It galled Shredder to run away from any sort of fight. To run was to expose weakness. To show weakness in the face of adversity was to be eaten alive by allies and enemies alike. No, given the choice? Shredder would have opted to stay, to eradicate the Horde rather then let them follow and grow.
But he wasn't thinking for them all.
And even as his pride roared at him to kill, the more pragmatic part noted the surroundings. An open area would be to their advantage, the station easily broken.
The children would die.
Back and forth, he looked at the silent expanse and at the party.
Finally he growled, low in his throat as he prepared to-
Abruptly and suddenly, Thor Gundersen froze, his face shifting to horror, looking down at the cracked asphalt. The roaring of sand encircled those at the gas station, streams of dust and grime flowing freely yet blinding exact vision of the horizon. As the sandstorm grew and grew in intensity, black silhouettes could be seen seemingly arising from the earth, their arms extended, their screams muffled under the roaring winds of nature. As evidence by Dean's observation, the legions of the Infected did not vanish. No, instead, they did something even more frightening....
They used a strategy.
Watching them arise one-by-one, less than half a mile away, the Swede could not comprehend how the Infected organized themselves in such a matter. Yes, they were far from dumb, but this level of intelligence is almost marveling human thought. Faintly, ever so faintly, the intellectual paused as his internal concerns were met with an answer. Among the distant screams and cries of the Infected, the pounding of what sounded like a war-drum echoed sonorously. Soon, the Swede drew out his revolver, pointing towards the fierce mass of muscle and intelligence that was bolting straight towards him.
Spearheading the small pack of Infected, a tall, abnormally buff riot-geared officer came charging down the highway. Fueled by adrenaline and unfathomable fury that would match Yang's, the once proud protector of the police kept pounding at shattered ballistic shield with a bloodied and jagged baton. Common Infected swarmed behind this somewhat "general", as if the maddening pounding of his shield was like the rallying drums of a marching army. Soon, a pack of Infected, roughly fifty in numbers broke away from this "Thrasher", moving as one towards Dean, Laura, Logan, and the majority of the group outside of the gas station.
Meeting this officer headstrong, the doctor raised his revolver. Shooting frantically, Thor watched as all six of his round were fired at this officer, the Uncommon Infected raising his ballistic shield to protect him of the incoming shots. Letting out a flurry of slurs, Mr Gundersen grasped the barrel of his revolver, intent on pistol-whipping the Infected. With a mighty swig, the Swede reeled forward, just as the officer reached in his range.
What the Swede didn't expect, however, was the nimble nature of the officer, as the Infected literally ducked out of the way of Thor's attack.
"SHI-!" was all Thor could utter as the Thrasher reeled upwards with his nightstick, virtually uppercutting Thor. With bones cracking and crimson spilling freely, the testosterone-fueled agitator bellowed of a mighty war cry of victory as Thor lay limp on the road. Waving his nightstick and shield rabidly, the Thrasher charged his mass of a body towards Yang, using his shield try and push aside the teenager with sheer brute force.
"GAAAAA!!!"the Thrasher screeched again, thrashing about wildly, waving his nightstick and shield furiously, particularly aiming to bludgeon Tina and Wei.
Shredder roared, charging directly for the Thrasher.
Blades out, he rushed forward to slash the upper joints, to prevent it from using its shield while it went for Yang, using the blind spot and the confusion to do what he did best.
Logan'd almost forgotten about Laura in the midst of the hug-assault from Yang; fortunately, he'd caught her words. "Hey, I'm sorry to cut ya off like that. Don't be a stranger-- I'll check in on yer bike shortly, alright?" It had been a while since he'd seen Yang and that was naturally enough an impetus to shoot the wind with her, even if it was brief.
Abruptly and suddenly, Thor Gundersen froze, his face shifting to horror, looking down at the cracked asphalt. The roaring of sand encircled those at the gas station, streams of dust and grime flowing freely yet blinding exact vision of the horizon. As the sandstorm grew and grew in intensity, black silhouettes could be seen seemingly arising from the earth, their arms extended, their screams muffled under the roaring winds of nature. As evidence by Dean's observation, the legions of the Infected did not vanish. No, instead, they did something even more frightening....
They used a strategy.
Watching them arise one-by-one, less than half a mile away, the Swede could not comprehend how the Infected organized themselves in such a matter. Yes, they were far from dumb, but this level of intelligence is almost marveling human thought. Faintly, ever so faintly, the intellectual paused as his internal concerns were met with an answer. Among the distant screams and cries of the Infected, the pounding of what sounded like a war-drum echoed sonorously. Soon, the Swede drew out his revolver, pointing towards the fierce mass of muscle and intelligence that was bolting straight towards him.
Spearheading the small pack of Infected, a tall, abnormally buff riot-geared officer came charging down the highway. Fueled by adrenaline and unfathomable fury that would match Yang's, the once proud protector of the police kept pounding at shattered ballistic shield with a bloodied and jagged baton. Common Infected swarmed behind this somewhat "general", as if the maddening pounding of his shield was like the rallying drums of a marching army. Soon, a pack of Infected, roughly fifty in numbers broke away from this "Thrasher", moving as one towards Dean, Laura, Logan, and the majority of the group outside of the gas station.
Meeting this officer headstrong, the doctor raised his revolver. Shooting frantically, Thor watched as all six of his round were fired at this officer, the Uncommon Infected raising his ballistic shield to protect him of the incoming shots. Letting out a flurry of slurs, Mr Gundersen grasped the barrel of his revolver, intent on pistol-whipping the Infected. With a mighty swig, the Swede reeled forward, just as the officer reached in his range.
What the Swede didn't expect, however, was the nimble nature of the officer, as the Infected literally ducked out of the way of Thor's attack.
"SHI-!" was all Thor could utter as the Thrasher reeled upwards with his nightstick, virtually uppercutting Thor. With bones cracking and crimson spilling freely, the testosterone-fueled agitator bellowed of a mighty war cry of victory as Thor lay limp on the road. Waving his nightstick and shield rabidly, the Thrasher charged his mass of a body towards Yang, using his shield try and push aside the teenager with sheer brute force.
"GAAAAA!!!"the Thrasher screeched again, thrashing about wildly, waving his nightstick and shield furiously, particularly aiming to bludgeon Tina and Wei.
The screeching of the infected legions were an assault to the ears, the distant shrill cries and growls emphasized by a perpetual banging getting ever closer. She had been right to be wary. The infected, robbed of higher reasoning and filled with an overwhelming aggressive rage, had still enough wiles and crude instinct to use the environment to their advantage. Not enough of themselves left to be reasoned with, unfortunately. One in particular almost seemed to be marshaling their numbers. Stratagems, an almost rallying signal and an emerging leader. Less a chain of command, more a hierarchy common to animals such as lions. And they were the prey.
Not good.
Laura scrambled to the side, rolling up into a crouch beside her motorcycle. Better kept close by to reduce the chance a stray shot of hers pierced her ride. Quickly drawing her pistol, she opened fire to thin out the herd. Once they were dealt with, everyone could focus on the former officer in riot gear. Or so she hoped.
Shredder roared, charging directly for the Thrasher.
Blades out, he rushed forward to slash the upper joints, to prevent it from using its shield while it went for Yang, using the blind spot and the confusion to do what he did best.
