mind. His breathing turned into panting, and he slowed to a stop against a tree. He looked up, and expected to see a figure watching him from the branches above, but there was none.

SNAP

His SVD jumped to attention, movement registered to his right. Spinning to face his pursuer, he saw only open forest. He spun around once more, checking all angles. His panting faded, and his fatigue was washed away once more by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He gritted his teeth tightly, and picked a random direction, running blindly. He could hear movement behind him as he ran, but he knew that if he turned to face the noise, he would die. His foot snagged on a root. He fell. His vision went dark, before the familiar sensation of falling gripped his senses.

He opened his eyes, and caught sight of a large tree speeding toward him, or him toward it. He hit the trunk, and a loud crack resonated through the area, the birch snapping in the middle. He landed in the snow, his ribs screaming in pain, his mind in shock. He could hear the tree falling. Move! He rolled away, despite the protesting from his torso. The tree landed against another, both of them toppling. He heard a light buzzing toward his left, and spun the right, his SVD in mid-aim. He barely managed to catch sight of a dark blur, and let out a shot.

An inhuman scream bored into his mind, the trees trembling and the ground shaking.

He closed his eyes, hearing the buzzing from all around.

He gripped his ice-pick tightly, and spun to his left, driving it into an unseen foe. The screaming resumed, and he quickly let out a shot from his rifle to the right, a loud thud against wood several feet away. He reached for his knife, and he flung it forward, feeling the blade embed itself into another attacker. For a moment, there was peace.

As quickly as it ended, it began again, a hissing noise coming at him from behind.

"Chyort."

He opened his eyes, and he saw a black form crash its cold feet onto the center of his chest. The force from the blow sent him flying backwards, and in his final moments of consciousness, he could see glass-like hexagons forming around him, their bright glow devouring him.

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"Run!" His teammate said before being consumed by the horde. He threw a frag into the mob, but it did little to slow them down. He whirred around, and threw another, and another, before running towards a machine within the barn, throwing a weapon within, and finishing off the remaining walkers and crawlers.

In a room, alone, upon a mound of dismembered body parts and ashes, not to mention the occasional pike, sat a very distant looking FBI operative. His coat had been torn and tied around one of his legs while his tie was done in a bandanna around his forehead, blotches of blood were sprinkled around his clothing, and in his hand he gripped a 'Pack-a-Punched' M14, the Mnesia.

He spotted a remaining undead monster shambling towards him, and he launched himself above the zombie from a car, aiming his rifle.

PEWKH-PEWKH-PEWKH!

He noticed time was running short, and he sprinted to the Double-Tap Root Beer machine, jugging down a soda, then reloading. He did a quick inventory of his equipment, then switched to his alien Ray-Gun, popping in batteries and grinning.

His teammate was revived by a strike of lightning, and stood there looking around with a standard issue M1911.

He was a seasoned veteran of the apocalypse, he stood in front of the fine line between destruction and salvation, he was the true bastion of mankind, and he was-

"You fucking noob, you didn't even get past round 52, fucking loser, LOL." He said as he disconnected from the game.

16 year old Kyle Mann stood up from the couch, and his weight fully exposed itself to the world. Standing at 5'6 ft, he had pale blue eyes, light blonde hair, a heavy red face, and at least 110 kg of pure gamer.

The gaming world feared him, "Slayer69", the destroyer of forums and the Zerg Kin-

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! WHERE ARE MY HOTPOCKETS?!"

The lumbering roll of obesity maneuvered around the couch, and set off to the kitchen, returning with a beloved mini-corndog. Life was good. He plopped down on the couch and took an all-mighty bite out of his mini-dog, then licked up the grease running down from his mouth, picking up the controller once more. He could hear his mother say something under her breath as she came and laid down the plate of hotpockets beside him, and then she strode off into the living room.

As he was playing, he didn't notice the polygonal orb enveloping him and his console. As his character spawned, he disappeared.

Pain.

Why was this sensation so familiar?

You know, several times, I have awaken to this damn feeling. Pain. I have dealt with it several times, the nerves in my body protesting the governments decisions, and President Brain is doing a shitty job. For years I have taken beatings from numerous sources, even more scars. The thing about pain is; it means you still draw breath. Usually, that is good news, but I cannot find any 'good' side to this type of pain.

I am dying.

My eyes slowly peeked open, and my eyes were assaulted by an asshole who resides in the sky, otherwise known as the 'Sun'. As I looked around my surroundings, I found that I wanted to un-look at them. Blood spatters on the walls, shell casings peppering the floor, bullet holes etched into the walls and the occasional disembodied limb here and there.

Processing.

Data processed. File under category: FML.

Load Nope.avi

You see, this shit, surprisingly enough, happened a lot back when I was in the P.D. But they don't really prep you for being part of it. Unwillingly, I wrap my arm around a dislodged staircase-rail, and pull my sorry ass off the floor. Looking around me, I find nothing but gore and the occasional shell casing.

B.

E.

A.

Utiful.

Oh wait, there's something I'm forgetting. If I can recall correctly, there used to be an Englishman here. None of these bodyparts seem to be human, so I guess- What the fuck that foreleg is crawling away on its own please tell me I am fucking seeing shit. OH MY GOD. CRUSH, KILL, DESTROY!

Stomping on the strange thing, the life fades from it, and it 'dies.'

I also forgot that at the moment my body feels like shit, and that little stunt there is not helping.

Oh, look, it's that MI6 guy's dismembered head. Party hard.

SWAG.