hurr time for my first shitty
It had been several days since the initial outbreak in the Horzine facilities. Screaming and flailing cannabalistic mutants, failed cloning projects built upon the funds of military contracts, had ran wild throughout the British countryside, tearing through any city or town without a serious defense in place. These monstrosities were collected all over the country, lurking in the filth and shadows around all the major cities that they had taken. London was hit hard, the casualties on both sides casualties racking up into the hundreds of thousands. The desolate lengths of Stamford Street were plauged with fires, twisted metal and pools of blood. A thin layer of smoke and fumes twirled throughout the air, the putrid stink of hot blood leaking into the atmosphere. London had fallen to the horde. This lifeless scene of course, was before the squad had arrived.
A loud droning helicopter shoots through the overcast, the whooping blades of the helicopter met with loud screeches from below. The machine becomes visible as it declines through the smog, hovering in the wide street clearing and dropping it's cargo door. Four figures jump the small gap to the streetside, readying their firearms. This was the small squad tasked with cleaning the mean streets. The remenants of muties taking refuge in the cities they defiled were a persitant bunch, arising out of the darkness and charging the group with their bare claws, and whatever else the freaks had grafted onto them. This was of course, an action met with deadly force.
The first to open fire would be a paratrooper, clad in a red beret and toting his service rifle. Sgt. Clive Jenkins of the 6th Company, initially dropped over West London to assist in evacuating civvies, was now on the task of booting the rest of the scum out of London. Him and his military mate, Corporal Lewis, took the front, emptying rifle cartridges into the gurgling masses with extreme efficiency. The other two, an estastic stockbroker and his busty, proclaimed 'wife', with matching GP-5's stretched over their heads, guarded the rear, watching the Merlin dust off and scanning for threats behind the troopers. All routine for the kill squad.
Echoing shouts, screams and gunshots ring throughout the city as the group gets to work, moving throughout the block and peppering anything that moves with a good dose of 5.56. After the streets were quiet once more, the blood spattered exterminators return to their LZ, waiting for the routine evac to swoop down and load them inside. The troops sit down on the hood of an old Land Rover, the door torn off and the driver dismembered inside. They light up a smoke, as the mask-clad pair sits down on the opposite curb. These lovers, an inseperable couple, were partners in stock exchange before shit hit the fan. Upon the outbreak, the two geared up in their matching masks, nabbing shotguns off of their dead police force and getting to work on the scum. Somehow, they ended up with an assignment to continue killing the bastards. All the better for them, thinking of the whole event as a load of fun. They appropriately called themselves Mister and Mrs. Foster.
Foster reaches his arm around her back, clasping her shoulder and hugging the opposite one close. "We got the 'ole bloody neighborhood on that one, didin't we?" He remarks in an upbeat tone of voice. She yawns, stretching her legs and leaning her head towards him a bit. "Had loadsa fun out there t'day." She replies, laughing a bit. "Fun? Eh, that'll come later, lass." They both let out a laugh, just as chopping helicopter blades become audiable.
Once again, the Merlin descends into the clearing, kicking up grime around the scene. The squad piles into the spacious interior, clanking their heels on the metal flooring panels. The troops walk up front, adressing the pilots and slumping into the seats next to the talkitive crew cheif and door gunner, checking over their weapons, shooting the shit with eachother and brushing off their gear. The Fosters sit in the back row of strapped seats, observing their ascent from the city, an orange hue falling over the buildings as the sun sets.
Minutes pass as the Merlin swoops over the countryside, radio chatter between the crew and RAF Alconbury audiable in the back of the chopper. Mrs. Foster stares out the ramp door, cheeks resting on her hands, the sun continuing to set across the view. "It's a beaut, isn't it?" She rasps out, eyes wandering across the horizon of what used to be her grand homeland. "It'd be a whole lot nicer without all the crazy blokes, don't you think?" He replies, shaking his head and letting her lean against him, her feet outstretched on the seats. "Say, ever since that welder, What's the name, Aldrige. He left for the mechanics bunk, didin't he?" Foster asks. The missus replies, "Yeah, we have the 'ole barracks to ourself tonight." He smiles, remarking to himself, "That's a proper good thing."
The crew cheif stands up, grabbing onto a ceiling strap and explaining loudly, "One hour 'till we touch down at airbase, ev'ryone." All the occupants shift a bit, nodding towards him and muttering various acknowledgements. He sets himself back down, talking with the pilots a bit.
Mostly tired, the squad and the crew sit back for the rest of the flight, the soldiers talking amongst themselves while the couple sits close together, arms wrapped around eachother's backs. The interior shudders suddenly, the droning noise deepening as Alconbury comes into veiw, large fences and guard towers forming a perimiter around the airbase. The Merlin quickly hovers over to a peice of the airfeild set aside for the HC3s. "Alright, pile out!" The crew cheif commands.
The ramp door drops, exposing the evening darkness and allowing the Fosters to walk out first, the powering down rotors kicking up air and dust around the chopper. They wait at the ramp, the Sarge clanking out behind them and giving them a quick, informal salute. "Oi! Did good out there. 'Ead back to the quarters," He points towards their usual place of refuge on the base, a surplus set of barracks across the tarmac. "You've got the whole bloody night to yourselves, but I'll be expecting you lot at oh-five 'undred. We've got work to finish up." The couple returns the salute, the Mister handing over his L119A1 to the Corporal and wrapping his arm around the Missus. "Let's go, shall we?"
hurr heres the chars http://cdn2.steampowered.com/v/gfx/apps ... 1372870842
and also http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2012/ ... 4lh9ej.jpg
and http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2011/ ... 38bcsu.png