cow-wannabe
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Mar 4, 2020
Okay, here's a horror-post...
In ad 2101 war was beginning....
Bacteriological bombs rain down upon the city, the vector for an apocalyptic disease.
All around you people succumb, coughing up blood as their organs swell and haemorrhage. Their bodies convulse briefly on the ground. There's a moment of peace, and then they rise, frames jerking with spastic thrusts. Dead, but darting, eyes already searching for prey. They are the flesh-crazed , the shamblers, and their cannibalistic lust is a force-multiplier, spreading the contagion out beyond the initial airburst.
You remember the last message from command, the last hope. Satellite-based scanners have detected a previously unknown mycelium biomass. Computer projections confirm that even in its unrefined state it can be metabolized into an effective antibiotic against the infection.
You look down at your GPS. You've almost reached your target.
You stop and take a moment to catch your breath.
It is a mistake.
Out of nowhere a shambler lunges, jaw clamping around your wrist. A bullet quickly dispatches it, but it's too late. Blood has been drawn, you are infected, and now you have mere minutes left before you too succumb to the shambling.
Spitting out a curse, you shake your head, fighting down the bestial madness that is already starting to grow out from your reptile brain.
Your target is ahead. The abandoned campus building.
You are breathing hard as you kick in the door. As you race up the steps you repeat your own name, concentrating on those words as complicated thoughts become increasingly difficult.
The GPS is screaming now. It's a dorm-room. You kick in the door.
Instantly you're hit by the stench. Like smelling salts it brings a stab of alertness to your bacteria-addled mind. This place is an abattoir, rotten and half consumed animal carcasses litter the floor. Discarded trash and unwashed clothes are everywhere.
You slowly, swallowing down vomit, survey the room.
You see her, the target.
She is before you on the bed, almost naked. Geek glasses and cankerous skin. Lopsided breasts are stuffed into a bra padded with soiled toilet-tissues and the maggot-writhing remains of boiled hamsters. You look down. Her legs are spread. You see the pulsating slit beneath the knot of shit-matted pubes, swollen lips heavy with the fungal-rich pustules.
You hack and the taste of blood is on your lips. The infection has almost taken you now. You are shivering, beset by trembling palsy.
Thinking in words in almost impossible for you now. You only have moments left.
You have your last real thought, a memory.
"Even in its unrefined state the fungus can be metabolized into an effective antibiotic"
The thing on the bed knows why you are here. She cocks her head coyly and with a flatulent shuffle widens her legs to beckon you in.
The disease almost has you...but a cure is only a taste away. All you need to do is lunge your head into that briny, fecal mound and start lapping like a hungry cat and the disease will be beaten. It's a simple choice, a weighing of horrors.
In that instant you have to make the decision....
...what will you do???
In ad 2101 war was beginning....
Bacteriological bombs rain down upon the city, the vector for an apocalyptic disease.
All around you people succumb, coughing up blood as their organs swell and haemorrhage. Their bodies convulse briefly on the ground. There's a moment of peace, and then they rise, frames jerking with spastic thrusts. Dead, but darting, eyes already searching for prey. They are the flesh-crazed , the shamblers, and their cannibalistic lust is a force-multiplier, spreading the contagion out beyond the initial airburst.
You remember the last message from command, the last hope. Satellite-based scanners have detected a previously unknown mycelium biomass. Computer projections confirm that even in its unrefined state it can be metabolized into an effective antibiotic against the infection.
You look down at your GPS. You've almost reached your target.
You stop and take a moment to catch your breath.
It is a mistake.
Out of nowhere a shambler lunges, jaw clamping around your wrist. A bullet quickly dispatches it, but it's too late. Blood has been drawn, you are infected, and now you have mere minutes left before you too succumb to the shambling.
Spitting out a curse, you shake your head, fighting down the bestial madness that is already starting to grow out from your reptile brain.
Your target is ahead. The abandoned campus building.
You are breathing hard as you kick in the door. As you race up the steps you repeat your own name, concentrating on those words as complicated thoughts become increasingly difficult.
The GPS is screaming now. It's a dorm-room. You kick in the door.
Instantly you're hit by the stench. Like smelling salts it brings a stab of alertness to your bacteria-addled mind. This place is an abattoir, rotten and half consumed animal carcasses litter the floor. Discarded trash and unwashed clothes are everywhere.
You slowly, swallowing down vomit, survey the room.
You see her, the target.
She is before you on the bed, almost naked. Geek glasses and cankerous skin. Lopsided breasts are stuffed into a bra padded with soiled toilet-tissues and the maggot-writhing remains of boiled hamsters. You look down. Her legs are spread. You see the pulsating slit beneath the knot of shit-matted pubes, swollen lips heavy with the fungal-rich pustules.
You hack and the taste of blood is on your lips. The infection has almost taken you now. You are shivering, beset by trembling palsy.
Thinking in words in almost impossible for you now. You only have moments left.
You have your last real thought, a memory.
"Even in its unrefined state the fungus can be metabolized into an effective antibiotic"
The thing on the bed knows why you are here. She cocks her head coyly and with a flatulent shuffle widens her legs to beckon you in.
The disease almost has you...but a cure is only a taste away. All you need to do is lunge your head into that briny, fecal mound and start lapping like a hungry cat and the disease will be beaten. It's a simple choice, a weighing of horrors.
In that instant you have to make the decision....
...what will you do???