The Trasher bellowed and cried, perpetually in a state of unfaltering rage, fueled by the primal desires to main and murder. He pounded at his padded riot gear chest dominantly, satisfied at his sheer brute yet agile force. A multitude of swings were directed towards Tina and Wei still, most of them missing, the bloodied nightstick striking with such force that the concrete beams holding the shoddy roof of the gas station cracked and shattered. Underneath his mask, only a veil of crimson was visible, the mad Infected's eyes beaming with absolute hatred. It would seem that this Uncommon Infected, despite his sheer strength, caused more discord and confusion in the group with this flurry of attacks than actual damage.
"GRAAA!!!" it cried, reaching out to strangle Tina, grabbing the blonde by the throat. Tightening his grip, the officer winced as two sharp blades began to dig into the padded shoulders of his ballistic vest. Feeling Shredder attacking from his exposed back, the Yakuza crimelord was able to at least expose the Thrasher's shoulders and the majority of his back-armor. Turning away from Wei and Tina, the enraged Infected charged towards Shredder. Holding his cracked ballistic shield in his left hand, the Infected began to, hence his namesake, thrash against Shredder. Bashing him with his shield and letting out a flurry of attacks with his nightstick, the buffed guardian of the law showed no mercy, his agility given his form shocking, landing a few decisive blows against the Yakuza member particularly with his wide and prominent shield against his abdomen and arms.
As the brawling against the Thrasher commenced, the herd of Infected kept their charge, though their numbers being extensively thinned out by the gunfire of both Laura and Akagi. Viscera danced with the wind, the sickening, rotting smell of bile-covered Infected guts, muscles, and bone splattering against the concrete and even the poor Impala (so much for a paint job). Still, despite this, the Infected were growing dangerously close, and without any backup, they would begin to join the melee with their "general" with Laura and Akagi being their first targets due to the deafening sounds of gunfire.
Feeling Shredder attacking from his exposed back, the Yakuza crimelord was able to at least expose the Thrasher's shoulders and the majority of his back-armor. Turning away from Wei and Tina, the enraged Infected charged towards Shredder. Holding his cracked ballistic shield in his left hand, the Infected began to, hence his namesake, thrash against Shredder. Bashing him with his shield and letting out a flurry of attacks with his nightstick, the buffed guardian of the law showed no mercy, his agility given his form shocking, landing a few decisive blows against the Yakuza member particularly with his wide and prominent shield against his abdomen and arms.
His aim was for the arms...But this worked out fine as well. Though rather then blocking the attacks as most would, Shredder opted for more Water then Fire techniques, to use Shaolin terminology.
Instead of blocking, it merely meant Shredder would redirect the blunt force, using his open palm and his opponents own mindless force to redirect his attacks to go wildly. And when he did, unable to use his shield when the club came?
Shredder would strike decisively, aiming directly under the chin in rapid blows where there was no armor to speak of. The shield was easily avoided in turn for the most part.
Bulky, capable of only a few moves and used by some infected beast? Like reading a book, though it didn't account for the crowd, a few blows landing but ignored by the ninja in terms of this fight.
The Trasher bellowed and cried, perpetually in a state of unfaltering rage, fueled by the primal desires to main and murder. He pounded at his padded riot gear chest dominantly, satisfied at his sheer brute yet agile force. A multitude of swings were directed towards Tina and Wei still, most of them missing, the bloodied nightstick striking with such force that the concrete beams holding the shoddy roof of the gas station cracked and shattered. Underneath his mask, only a veil of crimson was visible, the mad Infected's eyes beaming with absolute hatred. It would seem that this Uncommon Infected, despite his sheer strength, caused more discord and confusion in the group with this flurry of attacks than actual damage.
"GRAAA!!!" it cried, reaching out to strangle Tina, grabbing the blonde by the throat. Tightening his grip, the officer winced as two sharp blades began to dig into the padded shoulders of his ballistic vest. Feeling Shredder attacking from his exposed back, the Yakuza crimelord was able to at least expose the Thrasher's shoulders and the majority of his back-armor. Turning away from Wei and Tina, the enraged Infected charged towards Shredder. Holding his cracked ballistic shield in his left hand, the Infected began to, hence his namesake, thrash against Shredder. Bashing him with his shield and letting out a flurry of attacks with his nightstick, the buffed guardian of the law showed no mercy, his agility given his form shocking, landing a few decisive blows against the Yakuza member particularly with his wide and prominent shield against his abdomen and arms.
As the brawling against the Thrasher commenced, the herd of Infected kept their charge, though their numbers being extensively thinned out by the gunfire of both Laura and Akagi. Viscera danced with the wind, the sickening, rotting smell of bile-covered Infected guts, muscles, and bone splattering against the concrete and even the poor Impala (so much for a paint job). Still, despite this, the Infected were growing dangerously close, and without any backup, they would begin to join the melee with their "general" with Laura and Akagi being their first targets due to the deafening sounds of gunfire.
As Armor King came closer he'd notice the carnage erupting all around him, the big thing attacking the group in the area garnering the most attention.
His steady walk turned into a run as he took the shotgun into his grasp. "Look out!" The Trasher was the bigger problem at the moment and when AK came close enough he'd aim and fire at the creatures legs to hopefully topple it or at the least slow it down.
The Trasher bellowed and cried, perpetually in a state of unfaltering rage, fueled by the primal desires to main and murder. He pounded at his padded riot gear chest dominantly, satisfied at his sheer brute yet agile force. A multitude of swings were directed towards Tina and Wei still, most of them missing, the bloodied nightstick striking with such force that the concrete beams holding the shoddy roof of the gas station cracked and shattered. Underneath his mask, only a veil of crimson was visible, the mad Infected's eyes beaming with absolute hatred. It would seem that this Uncommon Infected, despite his sheer strength, caused more discord and confusion in the group with this flurry of attacks than actual damage.
"GRAAA!!!" it cried, reaching out to strangle Tina, grabbing the blonde by the throat. Tightening his grip, the officer winced as two sharp blades began to dig into the padded shoulders of his ballistic vest. Feeling Shredder attacking from his exposed back, the Yakuza crimelord was able to at least expose the Thrasher's shoulders and the majority of his back-armor. Turning away from Wei and Tina, the enraged Infected charged towards Shredder. Holding his cracked ballistic shield in his left hand, the Infected began to, hence his namesake, thrash against Shredder. Bashing him with his shield and letting out a flurry of attacks with his nightstick, the buffed guardian of the law showed no mercy, his agility given his form shocking, landing a few decisive blows against the Yakuza member particularly with his wide and prominent shield against his abdomen and arms.
As the brawling against the Thrasher commenced, the herd of Infected kept their charge, though their numbers being extensively thinned out by the gunfire of both Laura and Akagi. Viscera danced with the wind, the sickening, rotting smell of bile-covered Infected guts, muscles, and bone splattering against the concrete and even the poor Impala (so much for a paint job). Still, despite this, the Infected were growing dangerously close, and without any backup, they would begin to join the melee with their "general" with Laura and Akagi being their first targets due to the deafening sounds of gunfire.
Well, that wasn't exactly the kind of guy you'd like to see protecting the citizens. This guy looked more liable to kill them given how his face behind that visor seemed to be absolutely coated in the red stuff. Gotta say some of these guys I ended up running into at this gas station fought as if they didn't have much to lose. Like the one Japanese guy getting in close with those claws of his. I would be hesitant to do that normally, let alone against a guy who's raving mad and infected. Didn't exactly make for the best close quarters opponent. Still, with the rest of these guys converging on us from behind and this guy from the front?
Our options seemed like the following.
A:Get out of here.
B: Get out of here quicker.
C:Get the hell out of here!
