Welcome to Nightlife. This creation has been in construction since the day that Reach came out. Excessive testing has proceeded to insure that every match plays perfectly. This game is like none other that you've seen before. And you'll need one hell of a team to survive.

Created by: Plasma Blades
Recommended Players: 12-16

Recent Events

September 28th - Scientists develop a new drug to help regulate pain and increase physical capabilities. Initially it's only used by the army, but eventually it ends up on the streets.
October 15th - Subject Zero overdoses on the drug. Doctors pronounce the individual dead at 11:14 PM.
October 16th - At approximately 4:30 AM, Subject Zero regains a heartbeat, though it is irregular. The individual breaks through a window on the fourth story of the building and lands, unharmed, on the street below. At an unknown time later in the day, Subject Zero infects a human with the virus.
October 31st - Death counts are in the hundreds of millions. Humans survive in small patches around cities and less populated areas. The military attempts to blockade certain areas from the infected, but most attempts fail.
November 14th - A few groups of survivors run into each other and take refuge in a nearby basement. Armed with crowbars, baseball bats, and lead pipes, they make supply runs for the next month.
December 17th - On a supply run, the survivors come across a failed military blockade. They grab as many automatic weapons as possible and carry them back to the basement. They contact an evac using a satellite phone that was found nearby.
December 18th - Evac Day.

The Science:

It's passed through contact of bodily fluids; as soon as it enters the system, the virus targets neuron sub-populations, primarily those in charge of aggression and high cognitive function. The virus invades the cell, taking control of DNA synthesis, ultimately altering the product formed. From here, the capabilities of the blood to transport oxygen to the body is dramatically increased, yielding an increase of muscular strength and pain tolerance. During this time the body enters a coma-like state as a result of the invading virus, functioning as a six hour incubation period. Once re-animated, the host remains self-aware but unable to control any motor functions. As a result of the increased oxygen transport capabilities an insistent hunger is omnipresent throughout the system, driven through the need to derive energy to propel the processes. Higher aggression leads to violent attacks upon living organisms to fuel the energy demands. Subjects are extremely hostile and contact with the infected leads to death or personal infection.

On the rare occasion, the process is sped up when the virus enters the system from multiple locations (primarily from the attack of multiple infected). This leads to anabolic mutations of the musculoskelatal system providing abnormal strength and resistance. Despite the unlikelihood of this occurring (due to the fact that it would require an attack from multiple infected without causing irreparable damage to the body), it poses a severe threat to any involved.

These guys are about as friendly as they look. You'll probably end up smelling one of these guys before you actually see them. But don't let that fool you, they're one hell of an adversary. While alone they won't be too much of a threat. But they're incredibly fast and can survive falls that would kill any human. Once they charge in a horde, you're as good as dead unless you have someone with you. Don't take these guys lightly.

You're a lot slower than your infected counterparts, but what you lack in speed you more than make up for in strength. Strength in numbers, that is. You can take a few hits before the change begins, but it isn't recommended. Stay tight, stay observant, stay alive. You'll need more than teamwork if you want to make it out of this alive.

