Unlike the T-1000 levels of resilience my character seems to show against bullets from human attackers, as soon as zombies are thrown into the mix, I suddenly gain the coordination of a cardboard standee depicting a dangerously plastered Jack Sparrow. But they remain calm, encouraging even, as the elevator reaches its destination, and we hoof it to the truck. If my apoco-buds aren’t already confused as to how I’d made it this far, I imagine the survivor incident tipped them off. Her succinct, haunting requiem is still burnt in my memory, just as it appeared in the top right corner of the screen: Before we got in this elevator, I’d wandered off from my three highly coordinated teammates to the survivor they had cleverly told to wait in a corner, commanded her to follow me, and accidentally led her straight into bitey land. To be honest, I think most of it is for my benefit.
The sudden excitement in the chat log clues me in to the upcoming danger.
We’re preparing to make one final, treacherous push through a warehouse of shambling flesh nibblers to our getaway truck. The four of us are standing in a descending elevator, each grasping a holdall of supplies. Check back tomorrow, if we’re still all here. RPS is having an Apocalypse Day! We’re celebrating the end of the world and games about it.
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