I have to say all three of those options were pretty respectable in my eyes. We had to get past this guy and to our vehicles before we got swarmed. Because while brawls tend to make for pretty good scoops on slow news days, most brawls didn't involve getting mauled to death by tons of Infected. First thing was first though. I had to get a quick snapshot of this guy. Would help to keep track in case we ended up running into another SWAT officer turned infected monster.
I took the shot as quickly as I could and then let my camera dangle around my neck. All the while using my free hand to hang on to it. Because with this camera, I was going to find the answers behind all of this. Couldn't do that if it swung and hit me in the nose or broke now could I? My other hand was busy fumbling through my pocket for the pistol I grabbed out of tall dark and foreign's duffel bag. Pulling it out, I'd aim it down the line at the big guy and opened fire. Wasn't proud to say that I already had a bit of experience with this thing but it was do or die and I'd really prefer if this guy bit it before I did.
The smugness in the Swede's expression began to falter and die off. The intellectual condescending attitude with a mighty ego to tout grew annoyed more than amused, the foreigner's facial expressions tighten and contracting. Taking a few steps back, more towards the street, he faced off towards Yang, the elder physician displeased to say the least. Clenching his hands into fists, the Norwegian, often confused to be Swedish by ignorant Americans, barked out with a powerful yet stern voice.
"Do not test me, girl." he remarked with a hiss, reaching down to cock the hammer of his revolver. "You and the rest of these folks are the reason those abominations are descending upon us. I even gave you the luxury of sharing the supplies I found to better our survival. Who is not to say I want you having that, aaa, handgun anymore, mmm? Selfish brat, taking what you want, yet not paying me an ounce of respect" the Swede warned venomously, a vicious man keen more on survival than friendship.
"And trust me, if you even so think of breaking my legs, I wi-..."
"UAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!"
Abruptly and suddenly, Thor Gundersen froze, his face shifting to horror, looking down at the cracked asphalt. The roaring of sand encircled those at the gas station, streams of dust and grime flowing freely yet blinding exact vision of the horizon. As the sandstorm grew and grew in intensity, black silhouettes could be seen seemingly arising from the earth, their arms extended, their screams muffled under the roaring winds of nature. As evidence by Dean's observation, the legions of the Infected did not vanish. No, instead, they did something even more frightening....
They used a strategy.
Watching them arise one-by-one, less than half a mile away, the Swede could not comprehend how the Infected organized themselves in such a matter. Yes, they were far from dumb, but this level of intelligence is almost marveling human thought. Faintly, ever so faintly, the intellectual paused as his internal concerns were met with an answer. Among the distant screams and cries of the Infected, the pounding of what sounded like a war-drum echoed sonorously. Soon, the Swede drew out his revolver, pointing towards the fierce mass of muscle and intelligence that was bolting straight towards him.
Spearheading the small pack of Infected, a tall, abnormally buff riot-geared officer came charging down the highway. Fueled by adrenaline and unfathomable fury that would match Yang's, the once proud protector of the police kept pounding at shattered ballistic shield with a bloodied and jagged baton. Common Infected swarmed behind this somewhat "general", as if the maddening pounding of his shield was like the rallying drums of a marching army. Soon, a pack of Infected, roughly fifty in numbers broke away from this "Thrasher", moving as one towards Dean, Laura, Logan, and the majority of the group outside of the gas station.
Meeting this officer headstrong, the doctor raised his revolver. Shooting frantically, Thor watched as all six of his round were fired at this officer, the Uncommon Infected raising his ballistic shield to protect him of the incoming shots. Letting out a flurry of slurs, Mr Gundersen grasped the barrel of his revolver, intent on pistol-whipping the Infected. With a mighty swig, the Swede reeled forward, just as the officer reached in his range.
What the Swede didn't expect, however, was the nimble nature of the officer, as the Infected literally ducked out of the way of Thor's attack.
"SHI-!" was all Thor could utter as the Thrasher reeled upwards with his nightstick, virtually uppercutting Thor. With bones cracking and crimson spilling freely, the testosterone-fueled agitator bellowed of a mighty war cry of victory as Thor lay limp on the road. Waving his nightstick and shield rabidly, the Thrasher charged his mass of a body towards Yang, using his shield try and push aside the teenager with sheer brute force.
"GAAAAA!!!"the Thrasher screeched again, thrashing about wildly, waving his nightstick and shield furiously, particularly aiming to bludgeon Tina and Wei.
For Armor King and Frank, the cries did not go unheard. A deep, unsettling thumping sound could be heard, the backdoor to the gas station being violently pounded upon. It would not take long before the door would be completely caved in, letting the flow of the outrageous hordes of the Infected to sprawl in. Time was certainly ticking away, and now, it no longer become a venture for supplies...
Damn, if he weren't much for his stupidly surly demeanor, why, James Howlett's jaw mighta dropped at the sight of that. The raging infected collaborated to corner and garner an intensive opportunity for prey. This was a bit beyond the typical zombie syndrome he was somewhat aware of, the aforementioned zombie bit being a fad for some reason, one he'd came across by luck. Or rather misfortune.
You'll never hear that James 'Logan" Howlett liked Romero's works though.
No, this was beyond the mere shambling and ambling of addled creatures under perpetual spell of all-consuming, incoherent rage. There was a method to their madness-- quite literally, Logan noted-- in way of their screeching and bodily language. It was a terrifying sight to behold, yet majestic.
It was completely and totally unheard of, at least to the Canadian, of the raving madmen disappearing and reappearing elsewhere. Logan would have to reevaluate his understanding of the Infected another time though.
It galled Shredder to run away from any sort of fight. To run was to expose weakness. To show weakness in the face of adversity was to be eaten alive by allies and enemies alike. No, given the choice? Shredder would have opted to stay, to eradicate the Horde rather then let them follow and grow.
But he wasn't thinking for them all.
And even as his pride roared at him to kill, the more pragmatic part noted the surroundings. An open area would be to their advantage, the station easily broken.
The children would die.
Back and forth, he looked at the silent expanse and at the party.
Finally he growled, low in his throat as he prepared to-
-All hell broke loose.
Shredder roared, charging directly for the Thrasher.
Blades out, he rushed forward to slash the upper joints, to prevent it from using its shield while it went for Yang, using the blind spot and the confusion to do what he did best.
Christ, the Yakuza really were lofty in their selection of exquisite members; he was reminded of a man that ran around calling himself the Silver Samurai back in Japan, one whom had suspicious ties to one Shingen Yashida...
But that was then and this was the now.
Now was just full of crazy and it was swinging its claws for the Thrasher. It was almost inspirational, prompting Logan to glance toward the sportster he'd come with the others, to the saddlebag where similar implements lied.
He shook his head and exhaled calmly, the collectiveness of his centering himself absolutely oozing palpably off of him. Logan's stocky forearms lifted before his person, the service pistol coming into view as he took careful aim for the typical infected, forgoing the 'Thrasher" for now. He trusted that the others would tend to their erstwhile guest.
The screeching of the infected legions were an assault to the ears, the distant shrill cries and growls emphasized by a perpetual banging getting ever closer. She had been right to be wary. The infected, robbed of higher reasoning and filled with an overwhelming aggressive rage, had still enough wiles and crude instinct to use the environment to their advantage. Not enough of themselves left to be reasoned with, unfortunately. One in particular almost seemed to be marshaling their numbers. Stratagems, an almost rallying signal and an emerging leader. Less a chain of command, more a hierarchy common to animals such as lions. And they were the prey.
Not good.
Laura scrambled to the side, rolling up into a crouch beside her motorcycle. Better kept close by to reduce the chance a stray shot of hers pierced her ride. Quickly drawing her pistol, she opened fire to thin out the herd. Once they were dealt with, everyone could focus on the former officer in riot gear. Or so she hoped.