We'll try to provide you with as much info as possible. You'll need much more than that to survive, but it's a start.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/HumanSpawnBeforeEDIT.jpg
This is where your mission starts. It's not much to look at, but you've called it home for the past month. The evac is coming in just in time. Two nights ago an infected dropped down the chimney (and was affectionately dubbed an "Evil Santa Clause"). Just this morning they tried to break in through the door on the opposite wall. It's time to go.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/BackDoorsBeforeEDIT.jpg
The backyard. If you're lucky, you won't see any violence here. But there's a chance that another ESC may show up, so watch your six.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/CollapsedTunnelBeforeEDIT.jpg
This is where you'll enter the street. The tunnel has collapsed, but you're not going that way. Your evac should arrive at the construction site behind Chez Shea.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/HouseStreetBeforeEDIT-1.jpg
A little further down the street there's a stunted alley way and a locked door to Ortega's, which is your only way to Chez Shea. Watch your step here.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/OrtegasBeforeEDIT.jpg
A full view of Ortega's. There's an alley next to it that you may want to check for weaponry. It's where the army had stashed the rifles, though it's possible something was missed.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/BarStreetBeforeEDIT.jpg
You'll have to hold out here until the automated bar doors open. Stay sharp and watch your six, those bastards can come from anywhere.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/FullStreetBeforeEDIT.jpg
You've got a long view of the street from here, but your assault rifles only reach so long. Try not to get too up close and personal.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/BarBeforeEDIT.jpg
The bar is in ruins. The stairway is through a door in the back, though you may want to look around a bit. It isn't exactly uncommon for a bartender to keep a rifle behind the counter in case things get rowdy.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/Bar2BeforeEDIT.jpg
The bathroom in the bar has a healthpack in case you got a little too close to one of the infected.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/RoofBeforeEDIT.jpg
If you want to make it in to Ortega's, you'll have to jump the rooftop. Make sure that you get a running start.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/CS2BeforeEDIT.jpg
Once you make your way through the secretive back door of Ortega's, you'll find yourself in the Chez Shea Plaza. Almost there.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/OutsideCSBeforeEDIT.jpg
The ramps to Chez Shea. Look around, who knows what you'll find near a club like this.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/HallBeforeEDIT.jpg
The marine recon team didn't get any pictures of the actual club, but they did catch the hallway behind it. It leads to a platform that can function as a landing pad. It looks like the club owners were excavating the surrounding rock to add an addition to the club. Looks like they never finished.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/ZombieFinalebeforeEDIT.jpg
If you made it this far, consider yourself lucky. You've made it. You may need to hold out for a while to see if any more survivors will come, but after that you're home free. If you survive.

Here's what you can expect in combat

Let's start with a detailed look at your spawn.

http://i1012.photobucket.com/albums/af250/Plasma_Blades/ZspawnBeforeEDIT.jpg

Destinations:

Teleporter One - This leads above the house, you can drop down through a hole in the wall into the fireplace below. If you're quick enough, you can assassinate a human.

Teleporter Two - This leads to three distinct locations. To the left is a small area closest to the house. In front in directly in front of Ortega's. To the right leads to the side alleyway.

Teleporter Three - This will lead right above the holdout. This has four attack points. Walk forward to ambush the survivors in front of the bar. Walk to the left and you can drop into the bathroom of the bar, or take a grav lift to the roof. You can drop down onto the roof, or if you follow the bridge you can drop down on the bar stairs.

Teleporter Four - This leads to the Plaza of Chez Shea.

Teleporter Five - This leads to the roof of Chez Shea. Walking left or right will send you down to the corners of the club.

Teleporter Six - This leads to a small passageway above the final hallway. You can drop down into the hallway or run out to the holdout point.

Go for the assassination, it'll kill your opponent instantly.
As the tank, try to bottleneck the humans in the small path from Ortega's to Chez Shea.
There are a couple tactical jumps that you can utilize at the second teleporter. Going through the front exit, you can propel yourself onto one of the streetlights and then to the area behind the humans.
If the humans make it to the finale, leave your spawn and walk along the outer rocks, then drop down to assassinate them.
As the tank, coordinate the attack so that some normal infected attack first as a distraction.
If you're short teammates at the beginning, allow the hog to be a distraction, then jump down onto the street.
You can pick up human health packs. It couldn't hurt to steal them.
A human running across the rooftops can't check behind him. But you can.
Try to go into the bar before the humans. It'll at least stall them.

Designate someone to watch your six as you leave the house.
Communication is vital. Even the slightest error could mean death for the entire group
Learn where the weapons spawn and let those who are best with them have them. It's not about kills, it's about surviving. If you're going to explore new territory, always make sure that you have a partner.
If an infected gets close, put a few bullets into them and then melee. It's quicker than the two melee's it would normally take.
Keep your head on a pivot, don't give hem an easy kill.
Headshots kill instantly. Go for it.
Give healthpacks to those with the least hits. It's better for you to take another hit than to lose a teammate.
Try to use the shotgun on the tank. It's the quickest weapon to take it down.
Swords are advised against. It only lets the infected get close enough to deal damage. You're not helping yourself, or your team. Kill the infected before they get to that range.
Learn the timing on zombie spawns so that you can get even more prepared for each attack.

