Hello again! been nearly a year since i last posted, gosh.
Anywhom, i typed this up for giggles, and i hope you all enjoy it.
KILLING FLOOR II – FALL OF PARIS
London is burning. Mutated abominations roam the streets looking for survivors to attack, prowling the alleys and storming the streets in search of new fresh meat. England has gone to hell, and Satan wants nothing to do with it.
The patriarch had managed to hijack a train to escape to Paris, upon hearing of the impending Mercenaries and Ex-special forces hunting him down hoping to destroy him once and for all. To counter this, Kevin had desperately sicced an army of clones to slow the assault while he escaped, and left two clones of himself to guard and destroy the assailants.
Little did Kevin know, that his own daughter, Rachel Clamely – who had been hiding in his underground Laboratory waiting for someone to help her – had been assisting the survivors in an attempt to destroy his clones once and for all, and with a little luck and a ****load of firepower – him.
Unfortunately, this was not so. Kevin had managed to stall them long enough to hijack a train to Paris, forcing the Rag-tag team of Mercs to find another way to Paris before it was too late.
Kevin sat on the abandoned trains seats, the Automated Locomotive speeding along the tracks on its way to the Soon to be doomed Country of France. His chest heaved as the vile pulsating tentacle embedded in his flesh pulsed and flexed, almost as if it were alive. Kevin looked to his right hand, which gripped a large container of Dismembered Zeds. A Bloats Finger, A Gorefast’s Thigh. Hell, somewhere in there was one of his Kevin-clone’s EYEBALLS.
Horzine had many offices around the world, and even more Laboratories however most were discovered and destroyed upon global announcement of the outbreak, many Government officials fearing that Kevin may find the labs and create new specimens in them, in order to create the same fate that Great-Britain suffered. However, Kevin knew of a secret underground bunker that the Army could never find. Right under their noses, and they’d never even suspect it. Underneath the Eiffel tower.
12 hours later, the train finally came to a stop in one of Paris’ many train stations. It was Dark, and no-one seemed to be around. Most likely asleep. Kevin calmly walked along the Carriage to the doors, the hefty container strapped to his back. His clawed hand reached underneath one of the Seats, and pulled out a large trenchcoat he had stashed there. After all, he could decimate a few police units on his own, but his main power lied in his many specimens, his children. His army. Kevin slung the trenchcoat over him, the Sleeve barely covering The Minigun barrel on his Left arm. As he stepped out of the train, Kevin looked to the night sky and smiled a cruel, unforgivingly sinister grin. As he pushed his Glasses up (and his eyeball back into its socket), Kevin mused to himself, “They’ll never suspect a thing. Not until it’s too late, at least”. He tore off the cover of a nearby manhole and climbed down, ready to make his way to the secret laboratory that awaited the return of the mad scientist.
One month later, the Patriarch was at a loss. Something must’ve gone wrong during his cloning procedures. The fleshpound, Bloat, Gorefast and all the other specimens had been rebuilt and enhanced, and were prepped for cloning. Only the Clot remained. The hollow duplicate of his former son. Kevin’s pride and joy, now lifeless and decayed. Every time Kevin attempted to rebuild the Clot, it came out as one of two things: either a slimy, genetic freak with scared and fearful, yet equally violent instincts that stumbled and limped around, or a beserk specimen that thrashed around and ran into walls, attempting to slash at its surroundings and anything that didn’t resemble a Specimen. black spiny growths had sprung up around its body, its claws grew jagged, and the Face had become sunken and pale, the skull hideously deformed. Kevin named these the Cyst and the Slasher, respectively, and decided to use them in his army. But what is an army without a swarm of pawns? Kevin toiled and worked effortlessly over the next few days, trying to figure out how to recreate his footsoldiers. Then it came to him. He needed a fresh meat sample to rebuild the proper body structure of the Clot.
Kevin climbed the ladder to the surface of Paris’ backstreets, but stopped before opening the grate. All he had to do now was wait for a victim to walk over, and he could snatch his prey and drag them down, providing an ample flesh sample for his Clots. He waited... and waited... and waited, until finally an unsuspecting Victim, which happened to be a jogging passerby, ran over the grate. Quick as a flash, the Former-Scientist’s clawed hand burst upwards and grabbed the Runner, tripping him up and sending his face smacking straight down onto the concrete below, smashing his front teeth and his nose. The runner groaned in pain, and attempted to stand back up, but was foiled by the Patriarch’s Hand gripping tightly onto his legs as he dragged him towards the sewer grates. he struggled, unable to scream, only air leaving his lungs as he attemped to break free of the Patriarch’s grasp. He struggled greatly, trying desperately to pull himself up, his hands gripping ever so tightly on the sides of the grate. And then, it happened. Kevin became sick of waiting for his Fresh meat to give up, and yanked downwards violently. the last thing that happened above the ground was a fountain of blood and a cracked jaw, dismembered and drenched in a pool of blood, that dripped into the sewer grate. Kevin had what he needed, and soon – Paris would become his Killing Floor too.