...Unless he takes it out already. Unlikely but possible.
The Trasher bellowed and cried, perpetually in a state of unfaltering rage, fueled by the primal desires to main and murder. He pounded at his padded riot gear chest dominantly, satisfied at his sheer brute yet agile force. A multitude of swings were directed towards Tina and Wei still, most of them missing, the bloodied nightstick striking with such force that the concrete beams holding the shoddy roof of the gas station cracked and shattered. Underneath his mask, only a veil of crimson was visible, the mad Infected's eyes beaming with absolute hatred. It would seem that this Uncommon Infected, despite his sheer strength, caused more discord and confusion in the group with this flurry of attacks than actual damage.
"GRAAA!!!" it cried, reaching out to strangle Tina, grabbing the blonde by the throat. Tightening his grip, the officer winced as two sharp blades began to dig into the padded shoulders of his ballistic vest. Feeling Shredder attacking from his exposed back, the Yakuza crimelord was able to at least expose the Thrasher's shoulders and the majority of his back-armor. Turning away from Wei and Tina, the enraged Infected charged towards Shredder. Holding his cracked ballistic shield in his left hand, the Infected began to, hence his namesake, thrash against Shredder. Bashing him with his shield and letting out a flurry of attacks with his nightstick, the buffed guardian of the law showed no mercy, his agility given his form shocking, landing a few decisive blows against the Yakuza member particularly with his wide and prominent shield against his abdomen and arms.
As the brawling against the Thrasher commenced, the herd of Infected kept their charge, though their numbers being extensively thinned out by the gunfire of both Laura and Akagi. Viscera danced with the wind, the sickening, rotting smell of bile-covered Infected guts, muscles, and bone splattering against the concrete and even the poor Impala (so much for a paint job). Still, despite this, the Infected were growing dangerously close, and without any backup, they would begin to join the melee with their "general" with Laura and Akagi being their first targets due to the deafening sounds of gunfire.
"Hey, get the hell over here! I'll cover ya, pop off a few rounds here and there, get em in the legs if ya have ta!" A cacophony reverberated amid the din, amid the voiced words of Logan's as he squeezed the trigger in rapid fashion. .45 GAP rounds tore free of the muzzles, their departure marked in brilliant flashes as they soared for the foreheads of unsuspecting infected.
"C'mon! If ya need ta clear out fer more space, I'll holler them to draw them the hell away. Ya know what to do if that happens!"
That was, if the roving hordes of frothing lunacy surged for the two, Logan would not err in covering them. If the tide ebbed and flowed toward his direction, he'd maintain their focus with raucous shouting and insults, accentuated with gunfire, with full hopes and trust in the others to deliver a storm of lead into their flanks and back.
His aim was for the arms...But this worked out fine as well. Though rather then blocking the attacks as most would, Shredder opted for more Water then Fire techniques, to use Shaolin terminology.
Instead of blocking, it merely meant Shredder would redirect the blunt force, using his open palm and his opponents own mindless force to redirect his attacks to go wildly. And when he did, unable to use his shield when the club came?
Shredder would strike decisively, aiming directly under the chin in rapid blows where there was no armor to speak of. The shield was easily avoided in turn for the most part.
Bulky, capable of only a few moves and used by some infected beast? Like reading a book, though it didn't account for the crowd, a few blows landing but ignored by the ninja in terms of this fight.
Crazy did as crazy did and he seemed real capable-- a note was mentally filed away amid the roiling chaos: maintain a fair distance from the Yakuza.
Especially if he were aware of who Logan was, though a linger feeling gave the sense that it was not the case. Nonetheless, a readily capable ally all the same, if one to be wary of.
As the brawling against the Thrasher commenced, the herd of Infected kept their charge, though their numbers being extensively thinned out by the gunfire of both Laura and Akagi. Viscera danced with the wind, the sickening, rotting smell of bile-covered Infected guts, muscles, and bone splattering against the concrete and even the poor Impala (so much for a paint job). Still, despite this, the Infected were growing dangerously close, and without any backup, they would begin to join the melee with their "general" with Laura and Akagi being their first targets due to the deafening sounds of gunfire.
The horde was definitely thinned out...but...it was made even clearer that the Infected, the former humans, were beyond true rational thought. Despite their rough strategy, there is not even a hint of self-preservation in response to the gunfire. Even animals know to not stick their noses where it hurts. Instead of falling back, the Infected seem to be almost revitalized. More and more eager to close the distance, their lips practically salivating at the thought.
Grimacing as her gun clacked empty, she thumbed the release, the sound of the spent clip bouncing off the ground eclipsed by the stampede of footsteps. Laura didn't even get a chance to see if there was still a round in the chamber before they were pretty much on top of her. Using her gun as a bludgeon, she swung out full force with a pistol whip to the nearest one's face. Spinning on her heel, she lashed out at the next, a kick to it's right knee, intent to drop it to the floor for the moment. Two more were rushing from the front, snarling all the way.
Laura tilted her head slightly, glancing from their mad rush to her motorcycle standing in their way. She sighed, but it was better than a prolonged fist fight. Besides, the bike is tough. Laura counted down the seconds, waiting until the last second before her boot rose up and pushed the bike over, hopefully crushing those two's legs underneath and keeping them pinned.
That is a crucial difference between us. The Infected have raw power fueled by pure fury and adrenaline...but we still have all our wits with us, to outmaneuver them. It's twisted when one thinks about it. The reason we're in danger from them, their massively increased aggression, is also the reason we have a chance against their superior numbers.
Shooting a glance to Logan, she nodded swiftly, shoving past a few more Infected to reach her father's position and reload her Sig Sauer with one of her spare clips. "This could be worse."
The Thrasher continued it's mindless assault against the Shredder, putting no effort in martial strategy or skill like he had down towards the twitching and bleeding Swede laying lonesomely upon Highway 80. Despite holding subtle memories of condemning riots in the officer's past life, the special abomination was no martial artist in the slightest. If anything, the mere dodge the once guardian of the law had done was perhaps the most advanced maneuver the furious, deranged human could pull off. Still, admirably, it seem not to hesitate in the slightest against the Shredder, putting all of it's efforts to mutilate the Yakuza gunman before him.
Choking as blades pierced into his jawline and neck, to Shredder's surprise, the Thrasher kept moving despite such a fatal blow. The Infected, despite still being human, showed little to no signs of trauma or the effects of blood-loss in the heat of combat. Many instances have occurred where Infected, even the common, most basic of ones would keep their unfaltering, bold charges into a hailstorm of lead with an arm, a leg, or half of their face dangling off their pale bodies. Screaming in agony underneath his mask, the Thrasher resorted to one last move.
Dropping his nightstick in his right hand, the Infected used his cracked riot shield and proceeded to slash across the gunman's torso with the sharpen glass. Granted, the cut would not be deep, only going past clothing, but it would be a cut, none of the less. Afterwards, the Thrasher had little time to, well, thrash anymore with the oversized sharpen piece of glass before a hail of lead from Armor King and Frank would shatter his kneecaps and split open his riot helmet. With a gurgling final cry, the pseudo-leader of this horde fell, virtually his entire head smashed in and kneecaps blown out.
It would be a shallow victory, however, as the waves of the Infected kept coming and coming from the maddening rush of sandstorms that surrounded the gas station. The once beautiful mountains of Utah, tipped with snow upon their red soil, were now but gone, lost in the veil of Mother Nature's howling fury. Even the cries of the Infected and the deafening boom of the gunfire seemed to be muffled, the sands growing more intense.