EXTRAS

I've developed quite a bit of extra material pertaining to this project over the last eight to nine months. Wanna see some gameplay? Want to figure out how to win 1600 Microsoft Points? Want to see some awesome pictures? It's all below, so check it out.

Pictures:

Narrative: (Be warned, it's eight pages long in MS Word)

December 18, 2017

4:23 AM

9 of us made a supply run about 5 days ago. 7 returned. We can’t keep living off of these runs, or soon, we’ll all be gone. Well I suppose that gone isn’t exactly the right word. We’ll still be walking, and moving. But no one is ever the same once they get attacked. It starts with rapid hair loss, and then a loss of appetite. After 5 days, the appetite returns. But it’s not the same appetite that they had before. It’s insistent. A pull. It’s no longer a controllable thing. When they get hungry, they must eat. At exactly that moment. If they don’t, they start to lose control, ignoring any and all pain, just to get their food. But the only craving they have anymore is one for flesh and blood. We had basic weapons until this last supply run. Each run we’ve had to go farther and farther from our safe haven of sorts. Under any other circumstances that would be a bad thing considering what we’re up against. But last time we hit a military outpost. They tried to block off the town. Impenetrable to these creatures. But they were too late. They were attacked. By the time we arrived on the scene the blood on their weapons had already dried. They had assault rifles, a big step up from our baseball bats, axes, and crowbars. Once we found the weapons we grabbed as many as we could and brought them back to the rest of the survivors in the basement. As well as a ticket out of our little hellhole. A portable comm system was left on the ground by one of the soldiers. It took a couple of tries, but we managed to contact a rescue. They told us to be in the plaza outside Chez Shea, a popular gentlemen's club, in thirteen hours. They refused to answer any questions that we had about what was going on. All they could say was “Aim for the head.”

And so, here we are. Everyone is armed with a rifle, the ammo as evenly distributed as possible. I hope to live long enough to update this journal. If not, and anyone finds my wife and children alive, tell them that I love them more than anything in this world.

I look around the cellar, red glow from the woodstove illuminating the nearby walls. Scarred and fatigued faces all around me study various weapons. I clear my throat in an effort to get their attention. Worried eyes meet my own. “Here’s the plan,” I start. “We exit the basement, make sure that everyone is regrouped outside, and then make our way through the woods to the street. Ortega’s is halfway down the street. We exit through the back door, and make our way to Chez Shea’s plaza. The military has assured us a pickup in a Black Hawk helicopter. Each and every one of you will survive. I will not let you fall. We’re all going to make it out of this in one piece.” I study the expressions around me. Only a few seem to be re-assured by what I said. The others seem to be the ones that are more informed about the situation, those that have been on supply runs. They know that this is a hundred to one shot. We may have weapons, but they have numbers. It’s at least two to one out there. “Just keep your distance.” I say, offering one last tip of advice before turning and walking up the stairs towards the backyard. It may be the last piece of advice some of them ever get.

We arrive in the backyard, everyone at the ready for the slightest disturbance in the shrubs around us. The smell of fresh air attacks us like a wave in the ocean. Surrounding us, engulfing us. It’s almost refreshing, compared to the conditions in the basement, where every one of us were so close to each another that we could practically watch the stale air exit their lips. I quickly take a head count. 17 weary faces, heads on a pivot. “Alright, I’ll take point. Everyone else on me.” I state, hoping that they’ll feel slightly more confident with someone leading them. Once more, I turn my back towards the group, and level my rifle at eye height. A slight crouch is instinctively forced upon my legs, each step more precise than I ever thought possible. The only sound around me is that of crunching leaves, and twigs snapping. Not a single animal anywhere in sight. Movement between a pair of bent and twisted trees up ahead. I raise a closed fist into the air, a signal to stop movement. Most of the bodies behind me understand the motion and stop in their tracks. A few footsteps continue for a half second before halting just like the rest. I crouch even lower, resting my forward forearm on my thigh to steady the rifle. No more motion between the trees. No deformed body, no sickening, decaying scent. I gradually stand up and continue pushing forward through the trees.