Its not my best, but please enjoy it!:p
Anywhom, i typed this up for giggles, and i hope you all enjoy it.
KILLING FLOOR II – FALL OF PARIS
London is burning. Mutated abominations roam the streets looking for survivors to attack, prowling the alleys and storming the streets in search of new fresh meat. England has gone to hell, and Satan wants nothing to do with it.
The patriarch had managed to hijack a train to escape to Paris, upon hearing of the impending Mercenaries and Ex-special forces hunting him down hoping to destroy him once and for all. To counter this, Kevin had desperately sicced an army of clones to slow the assault while he escaped, and left two clones of himself to guard and destroy the assailants.
Little did Kevin know, that his own daughter, Rachel Clamely – who had been hiding in his underground Laboratory waiting for someone to help her – had been assisting the survivors in an attempt to destroy his clones once and for all, and with a little luck and a ****load of firepower – him.
Unfortunately, this was not so. Kevin had managed to stall them long enough to hijack a train to Paris, forcing the Rag-tag team of Mercs to find another way to Paris before it was too late.
Kevin sat on the abandoned trains seats, the Automated Locomotive speeding along the tracks on its way to the Soon to be doomed Country of France. His chest heaved as the vile pulsating tentacle embedded in his flesh pulsed and flexed, almost as if it were alive. Kevin looked to his right hand, which gripped a large container of Dismembered Zeds. A Bloats Finger, A Gorefast’s Thigh. Hell, somewhere in there was one of his Kevin-clone’s EYEBALLS.
Horzine had many offices around the world, and even more Laboratories however most were discovered and destroyed upon global announcement of the outbreak, many Government officials fearing that Kevin may find the labs and create new specimens in them, in order to create the same fate that Great-Britain suffered. However, Kevin knew of a secret underground bunker that the Army could never find. Right under their noses, and they’d never even suspect it. Underneath the Eiffel tower.
12 hours later, the train finally came to a stop in one of Paris’ many train stations. It was Dark, and no-one seemed to be around. Most likely asleep. Kevin calmly walked along the Carriage to the doors, the hefty container strapped to his back. His clawed hand reached underneath one of the Seats, and pulled out a large trenchcoat he had stashed there. After all, he could decimate a few police units on his own, but his main power lied in his many specimens, his children. His army. Kevin slung the trenchcoat over him, the Sleeve barely covering The Minigun barrel on his Left arm. As he stepped out of the train, Kevin looked to the night sky and smiled a cruel, unforgivingly sinister grin. As he pushed his Glasses up (and his eyeball back into its socket), Kevin mused to himself, “They’ll never suspect a thing. Not until it’s too late, at least”. He tore off the cover of a nearby manhole and climbed down, ready to make his way to the secret laboratory that awaited the return of the mad scientist.
One month later, the Patriarch was at a loss. Something must’ve gone wrong during his cloning procedures. The fleshpound, Bloat, Gorefast and all the other specimens had been rebuilt and enhanced, and were prepped for cloning. Only the Clot remained. The hollow duplicate of his former son. Kevin’s pride and joy, now lifeless and decayed. Every time Kevin attempted to rebuild the Clot, it came out as one of two things: either a slimy, genetic freak with scared and fearful, yet equally violent instincts that stumbled and limped around, or a beserk specimen that thrashed around and ran into walls, attempting to slash at its surroundings and anything that didn’t resemble a Specimen. black spiny growths had sprung up around its body, its claws grew jagged, and the Face had become sunken and pale, the skull hideously deformed. Kevin named these the Cyst and the Slasher, respectively, and decided to use them in his army. But what is an army without a swarm of pawns? Kevin toiled and worked effortlessly over the next few days, trying to figure out how to recreate his footsoldiers. Then it came to him. He needed a fresh meat sample to rebuild the proper body structure of the Clot.
Kevin climbed the ladder to the surface of Paris’ backstreets, but stopped before opening the grate. All he had to do now was wait for a victim to walk over, and he could snatch his prey and drag them down, providing an ample flesh sample for his Clots. He waited... and waited... and waited, until finally an unsuspecting Victim, which happened to be a jogging passerby, ran over the grate. Quick as a flash, the Former-Scientist’s clawed hand burst upwards and grabbed the Runner, tripping him up and sending his face smacking straight down onto the concrete below, smashing his front teeth and his nose. The runner groaned in pain, and attempted to stand back up, but was foiled by the Patriarch’s Hand gripping tightly onto his legs as he dragged him towards the sewer grates. he struggled, unable to scream, only air leaving his lungs as he attemped to break free of the Patriarch’s grasp. He struggled greatly, trying desperately to pull himself up, his hands gripping ever so tightly on the sides of the grate. And then, it happened. Kevin became sick of waiting for his Fresh meat to give up, and yanked downwards violently. the last thing that happened above the ground was a fountain of blood and a cracked jaw, dismembered and drenched in a pool of blood, that dripped into the sewer grate. Kevin had what he needed, and soon – Paris would become his Killing Floor too.
Its not my best, but please enjoy it!:p
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