With the frontlines being held back by Logan, Akagi, and Laura, this would unfortunately not last. Even the desperate and comic attempt by Laura to virtually squash the undead with her bike, whilst successful, only provoked more and more of them. Under much different circumstances, and with a lot more weaponry, the fight would seem more plausible. But, as evidence by Ruby and others, what would there to be to gain. By the time the initial wave was ceased, another was beginning to emerge from the winds, stronger and better in numbers than before, spurned on by their "general", despite his just recent demise.
For those of the more keen eye, the Swede's revolver rested snugly in the distant, the silhouette of his body being mutilated, kicked, pounded, and stomped out by a raving pack of Common Infected. Crimson splattered into the air, flowing with the wind, the situation so anarchic that it was unsure if the Swede was screaming in agony or not anymore.
The Thrasher continued it's mindless assault against the Shredder, putting no effort in martial strategy or skill like he had down towards the twitching and bleeding Swede laying lonesomely upon Highway 80. Despite holding subtle memories of condemning riots in the officer's past life, the special abomination was no martial artist in the slightest. If anything, the mere dodge the once guardian of the law had done was perhaps the most advanced maneuver the furious, deranged human could pull off. Still, admirably, it seem not to hesitate in the slightest against the Shredder, putting all of it's efforts to mutilate the Yakuza gunman before him.
Choking as blades pierced into his jawline and neck, to Shredder's surprise, the Thrasher kept moving despite such a fatal blow. The Infected, despite still being human, showed little to no signs of trauma or the effects of blood-loss in the heat of combat. Many instances have occurred where Infected, even the common, most basic of ones would keep their unfaltering, bold charges into a hailstorm of lead with an arm, a leg, or half of their face dangling off their pale bodies. Screaming in agony underneath his mask, the Thrasher resorted to one last move.
Dropping his nightstick in his right hand, the Infected used his cracked riot shield and proceeded to slash across the gunman's torso with the sharpen glass. Granted, the cut would not be deep, only going past clothing, but it would be a cut, none of the less. Afterwards, the Thrasher had little time to, well, thrash anymore with the oversized sharpen piece of glass before a hail of lead from Armor King and Frank would shatter his kneecaps and split open his riot helmet. With a gurgling final cry, the pseudo-leader of this horde fell, virtually his entire head smashed in and kneecaps blown out.
It would be a shallow victory, however, as the waves of the Infected kept coming and coming from the maddening rush of sandstorms that surrounded the gas station. The once beautiful mountains of Utah, tipped with snow upon their red soil, were now but gone, lost in the veil of Mother Nature's howling fury. Even the cries of the Infected and the deafening boom of the gunfire seemed to be muffled, the sands growing more intense.
With the frontlines being held back by Logan, Akagi, and Laura, this would unfortunately not last. Even the desperate and comic attempt by Laura to virtually squash the undead with her bike, whilst successful, only provoked more and more of them. Under much different circumstances, and with a lot more weaponry, the fight would seem more plausible. But, as evidence by Ruby and others, what would there to be to gain. By the time the initial wave was ceased, another was beginning to emerge from the winds, stronger and better in numbers than before, spurned on by their "general", despite his just recent demise.
For those of the more keen eye, the Swede's revolver rested snugly in the distant, the silhouette of his body being mutilated, kicked, pounded, and stomped out by a raving pack of Common Infected. Crimson splattered into the air, flowing with the wind, the situation so anarchic that it was unsure if the Swede was screaming in agony or not anymore.
The old man was an ass but he didn't deserve what was happening to him. Shotgun shots started ringing in the air as Armor King would attempt to thin the horde around the old man, but he was quite sure even if he was alive he was not long to this world.
An entire horde from nothing--something Dean had never seen; not in person, not anecdotally, and sure as hell not on the news. One moment, the red Utah desertscape was stretched nearly as far as the eye could see; the next, it's positively gushing out Infected. Dean knew almost immediately that even if the entire group were armed to the teeth, they weren't like to survive. There were simply too many to handle. They had to get the hell out.
The drum-like cadence of the Thrasher beating a nightstick on his chest hypnotized him a moment before the former's charge into the Swede. Dean winced, pulling out his M1911 and aiming for the Thrasher before finding his target covered in friendlies. He resolved to try to take out those rushing in to join the fray, but not before noticing the Shredder's interesting choice of mêlée weapon.
Christ, are those claws?
A distinct thought that crossed Dean's mind, shots ringing out and the faces of the undead passing by his noticed like background noise as he fought to find his car in the clash. Also:
BABY, NO!
The Impala was one of three things keeping Dean going at this point, and they'd mushed all over it. They were going to pay, but it couldn't be now. Once again, there were too many. He'd have to wait for a day that he could end them, for they'd now made it personal.
Even with this new vendetta against the unfortunate Afflicted, Dean was finding it harder and harder to shoot as the wind and sand were kicking up in equal proportions.
The tall man in the dark coat was down, he'd seen, at the hands of Supercop, and it didn't look like he'd gotten back up. Now, Dean wasn't one for sticking his neck out for strangers, but it seemed that that man was a part of this group, though no one was calling his name. Hence, Dean joined Armor King in his fight to reach the Swede; by the sounds he was making (or wasn't making) and the gore flying into the wind, though, it was doubtful he'd be in any condition worth fighting for.
Shredder roared, there was simply no other way to describe it. It was a primal scream, a howl of defiance from the Yakuza as he waded into the thickest areas where allies might be faltering. His once pristine silk suit was stained with gore, his arm blades coated in blood, flesh and bile. Splatters of brain matter landed on his motorcycle visor, reflecting the hell Oroku Saki saw all around him. And where the Shredder moved, he seemed almost psychotic in the fury he showed.
Blades spiked into skulls, through eye sockets, at one point Shredder aiming to rip his claws out from one such target in his rush, either splitting the skull or ripping the entire head off. But mere death wasn't his aim. For everyone he killed, five rose to take their place. No, if all went well? He'd have drawn the majority to him.
Leaving the others to either escape with the non-combatants or thin out those left as the Yakuza bought them time.
The Thrasher continued it's mindless assault against the Shredder, putting no effort in martial strategy or skill like he had down towards the twitching and bleeding Swede laying lonesomely upon Highway 80. Despite holding subtle memories of condemning riots in the officer's past life, the special abomination was no martial artist in the slightest. If anything, the mere dodge the once guardian of the law had done was perhaps the most advanced maneuver the furious, deranged human could pull off. Still, admirably, it seem not to hesitate in the slightest against the Shredder, putting all of it's efforts to mutilate the Yakuza gunman before him.
Choking as blades pierced into his jawline and neck, to Shredder's surprise, the Thrasher kept moving despite such a fatal blow. The Infected, despite still being human, showed little to no signs of trauma or the effects of blood-loss in the heat of combat. Many instances have occurred where Infected, even the common, most basic of ones would keep their unfaltering, bold charges into a hailstorm of lead with an arm, a leg, or half of their face dangling off their pale bodies. Screaming in agony underneath his mask, the Thrasher resorted to one last move.
Dropping his nightstick in his right hand, the Infected used his cracked riot shield and proceeded to slash across the gunman's torso with the sharpen glass. Granted, the cut would not be deep, only going past clothing, but it would be a cut, none of the less. Afterwards, the Thrasher had little time to, well, thrash anymore with the oversized sharpen piece of glass before a hail of lead from Armor King and Frank would shatter his kneecaps and split open his riot helmet. With a gurgling final cry, the pseudo-leader of this horde fell, virtually his entire head smashed in and kneecaps blown out.