A sudden, sharp scream is emitted from behind me, followed by the sound of a large mass collapsing onto the leaf-covered ground. Before I’m even halfway turned around, the deafening gunfire fills the air. My eyes rapidly examine the scene. Two figures wrestling on the ground, one with long, tangled blond hair, the other with rotting, peeling flesh. Patches of hair dot the torn scalp. The clothes, ripped and sullied. Skin is pulled tautagainst bone. Lines protrude laterally across the abdomen – ribs. Teeth missing, gums rotting. A sole bullet hole pierced through the shoulder, blood casually dripping from the wound. The monstrosity looks up towards the rifle that fired, angry eyes staring at the man. Not towards his face, but towards his throat. The yellowed cracked fingernails dig into the frigid soil on either side of the woman's shoulders. The head cocks to the side, and it’s neck extends as far as possible as an inhuman screech escapes it’s throat, sounding almost like a bird of prey right before it attacks. Veins in the neck pop out against the skin in an effort to sustain the sound. The creature leans back, ready to pounce on the man. Four muzzles simultaneously flash bright yellow as lead is pumped into the putrid torso. Blood dribbles out of the creatures mouth, the entire body convulsing in what can only be assumed as pain. The woman below screams as blood rains over her chin. A group member rushes over and delivers a sharp kick to the thing’s chest to remove it from the woman. The body collapses against the ground, motionless. The man who kicked it off steps over the woman and stands over the corpse. He shoulders his rifle, aims downwards, barrel three feet from the head, and pulls the trigger. He quickly returns to his position as if nothing had happened, calm as ever. The woman pushes herself off of the ground, shaken and bloodied. “Have you been injured?” another woman asks. She shakes her head, unable to form words after the attack. Her forearm rises towards her chin, the sleeve of the elegant, frilled shirt wiping off the blood. She turns towards me and nods, a frightened expression still etched across her face. I nod back and continue walking in the direction of the street.

Everyone begins walking faster now, constantly alert. We reach the street about five minutes later. A collapsed tunnel covers the road to our left. A single pistol lies on a rock, blood staining the ground around it. I pick up the weapon and pocket it. I turn to face the other side of the street. A similar tunnel waits on the other side, in tact, but completely closed up by the military. Ortega’s waits halfway down the street. “Come on everyone, we’re almost there!” I shout as I begin running down the street. A few others pull ahead of me, desperate to get out of the open. One man takes a definitive lead, at least 15 feet ahead of the rest of us. “Hey Will!” I cry towards him, in an attempt to have him stick with the group. He turns towards me, jogging sideways now. Just as I open my mouth to tell him to regroup, a screech similar to the one we heard in the woods rattles through the air. Everyone freezes, like frightened sheep. Eyes peel across the rooftops. Suddenly an SUV flies through the air, out of an alley. The speeding airborne vehicle impacts against Will and carries him through the air before impacting against a building on the opposite side of the road. Debris showers over the crushed carcass of the car. Blood is splattered in every direction on the damaged wall around the SUV. A single broken arm can be seen from under the vehicle, torn and unmoving. Screams erupt from behind me. Four affected individuals pour out of the alley, tackling the nearest man to the ground. He screams in pain as all four claw at his body. I lower myself to one knee, aiming the rifle above a couple feet above the mans chest and spray bullets back and forth across the length of his body. A few other rifles erupt in gunfire from my right. The four un-human creatures are peppered with bullets. In under two seconds they drop to the ground, the attacked man as still as they are. I move towards the body, checking the alley first for any more “infected”. His throat is torn open, his face pale white. Gravity pulls the red liquid from the throat, no longer being forced out by a pulse. A bullet hole stains his shirt red, a result of a shaky instinctive shot. That’s two men down in a matter of seconds. Most of the group gathers around the wreckage near Will’s corpse, astonished and horrified by the power necessary to send such a large vehicle through the air at those speeds. The hood of the car is embedded within the concrete building. Sobs of hopelessness escape a few individuals mouths. Pessimistic murmers escape the rest. “Aright everyone, I have no idea what did that and personally I don’t want to stick around to find out. Ortega’s is the next building over, we’ve got to keep moving.” I say, finding it hard to keep my voice steady. One by one we begin to walk towards the building, devoid of the energy that had us running only moments ago. No rooftop left un-inspected, no corner left unchecked. We reach Ortega’s in two minutes, but it felt like hours. Hearts sink as we find the entire building boarded up. Nothing getting in or out without power tools. But we had to make it there, somehow. “What the hell are we going to do now?” A woman asks desperately.

