(First off, before anything else, this is a suggestion for the scythe to make a return, nothing more. I just wanted to do it in a different way is all. If you don't like to read short stories or walls of text, everything in these parentheses will tell you everything you'd need to know to continue the conversation. I've always loved the Scythe as my melee weapon of choice in Killing Floor. However, I understand it wasn't many people's favorite weapon and honesty I never saw many people using it all. I fear that because of the unpopularity of the weapon it may not make a comeback in Killing Floor 2. despite its size and weight, it was a versatile tool to take down everything from clots to scrakes to flesh pounds. I do wonder though if there were other people that had the same love for the scythe as I did. I also understand though that the likely hood of the scythe making a return is next to none, so I'm not entirely bummed. Either way I'd like to make at least a little tribute for it anyways. However, if you are interested in a little short story, read on!)
(Also as a word of warning there will be mature language based around the speaking styles and patterns of characters from a mature game. I'm not sure how these forums handle swearing, so we'll see if it censors as we go. If it does, use your imagination.)
~V~
The Man With The Rusted Scythe
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Track 1:)
"So you're the bloody new kid, huh." The Man looked up to find a man in a pompous leather jacket looking up at him. The man could see his own reflection in the lens of the speaker's gas mask as the helicopter they rode in churned away, the sounds of thumping air knocking against the hull of the chopper as they spoke. "Yeah, well," The man said, shaking his head, "Just listen to what I have to say, and don't get yourself killed, yeah? We'll get along just fine."
"So you're Foster. The guy who never takes off the mask and never knows when to shut his mouth." Foster looked down to the new guy, who's voice was soft, yet monotonous and cold. "I know enough about you. You're quite the Horzine poster boy I've heard. Must be nice branding a brand new currency after yourself." The man looked away from foster and back down to the ground, looking at his fingerless gloves.
"Hm," Foster said quietly, leaning back on bench that was mounted to the wall, "And who might you be then, smartass?" Foster crossed his arms and continued to look at the man.
"My name is Scarlet." Scarlet Rose was an American that had shown up in Horzine's employ nearly two months after the outbreak in Britain reached critical mass. Though many of the survivors and fighters had seen the man around, this was the first time he was out on a cleanup detail. Scarlet Had center parted ghost white hair that came down to about his neck; much of it was whiter than even David Albert's streaks of white and grey. He was a tall, rather petite man with a gaunt face and striking blue eyes, hidden behind a set of wire-framed glasses. He wore a black button up shirt and black fingerless gloves, blue jeans fitted with a holster for his 9mm, and brown combat boots.
"Scarlet? What kind of friggen name is that?" Foster scoffed, shaking his head at the man with the white hair. "Tell you what. I'll give you about twenty minutes. Let's see how long it takes you before zeds are dragging your sorry carcass into a hole somewhere, yeah?"
"I've been doing this longer than you think." Scarlet said simply, never looking up from his hands. "I think I'll be okay."
"I zink Scarlet is a lovely name. Don't let Mr. Foster here work you up too much. He picks on everyone zat isn't him." Scarlet looked up and slightly to his right. Next to Mr. Foster, maybe about two feet away was a younger woman with a rather spectacular blue Mohawk. She looked just like one out of a grunge punk band might look. She wore a blue shirt with a black leather jacket, gloves with spiked bracers, black skinny jeans and tall black combat boots. Like both he and foster she bore a 9mm on her right leg. "I've zeen you around, but I haven't zeen much of your work. Before we get to where we need to be, care to tell us a little more about yourzelf?"
"Not much to tell. Arrived in London two months ago. Walked past a church, on my way to a meeting with the CDC. The doors burst open and I watched as the city of London began to collapse all around me. Had two choices. Fight or die. I chose fight."
"Holy hell, the man can speak more than one sentence at a time! Good work man!" Foster said. Scarlet looked at him briefly before looking back to the woman.
"What about yourself. Do you have a name-" Before Scarlet could finish Foster said,
"Of course she has a name, you tosser. I ****ing hate the way people say that! "Do you have a name-" Of course I have a ****ing name, you twit." Scarlet cocked an eyebrow but said nothing in return. The woman shot Foster a look, and after a moment of silence Foster shrugged and said, "What? It's the truth. You show me a human without a name and I'll show you a lad who had a really ****ty childhood." The woman rolled her eyes and looked back to Scarlet.
"My name is Anna. Anna Larive." She said. "Been doing zis for about two months now, same as you. Well, I zay two months, but most of it was watching ze news before everysing went to ****. Then for about a week I was on my own before Horzine hired me to help clean zis mess up. Easy to get hired when ze work force is dead, no?"
"I suppose so." Scarlet said. He then looked back to foster, who was resting his head on the wall of the chopper. "What have you got against me?" Scarlet leaned forward, and looked directly at Foster. "I've done nothing to you."