It would be a shallow victory, however, as the waves of the Infected kept coming and coming from the maddening rush of sandstorms that surrounded the gas station. The once beautiful mountains of Utah, tipped with snow upon their red soil, were now but gone, lost in the veil of Mother Nature's howling fury. Even the cries of the Infected and the deafening boom of the gunfire seemed to be muffled, the sands growing more intense.
With the frontlines being held back by Logan, Akagi, and Laura, this would unfortunately not last. Even the desperate and comic attempt by Laura to virtually squash the undead with her bike, whilst successful, only provoked more and more of them. Under much different circumstances, and with a lot more weaponry, the fight would seem more plausible. But, as evidence by Ruby and others, what would there to be to gain. By the time the initial wave was ceased, another was beginning to emerge from the winds, stronger and better in numbers than before, spurned on by their "general", despite his just recent demise.
For those of the more keen eye, the Swede's revolver rested snugly in the distant, the silhouette of his body being mutilated, kicked, pounded, and stomped out by a raving pack of Common Infected. Crimson splattered into the air, flowing with the wind, the situation so anarchic that it was unsure if the Swede was screaming in agony or not anymore.
Things seemed to be going to hell in a handbasket really fast. You had the guy with claws rushing into the midst of this mess. Which probably wasn't the wisest idea. But whatever, looked like that guy already had cavalry coming so no need to stick my neck out. The sounds of that guy who handed out the guns though..Jesus, nobody deserved a fate like that. No matter how much of an asshole they may have been. Keeping a tight hold on my camera, I swung the pistol around and blasted any of these Infected who got too close for comfort.
Glad the SWAT guy went down as quick as he did. Don't think it would have turned out too well if he'd been allowed to keep going. Wasn't too keen on getting too close to these guys either. I may have covered wars but that didn't train me for getting into a scuffle with a bunch of crazed infected.
As one of the guys who went to go help out the Swede called out, it gave me a pretty good idea. The Oldsmobile was the ticket out of here. Provided I stayed in one piece long enough to get it. Still, it was preferable to standing around waiting for my ammo to run out. I'd take a run towards where my car was parked as I swung my pistol to knock away any stragglers and fired on ones who looked like they were going to tackle me.
There were plenty of reasons one could think that Ruby hadn't ever been the brightest kid in the bunch (preferably thoughts had outside the earshot of Yang). Despite her love of reading, her vocabulary was... below average at best, and there'd been many a conversation online and off that had her staring blankly after a word a little to big for her had her mind wracking itself desperately for possible definitions. biology in particular was a special kind of hell in sophomore year.
"And who can tell me what the mitochondria is? How about.... you, miss Rose."
Ruby head shot up from where she had been just resting and definitely not asleep mid lecture because that would be bad "Y-yes!"
"... The definition, miss Rose."
"....of?"
The professor stared grimly at Ruby for a few seconds past his spectacles "Mitochondria. What is it."
"...Ooohhhh. Riiiiiiiihgt. Its... umm.. t-the... the uh... mite that cons the .... dryads to make them.... steer the bloodstream?"
Needless to say, a day that ended with her teacher snickering along with the rest of the class was never a good one. And it wasn't just big words. Simple social concepts like sarcasm (strangely capable of using it herself as she was) or subtext flew right over her head most of the time. That, on top of her usual shy and loner attitude, always tended left others with impression that Ruby was a bit dense, if not just a complete moron. Which was why the few who ever paid attention to her grades (in things besides english or biology at least) were always surprised to see just how good she got, especially in computers and mechanics, both of which got her scholarships to Berkley.
Because if there was one thing that Ruby's semi dense mind was really good at....
it was remembering obscure details about her favorite animes and mastering the mechanics of whatever video game she had her brain set on at the time
But if there was one USEFUL thing that Ruby's semi dense mind was also good at, it was seeing how bits and pieces worked together. It didn't matter if it was with a wrench or with a keyboard. They were almost the same to her, as she oftened explained to her few friends "A computer program and a car are basically the same thing! You put a whole bunch of words or bits of metal together, and all those bits make something really awesome!
...aaaand one wrong word or one missing screw and the whole thing blows up =w="
It was always weird to her dad how Ruby could struggle to remember the definition of salacious but know exactly what a harmonic balancer was and how it was different from a vibration absorber off the top of her head. Taking things apart and putting them together was Ruby's second favorite thing to do that wasn't losing herself in fictional worlds, and she had gotten pretty dang good at it over the years.
Including two particularly useful skills in this particular situation her uncle Qrow had taught her one night when he was babysitting both his little niece and a particularly potent bottle of vodka, one that even in his drunken haze he'd made Ruby promise never to share with Taiyang and Yang that he'd taught her, as they both layed hunched in the front seat of a certain Cardin Winchester's car after a cruel 'prank' by the boy earlier that day that had ended with one of Ruby's favorite books charred and unreadable. The first was how to jimmy an electric car lock. The second...
"-n'then you take thiiss wire here aaaaaaaand-"
*VRRRROOOOOOOMMMM*
"Yes! Yes I did I did it yessss!"
"Hehe. Great job kiddo" Qrow had said, ruffling the girls hair with a proud grin, elicting a goofy giggle from the younger mechanic
"Now whaddaya shay we find a lake to drive it into."
Needless to say Ruby had been grounded harder than ever in her life when she came home soaked to the bone and grinning like a fiend. But it had totally been worth it, to finally do something to protect herself instead of hiding behind her sis (And Qrow was obviously banned from ever babysitting Ruby again, not that she thought she needed one at 13).
And it was definitely worth knowing now.
One of the benefits of being smol and quiet was apparently that the zombies seemed to ignore her in favor of the tol and angry survivors, and she'd scrambled through the sudden to snatch her sister's hand and start dragging her towards one of the older cars that were around the gas station "C'mon, I got an idea!"
--
"That's great and all sis but can the idea wait until it's not the apocalypse?!" Yang barked back in sheer disbelief as Ruby took her hand and started pulling her off who-knows-where, eyes wide around the edges. Just about every instinct in her body told her to drag Ruby over to the motorcycle and get 'em both the heck out of dodge, and every instinct after that was telling her to help that old jerk before he got mauled to death by the crowd of nasties forming around him, but she trusted her sister enough to play along for now.
At the first sign of this being a bad idea, though, Yang was gonna show Ruby a thing or two about dragging.
--
"THE PLAN IS BECAUSE OF THE APOCALYPSE!" She hissed under her breath as she skidded to a halt in front of the door. She tapped the glass with her hand a few times with a concentrated frown... before suddenly taking the hilt of her sword and smashing it it open with a solid thunk. She wormed her hand inside and popped the lock and swung the door to click open the locks on the other side "ok ok now get in the passenger seat-"
It was about this time that the swede suddenly got beset by the horde and his cries hit Ruby's ears, a brief stumble in her words as her gaze swung over towards the mess and all the color drained from her face.
but he's not dead yet.
And he wasn't gonna be if Ruby had anything to say about it.
"HURRY AND GET IN" She yelled before she dived under the console, flicking her house keys out from her backpack and popping the cover off
--
"...THERE ARE CARS WITH KEYS IN THEM RIGHT THERE!"
Came Yang's outcry of bafflement, accompanied by a furious flap of the hand towards Dean's Impala as she sort of just stopped and stared at whatever the heck Ruby thought she was doing for a few seconds. Which turned out to be both a good decision and a bad decision; good because it meant Ruby had what amounted to a premium grade meatshield between her and the bad side of the equation, and bad because it was at that point that a lone, shrieking Infected that had broken off from the pack to chase after what it saw as easy prey collided with Yang from behind, the blonde hardly managing so much as a squeak and a panicked kick of the leg to slam the drivers' seat door shut behind Ruby before it established a surprisingly strong grip and viciously pulled her to the ground by her hair.