“We’re gonna jump it.” I state, hardly believing the idea even as I say it. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Someone else inquires.

“I know for a fact that each of these buildings has stairs to the roof. The next building over is a bar. We go up the stairs and jump the rooftops. I’m positive that we’ll be able to enter Ortega’s from the roof.” Some stare at me in disbelief, almost as if I was one of the infected. “He’s right,” says a man named Mark. The eyes transfer from me to him. “No, I won’t do it.” A woman says. Mark turns to her, “Fine, stay here. See how long you last on the streets.” He turns his back to her and walks to the bar. “We can’t do much on the street. It’s too open. Plus we’re on a deadline. We need to make it the Chez Shea-” I pause to check my watch. “In about half an hour.” The woman lets out a sigh of acceptance, and the group follows Mark to the bar.

Broken glass litters the floor. Chairs and tables lay fallen on the floor. Mirrors shattered, doors ripped from their hinges, Despite the apparent chaotic state, the bar had an eerie serenity hanging in the air. One corner in particular, a small room at the end of the bar table lays in ruins, a sole rotting copse fallen beside it. An oddity in the little world of ours, no body left un-animated. I look at the group and jut my chin towards the corner, a “look-over-there” type gesture. My foot lands on a stool. A quick flick of my toes and the stool is upright. I silently place my rifle on the chair and lift my pistol from my pocket. The smaller barrel would be easier to maneuver in the close-quarter combat. I make my way over the bar towards the small room. The foul, familiar smell of decaying flesh enters my nostrils. The carcass on the ground is peppered by small holes, what I can only assume to be a shotgun shell. Dried skin peels off of the face in large chunks. Sunken eyes stare into nothingness, one looking forward, the other at an odd angle, almost looking at the ground it’s laying on. I warily raise my pistol up in front of me, ready to turn the corner into the small closet size-room. With two quick strides my pistol is parallel with the doorway, scanning the small space. Nothing. Nothing, that is, but a shotgun. Whoever had been using that had stopped the thing outside the room with enough buckshot so that even the virus couldn’t affect it. That is, after all, what everyone is blaming this on. A virus. I don’t really see the sense in arguing about what started it. It’s here, and it’s sure as hell not leaving anytime soon.

I reach forward and grab the shotgun and the three spare shells on the ground. As I exit the room I place the weapon and ammo on the bar, open to anyone who wants it. In this situation I preferred an automatic weapon. Maybe I was just being forced into a false sense of safety with it, but even so I needed that sense if I wanted to make it out of this. It embedded an almost optimistic feeling within my mind. Hopefully that will prove to be a good thing.

