The War Z (Zombie Survival MMO)
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Leroy
2012 Troll of the Year
This game is seriously the tits. It's not fun and bright, its doom and gloom. More than once I've wiped out my own team by being selfish.
For the sisters:
"I wake up in a ditch, my red plaid workshirt covered in blood. I'm not bleeding, who's I wonder? I gather myself up, rifle through my backback, and take my bearings. Thank god for cub scouts I thought, as I turn on my flatchlight, breaking up the ilky darkness of the setting sun and head towards a road in the distance. All of a sudden, the prattle of a radio breaks up the silence. I quickly lower my backpack off of one shoulder, and find the radio in a back, undiscovered pocket. Wait a minute I thought, this isn't my old backpack? how long have I been out cold for, who looted my sleeping, drenched body? Through the cackle of the radio I hear a myraid of voices, calling for help, some offering trade, some barely speaking english. "How am I die". I hear a monotone voice slice through, "food for guns?"
Now the doubt starts to creep into my head like a thief in the night. Worry racks my body, like a thousand ants gnawing at my skin. I'm unarmed, hungry, and its getting dark. I decide to chance it, and state clearly, I am willing to trade, where are you?". The disembodied voice replies, "Campos". Ahh, I know this name, I thought, I saw it on a road sign a couple miles back, I'm heading in the right direction.
I press on, keeping heartrate keeping beat with the sound of my shoes hitting the pavement. Now nightfall, a haze has fallen over the valley. I can see two towers stretched tall in the distance. As I run through a crumbling neighbourhood, I am grabbed suddenly by a tall, eastern block looking man, his eyes full of fear, he mutters, "Da, comrade, I am gypsy king, they call me AK47". Behind him is a smaller fellow, shaking in fear, nervously jangling a large 44 calibre handgun. He seems to have pissed himself. After some quick pleasantries, it is obvious that I am going to have to assume leadership.
Suddenly, we hear a CRACK CRACK CRACK, and the night sky is illuminating sharply in a tall building just west. I charge, leading the way, someone might be hurt! 47 and 44 (whom I've affectionately named) try to keep up, but my rugby training gives me the advantage. I vault through a window, yelling for my other two piss-soaked comrades to follow, and charge up the numerous flights of stairs. What could only be described as a scene from the recesses of the mind of a serial killer, greets my eyes as I reach the 4th floor. Blank-eyed people, blood and entrails running down their mouths and throats, are gnawing at the midsection of a still barely alive soul. They seemingly smell me, and start to give chase, and as I turn around to run, I'm run pell-mell into 44 and 47, who are too stunned in fear to react. I blow by them like a cat on fire, and the last thing I hear is their dying screams as they are quickly consumed and overtaken by the horde.
I run and run far. I've made it to the outskirts of town. I find a shallow depression in the earth to bed down for, my heart finally starting to calm. If this is the first day, how am I to survive the next...."
For the sisters:
"I wake up in a ditch, my red plaid workshirt covered in blood. I'm not bleeding, who's I wonder? I gather myself up, rifle through my backback, and take my bearings. Thank god for cub scouts I thought, as I turn on my flatchlight, breaking up the ilky darkness of the setting sun and head towards a road in the distance. All of a sudden, the prattle of a radio breaks up the silence. I quickly lower my backpack off of one shoulder, and find the radio in a back, undiscovered pocket. Wait a minute I thought, this isn't my old backpack? how long have I been out cold for, who looted my sleeping, drenched body? Through the cackle of the radio I hear a myraid of voices, calling for help, some offering trade, some barely speaking english. "How am I die". I hear a monotone voice slice through, "food for guns?"
Now the doubt starts to creep into my head like a thief in the night. Worry racks my body, like a thousand ants gnawing at my skin. I'm unarmed, hungry, and its getting dark. I decide to chance it, and state clearly, I am willing to trade, where are you?". The disembodied voice replies, "Campos". Ahh, I know this name, I thought, I saw it on a road sign a couple miles back, I'm heading in the right direction.