They were obscured for a few moments, the sounds of grunting and a scuffle clear outside the vehicle.
Then suddenly the infected-- a tall, well-built athletic type who probably would've been considered handsome before all this-- was shoved up against the car door roughly in a headlock, Yang looking almost at a loss what to do for a second before she gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, and wrenched her grip sharply to the right. There was a loud snap, and the infected's frenzied banging against the car's exterior stopped all too abruptly. The older sister was quick to get in the passengers' side of the car after that, breathing heavy and hair disheveled as she slammed the door behind her and scooted over to crouch on the drivers' seat so she could keep an eye out through the window and fend off any other infected that might've had the same idea as the last one.
"...Sis, you know I love you and I'm sure you're trying your best right now, but do you actually know how to do that?!"
--
"Yea, and this is a car we're not gonna have a chance to come back for! Because apparently there were a million of these things hiding behind cactuses or something and this car wasn't on the other side of that mess and this is an old ford and if there's something an old ford can do its take a hit- YANG?!" Little Red's rambles were cut short by the sudden grappling match, a small yelp as she tried to sit up and cracked her head on the steering wheel before she more carefully swung herself out to look, scrambling to try and draw her sword which was apparently really hard in a smaller car. Which was all well and good since the fight ended almost as soon as it began. Ruby was staring ahead into space trying to catch her own breath when Yang got back in, because that little sequence was more terrifying than she really had time to think about right now, before she took one last deep one and ducked back under the cover again, ignoring Yang's question for a few seconds before...
*VRROOOOOOM*
And back here we were, as Ruby let out a victorious whoop and scrambled back into the driver's seat, adrenaline pumping through her tiny frame as she gripped the steering wheel like it was her only connection to reality. She thrust her free hand towards Yang to shove the sword into her sister's grip as she gulped. "I make space. You make more. I grab the guy. We gtfo"
And despite the awful circumstances, despite the fact that people could definitely die if they screwed up or even if they did the best they could, despite the fact that building and maintaining a car was 100% different from driving it and Ruby had always been so stressed trying to remember all the stupid little rules of driving that were never present in her games to ever actually PASS her driver's test to even get a permit, a small, shaky, and honestly kinda scary smile lit up her face as she leaned forward and moved both hands to motherfreaking ten and twelve o'clock.
"Witness me"
And with that the engine went from a rumble to a roar as the heavy, old school, hunk of junk of a car tore off with sand spraying from its tires, blowing past dean (almost hitting him (again)) and whoever else was making for the Swede to plow right into the side of the horde on him in an attempt to make some room so Yang could make enough more for Ruby to grab the grumpy dude and pull him in
--
Yang tumbled back into the passengers' seat and followed along listlessly as the other girl's plan was laid out, accepting the sword when it was shoved into her hands. Her only response was a confused parroting of "Gtfo???" when her sister actually used that term out loud, the blonde otherwise nodding along blankly with what she was saying. But in spite of her apparent agreeableness, she did have one argument to voice; something that justhad to be said. One fundamental line of rhetoric that singlehandedly countered Ruby's entire plan in one fell swoop, like the verbal equivalent of an atomic bomb. Yang almost would've felt bad for dropping it... if it wasn't so awesome.
She casually tapped the dashboard where Ruby had rigged up the car.
"Wire we bothering?"
She didn't think there was ever gonna be more perfect timing than that. Sigh. Her sense of humor struck at the strangest times... But now that joking was out of the way, Yang could go ahead and get to that other thing she was really good at. When Ruby stomped on the gas pedal and rammed the car right into the side of the horde brutalizing Gundersen, the older sister immediately made to do her part, glancing over at the road rager in the drivers' seat and speaking - "I'm heading for the bike! I'll try draw 'em off you guys, but hurry!"
She could do a better job clearing the way with this than by waving this dumb sword out a car window, that was for sure. Yang roughly shoved open the door with her shoulder to slam into the nearest few infected and knock them over, getting out of the car with all the speed she could muster and banging the hilt of the sword against the paintjob a few times to make noise, hopefully making sure all the infected's attention was on her.
"So. You guys're hungry, huh? Well, why dontcha line up one-at-a-time and BITE ME!"
She kicked one of the zombies she'd hit with the car door in the chest while it was getting up to knock it over again for good measure, before immediately breaking into a sprint for where she'd left her bike near the highway, trying to divert the throng of infected away from Ruby and the Swede. She was totally confident in her ability to outrun them and start up her motorcycle before they caught up with her-- The keys were still in the ignition, after all.
Still... Some small part of her hoped that (amazing) joke wasn't destined to be the last pun she ever made.
---
"Why can't you just let my have this T~T" Ruby muttered at the needless pun on sister violence just before they tore away. The impact was... well... awful. And amazing. And horrifying. And a whole bunch of other adjectives Ruby couldn't bother to remember as blood and limbs went flying as the old monster of a car smashed into their ranks and Ruby mindlessly let out a terrified yell on impact. She stumbled out just behind Yang, hoping her sister both drew enough away for Ruby to successfully drag a man twice as big as her into the backseat and stayed safe long enough to reach her bike
"Aw christ. As much as I don't like that jackass, nobody but the worst deserve to go out like that; just surly and ill-mannered. Goddamn, being one a ta good guys just ain't makin' it sometimes. But ya gotta do it..." Brief tirade aside, a tired and ragged sigh escaped the Canadian's lips. Catching the words from Laura, he shook his head-- "If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that you never say anything like that. Whoever holds the cards in all this has a fond habit of throwin' ya under the bus and then some."
Logan reached for the back pocket of his jeans, fingers rummaging around... before a curse was dropped out of the blue. "Rest of the magazines for my gun's back at the bike back there." A growl followed. "Well, got a choice here; make a break fer the bike that's nearly dead or help the tightwad over the--"
A roaring *VRROOOOOOM* caught Logan's attention, prompting the response of sheer and utter flabbergast. "Isn't that pretty-boy's car-- no, goddamn, that hair. That's Yang and--" ... "The lil' one's driving?" He could not help but laugh. Strange and stranger things were going to be happening with this group wasn't it?
"Alright, darlin', I'm gonna need to commandeer your ride. Hope ya don't mind if yer relegated to the role of passenger, you've got the better weapon. I'm fixing to see that Fireball makes it to her bike and hightails it outta there. We'll group with the Impala. but first things first?" A sharp exhale, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Gotta brave the danger first for my shit before we leave."
... Right, it was her bike.
"All up ta ya, but better make that decision quick alright, the others are already moving." Logan stated with finality as he rushed back into the thick of it, making a break for his own motorbike. The contents of the saddle were few, rations, ammo, and mementos were all that it contained.
A roaring *VRROOOOOOM* caught Logan's attention, prompting the response of sheer and utter flabbergast. "Isn't that pretty-boy's car-- no, goddamn, that hair. That's Yang and--" ... "The lil' one's driving?" He could not help but laugh. Strange and stranger things were going to be happening with this group wasn't it?
"Alright, darlin', I'm gonna need to commandeer your ride. Hope ya don't mind if yer relegated to the role of passenger, you've got the better weapon. I'm fixing to see that Fireball makes it to her bike and hightails it outta there. We'll group with the Impala. but first things first?" A sharp exhale, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Gotta brave the danger first for my shit before we leave."