"If you're worried about pleasantries and my feelings towards you, then you have more problems than a bloody zombie ripping off your arm and tossing it into a drain. I'm here to make Dosh, and make sure I get home alive. I don't have time to babysit the newbies and watch out for my own *** too. I need to make sure you can keep us alive. You see, down there?" Foster said, pointing to the floor of the helicopter, "They don't give a toss if you're a pauper or the bloody Queen...proved that on day one when Buckingham palace went up in flames..." Foster shook his head, as if shaking away a bad memory. "Let's just say they don't think twice when lobbing out about like a soccer ball, or thrusting a chainsaw through your gut. When we are down there, I need to make sure that we all get home alive, sweet and sound. You being here ****s those chances right up the arse-"
"I know what I'm doing." Scarlet said suddenly. "I've more experience with this than you think I do. Don't treat me like I'm a clueless child-"
"Every ****** can pull a trigger!" Foster said, cutting off Scarlet like Scarlet had done to him, "I need to make sure you can put the bullet in between their eyes, and not off a bloody street sign! I need to know that your stupidity is not going to get us killed! In short? No, I don't like you, and no, I don't bleedin' trust you. As far as I'm concerned you are a liability and a ticking time bomb, counting down to the moment where I have to clean up your sodding mess. Nothing more."
"I see." Scarlet said, nodding his head. "I've nothing to prove to you. Nothing."
"What is it with you and Americans?" Foster snapped, glaring at Scarlet, "You all think you're at the top of the tree, when in reality you're no better than any of us here. I at least like Donovan. You? Nah, you can go-"
"Dropping Replication chamber in Three. Two. One. Release. Get ready to drop off." A voice said from over the speakers mounted on the corners of the hull. Foster took a deep breath and looked back towards Scarlet.
"Don't get in my way, and we'll see if your game is as big as your head, yeah?" Foster stood up and grabbed a handle on the ceiling, balancing himself as he looked at Anna and Scarlet. "Alright you two, Listen up. We're touching down on the southern end of Arles. Not much to tell you about the place other than the fact it's roads are narrow, there's probably enough debris to start a junkyard and houses are packed tighter than ****. We work our way through the town, and reach the northern extraction point, sweeping out zeds along the way. We clear, we move, we go home. Easy pay. Everyone ready?" After a small "Hell yeah" from anna they could feel as the chopper bumped the ground and touched down. "Alright everyone, Move your arses, let's go!" The back hatch of the Helicopter dropped down, and just outside was a smoking city, and a dried out fountain. Anna her seat, and jumped out. Scarlet stood up and began to step out, but found a hand pressed hard against his chest. Scarlet looked up as Foster said in a quiet, but commanding voice, "Don't **** up." Scarlet threw his shoulder forward and stepped out of the helicopter and onto the street, with Mr. Foster close behind him. As soon as he was out the hatch closed, and the helicopter rose back up into the air, into the red, cloudy sky.
Arles used to be a scenic, tourist friendly city with small shops and lovely architecture. Now many of the scenic roads and historic buildings had long since been reduced to black, smoldering ruins. Many of the cars had crashed and piled up on top of one another all over the streets. Banners of some sort of festival hung loosely from poles, and paper and other debris swirled in the air as the wind blew carelessly across the once live city.
"Your weapons are ready people. Come get them before the zeds come. You all made one helluva knock when you arrived. Several signatures on the map, hurry up." A voice called from the replication chamber that had landed and mounted a few feet away from the fountain.
"You heard the lady. Gear up and let's do this," Foster said, stepping to the T.R.A.D.E.R. A slot opened up and he reached inside, picking up a bullpup rifle.
"On it." Anna said as she too stepped forward and reached into the pod. She pulled out a glowing smg with a medic's cross on it, as well as a needle gun with a green liquid and a pistol.
"What happened to the other trader?" Scarlet asked as he stepped to the pod. He watched as the slot opened up and the T.R.A.D.E.R spoke.
"Oh I see. You are the new guy. Rest assured your weapon has been downloaded and replicated properly. Everything should be functioning correctly. Welcome to the Killing Floor Scarlet Rose, enjoy your stay."
"Rose!?! Scarlet. Scarlet ****ing Rose. Yeah, not in the least bit cliched and predictable." Foster Scoffed, watching as Scarlet reached into the pod. "Come on. That can't be your real name-"
"It's poetic." Anna said suddenly. "It's like...watching ze autumn leaves falling from a tree. It may signal a dying tree, yes, but it also brings somesing beautiful as well."
"Bloody hell, I'm surrounded by bloody hipsters and imbeciles!" Foster shook his head and watched as Scarlet pulled out what looked like a scythe blade. The blade itself was rusted, all except for the edge, which gleaned with a silver hue. The shining black handle was folded up, much like a collapsible cane. Scarlet grabbed what looked like a grip and pulled it out, then flicked the scythe to unravel the handle into a long shaft, nearly as tall as Scarlet himself was. "You know how to use that thing?" Foster asked, "I'm asking cause I've seen other people try-"
"I know what I am doing." Scarlet said, arming the scythe in his right hand. "I don't like to use guns if I don't have to-"
"For Christ's sake, you're one of those people!?! Bloody hell we're screwed-"
"Guns are loud, blades are quiet, Scythe's are maneuverable. Don't question me again-"
"Or what? You think I'm scared of a little ****** like you? Please I've seen clots that scared me more than your pathetic mug." Scarlet said nothing but stared into Foster's gas mask. for a long moment the two men faced each other down, but the silence was broken by Anna.
"You two can kiss and make up later. For now, here they come!" Scarlet turned and looked, and watched as the first zeds began to tumble over cars and chairs, and out of buildings. "Here we go!"
~V~
(If you think this is something worth continuing, and you'd like to read more, let me know. I don't think people would want me to plague the ideas and suggestions forum with this though.)