I press on, keeping heartrate keeping beat with the sound of my shoes hitting the pavement. Now nightfall, a haze has fallen over the valley. I can see two towers stretched tall in the distance. As I run through a crumbling neighbourhood, I am grabbed suddenly by a tall, eastern block looking man, his eyes full of fear, he mutters, "Da, comrade, I am gypsy king, they call me AK47". Behind him is a smaller fellow, shaking in fear, nervously jangling a large 44 calibre handgun. He seems to have pissed himself. After some quick pleasantries, it is obvious that I am going to have to assume leadership.
Suddenly, we hear a CRACK CRACK CRACK, and the night sky is illuminating sharply in a tall building just west. I charge, leading the way, someone might be hurt! 47 and 44 (whom I've affectionately named) try to keep up, but my rugby training gives me the advantage. I vault through a window, yelling for my other two piss-soaked comrades to follow, and charge up the numerous flights of stairs. What could only be described as a scene from the recesses of the mind of a serial killer, greets my eyes as I reach the 4th floor. Blank-eyed people, blood and entrails running down their mouths and throats, are gnawing at the midsection of a still barely alive soul. They seemingly smell me, and start to give chase, and as I turn around to run, I'm run pell-mell into 44 and 47, who are too stunned in fear to react. I blow by them like a cat on fire, and the last thing I hear is their dying screams as they are quickly consumed and overtaken by the horde.
I run and run far. I've made it to the outskirts of town. I find a shallow depression in the earth to bed down for, my heart finally starting to calm. If this is the first day, how am I to survive the next...."
mandy
TD Member
fixed.
Essay + No Emotes = fucking gay as balls
OG buckshot jr
TD Admin
The Black Jesus said:
Good post Leroy, took a little break from work to read it lol Not bad!
Leroy
2012 Troll of the Year
Well, it does describe a conglomerate of things that actually happened.
One, it is a mother fucking hiking simulator. Balls. Spawn in random point on the map, run for an hour hoping not to run into anybody/thing until you hook up with 44/47. Then loot stores and shit while trying to avoid players and zombies, and bag newbs.
Seriously, its fun tagging bitches who carry flatchlights. Also, lead 44 into a horde of zombies and prepare for tears. Lots and lots of tears...
One, it is a mother fucking hiking simulator. Balls. Spawn in random point on the map, run for an hour hoping not to run into anybody/thing until you hook up with 44/47. Then loot stores and shit while trying to avoid players and zombies, and bag newbs.
Seriously, its fun tagging bitches who carry flatchlights. Also, lead 44 into a horde of zombies and prepare for tears. Lots and lots of tears...
Leroy
2012 Troll of the Year
Playing the game with 47 alone is enough to purchase the game.
He's like the russian guy from l4d that keeps dropping those fucking hilarious one liners. If I wasn't so busy mic-breathing, I'd laugh out loud.
Plus, he's always. fucking. positive.
Like, "stay positive guys, we can do it"
and
"Remember the key is to play as a team, leroy, here have a pistol"
and
"I like to jerk off to fuzzies"
It's quite surreal.
He's like the russian guy from l4d that keeps dropping those fucking hilarious one liners. If I wasn't so busy mic-breathing, I'd laugh out loud.
Plus, he's always. fucking. positive.
Like, "stay positive guys, we can do it"
and
"Remember the key is to play as a team, leroy, here have a pistol"
and
"I like to jerk off to fuzzies"
It's quite surreal.
Leroy
2012 Troll of the Year
Additionally, I just read their forums, they are trying to slowly tone down the PVP. Well, fuck you and fuck them too.
Best part of the game is killing gypsy survivors running around with flatchlight, shaved head and bright red plaid.
Yes, that was me, I admit. You should have heard 44/47 when they first saw me. Something to the effect of...
"oh god leroy, you're going to get us all killed"
Best part of the game is killing gypsy survivors running around with flatchlight, shaved head and bright red plaid.
Yes, that was me, I admit. You should have heard 44/47 when they first saw me. Something to the effect of...
"oh god leroy, you're going to get us all killed"