... Right, it was her bike.
"All up ta ya, but better make that decision quick alright, the others are already moving." Logan stated with finality as he rushed back into the thick of it, making a break for his own motorbike. The contents of the saddle were few, rations, ammo, and mementos were all that it contained.
Is he joking? He has to be. Not only riding alongside her father but on the same motorcycle? No problems at all with that idea. In fact, quite the opposite. "Together then? That sounds just fine with me." Laura fell silent with a nod, raising her pistol to give him cover from any of the Infected that got too close and get her bike back up to it's usual position.
Despite his best efforts, Akagi wasn't having much luck in permanently thinning the zombie's ranks. What kind of joke was this? Even the Bimotion Buster rifle and others firing combined couldn't seem to make a serious dent in the infected. But a true Sentai Ranger would never give up! In the face of a seemingly invincible foe, with the pain his shoulder was getting from firing so many times, he would only grow stronger!
Pain is strength!
...Though as he noticed the Swede fall, he knew just what flag had been triggered. When an ally fell, that either meant they'd have to retreat or they'd suddenly power up to defeat their enemy! He just had to figure out which one it was. Hmm...
Ah! The one who'd fallen was the old mentor, wasn't it? But he hadn't taught them anything yet! Which meant it was time to beat a hasty retreat! Hanging his rifle around his shoulder and taking out his pistol for better mobility, Akagi took off for the car like many of the others.
For the Shredder, his valor and courageous nature would not go ignored. The Infected hurled themselves wildly forward, their arms and legs thrashing forward, pushing their limp yet courageously feral bodies ahead. Crimson and viscera dancing like rose petals around the Yakuza crimelord, almost akin a ballad of the wretched and damned. It was elegant, deadly, and above all else, precise and accurate to each slash, each thrust, each movement compared to the barbaric nature of the Infected.
However, martial prowess alone was not a feat against the Infected. Despite the Shredder's notable efforts and clever distraction, it was but blind valor in the end. Against more mortal and sane foes, the attacks would be decisively deadly, causing severe trauma, the severing of skin from flesh and bone. Yet in this dance, the shorten blades would prove to be both an ally and foe to the Shredder. An occasional punch would hit the man, the swarms upon swarms of the afflicted humans throwing themselves towards to criminal. This occasional punch evolve into a kick, the sheer numbers of the Infected able to swarm even the most trained of fighters. If the military had difficulty fending off the Infected with firearms, then melee was surely the most riskier dance with death against large numbers of the Infected.
In the end, the Shredder, given his name, burrowed himself deep into the mindless hordes of the Infected. But alas, as a brief respite came from the hordes, the Yakuza crimelord would find himself utterly battered. From sheer blunt force and overwhelming numbers, the Shredder would find his attire in tatters, his body bruised and tired, and the taste of blood in his mouth. On the horizon, he could hear the unison cry of the Infected once more, the shifting sands blinding him from peering afar, yet the cries and screams indicating that this was no longer a fight that could be one.
As the Eastern beserker lead his savage yet arguably tactically void advancement, the whirling tires of an old rustic Ford pickup spurned against the sand and concrete. Shockingly, this moment of sheer unorthodox brilliance was dangerously efficient, crashing into some of the Infected swarming around the Shredder before whirling in to drive off near the beaten, battered, and bloodied Swede. For those that had advanced to help the foreign doctor, they would be greeted to the screeching of tires, the humming of a steaming engine being driven by....teenagers.
Teenagers.
How Ruby Rose and Yang Xiao Long managed such a feat, well, is another story entirely on it's own. But yet, with frankly dangerously cooperation, the two siblings arguably saved the Swede. Unfortunately, however, their plan came with a slight drawback. Fueled by the vrooming and crackling of an dying engine, this fueled the Infected further and further, their distance footsteps growing and growing. With so much commotion, so much panic, there was but one course of action now.
Flee.
With a desperate cry, his face bloodied and flesh freely hanging, the Swede arose in the passenger seat of the truck. Having lost his revolver, the man hid his face, the doctor looking like a mangled mess. For Ruby, the sight would be absolutely horrific, unlike anything she had witnessed behind her computer monitors. Before the teenager, real blood, real flesh, and the real mangled nature of the impatient middle-aged Norwegian would peer underneath feeble and shuddering hands. With a raspy voice, the croaked man cried out, lurching over to snatch at the driver's wheel.
"Go...go to your s-sister...I c-can drive...go...go child...go!"
Trying to push Ruby off, the Swede, still concealing his face, purred up the engine of the truck. Drowsily and perhaps foolishly, by virtually pushing aside Ruby, the doctor in a delirious state began to spin off in the old junker. Pushing through the sands, spinning all over the road, the Swede began to speed down Highway 80 heading west, setting an example for the others to follow. Or, more accurately, to hastily follow, the conflicted doctor practically kicking Ruby out and spinning off with the pickup.
Around the survivors, the Infected would finally ease, giving them but a brief moment to gather themselves and move. Yet, as evidence by what the Shredder heard, there was no time to scavenge or even introduce to one another.
-Escape west on Highway 80 whilst you have a chance! Man your bikes, Impala, and for those that have no ride, flee into Frank's Oldsmobile or whatever is available. This is your only chance!-
For the Shredder, his valor and courageous nature would not go ignored. The Infected hurled themselves wildly forward, their arms and legs thrashing forward, pushing their limp yet courageously feral bodies ahead. Crimson and viscera dancing like rose petals around the Yakuza crimelord, almost akin a ballad of the wretched and damned. It was elegant, deadly, and above all else, precise and accurate to each slash, each thrust, each movement compared to the barbaric nature of the Infected.
However, martial prowess alone was not a feat against the Infected. Despite the Shredder's notable efforts and clever distraction, it was but blind valor in the end. Against more mortal and sane foes, the attacks would be decisively deadly, causing severe trauma, the severing of skin from flesh and bone. Yet in this dance, the shorten blades would prove to be both an ally and foe to the Shredder. An occasional punch would hit the man, the swarms upon swarms of the afflicted humans throwing themselves towards to criminal. This occasional punch evolve into a kick, the sheer numbers of the Infected able to swarm even the most trained of fighters. If the military had difficulty fending off the Infected with firearms, then melee was surely the most riskier dance with death against large numbers of the Infected.
In the end, the Shredder, given his name, burrowed himself deep into the mindless hordes of the Infected. But alas, as a brief respite came from the hordes, the Yakuza crimelord would find himself utterly battered. From sheer blunt force and overwhelming numbers, the Shredder would find his attire in tatters, his body bruised and tired, and the taste of blood in his mouth. On the horizon, he could hear the unison cry of the Infected once more, the shifting sands blinding him from peering afar, yet the cries and screams indicating that this was no longer a fight that could be one.
The smart thing would have been to run away long ago. The right thing, would have been to do what he did. It was an honorable action, the likes of which he hadn't thought himself capable of, not since....Not since....
Not since Hamato Yoshi.
Tired, bruised and looking utterly savage despite it, the Shredder would feel lighter in spirit then he had ever thought possible in the cathartic battle of blood and bone. His purpose had been accomplished- Those who might have otherwise never had time to do their actions, had done so. More had a chance to live from his actions- Now was the time to focus on himself.
He half-staggered, half-power walked over to his bike, kicking it into gear and just in time to see Ruby kicked out of the car. He drove off, approaching close and helmet battered, he looked at Ruby impassively...And waited, inclining his head once. If she chose to rode with him, unlikely as it was he'd speed off to safety with the child, among those he found himself with. If not? He'd wait regardless, until she was moved to safety.