Our group pushes on to the roof to examine the gap. “Alright guys, good news and bad news.” I announce. “It’s a horizontal jump to the roof of Ortega’s. I can see the staircase on the roof from here. Problem is it looks to be about a six or seven foot jump. We’re three stories up. We’ll all need a sprinting start. Once we hit the rooftop we can get to Chez Shea in about 5 minutes. Drop off any extra weight that you can afford to lose.” The sound of backpacks shuffling off gracefully sways through the air. A complete loss of motivation is also present in the atmosphere, everyone devoid of hope. There’s no doubt that there is a severe chance of losing people here. I begin to think about going first, hoping that it motivate them. But soon after a second though rushes into my head, like the winds of a hurricane. What if I don’t make it? I’ve taken on the role of a leader to this group. What will that do to their morale?

There was no question in my mind at that point, I would be the last to jump. “Alright here’s the deal. We’ve been lucky so far with these things that have been out to get us. But they’re coming. They can smell us. That means that the last person on this rooftop will be alone if they attack. I’ll go last and insure that none of you are harmed when getting over there.” I said, more determined than I thought I would be. “I’m sorry, Wright, but you can’t go last,” says an unfamiliar female voice. My eyes scan the crowd for the person who had said it. A single women, Linda, stares back at me, her eyes filled with rage. I take a step backwards, placing my hand on my pocket, unsure of her intentions. “Calm down,” she mutters “I can’t go cause’ of this.” She turns her outer thigh towards me. A deep crimson stains the dark denim, almost invisible in the light. It was the woman who had been attacked in the woods, wrinkled and torn leaves still caught in her hair. As she limps towards me, I wonder how I had failed to notice it before. “I won’t make the jump anyway. And I’m the only one properly equipped to hold off these bastards.” With that, she raises the shotgun from her side and rests it against her shoulder, injured leg half bent. It looks like I was back to going first. I grab the butt of my gun with one hand and heave it onto the other roof, the metallic casing screeching against the steel roof. My head pivots for one last look at the crowd, only to see a large figure sprint past me. My neck snaps forward at speeds that could give a man whiplash, and I watch a tall muscular man, Joseph, leap off of the roof. On the other side, a single infected exits the rooftop entrance, panting at the smell of dinner. With wild eyes it limps towards the edge of the roof, ready for its prey to land. Joseph lands on his toes with a gracious foot to spare. The momentum used to carry him through the air only moments ago is transferred to his upper body as he fluidly rolls across the ground picking up my rifle on the way. Once the momentum is lost, he lands with a single knee firmly planted in the ground, rifle aimed at the center mass of the creature charging him. But it wasn’t quick enough; the creature draws its bloodied arm backwards, in an attempt to claw Joseph’s face. The mutilated hand swings forward with full force, the infected emitting what can only be interpreted as a “victory groan” moments before impact. But Joseph was quick too. He raises his rifle perpendicular to the limb, and catches the strike with the side of his gun. Despite the distance, I hear a crunch of a breaking bone. The monstrosity screeches in pain as Joseph uses its own momentum to slam it into the ground. As its head bounces of the metal rooftop, Joseph draws back an enclosed fist. With a single deafening blow, he slams the creatures head back into the ground. He quickly stands up, shoulders his rifle and pumps a single shot into the head. Casually, he turns to face the group and nods his head, a symbol of acknowledgment, or in this case, the A-okay to move to the other rooftop. Linda relocates to the door of our roof, struggling to support her own weight. The blood has now reached the bottom of her jeans, forming a small pool around the sole of her shoe. A single tear rolls down the contours of her face. I turn away, unable to watch the selfless heroism. Out of the corner of my eye I see two figures exit the woods near the street. They sniff the air primitively, and then turn to look directly at us. The skin around the jawbones of one of the post-human monstrosities stretches as its jaw drops half a foot. A deep reverberating roar echoes across the rooftop, like that of a lion after it’s killed its prey. Simultaneously they begin sprinting down the street towards the bar. I pick up Joseph’s rifle off the ground and unload a magazine in their direction. The shoulder of the left one jerks backward from the impact, slowing it to a crawl. Within a second it begins running again, unfeeling of the blood trickling out of the hole in its shoulder. The bolt on the top of the rifle clicks against the plastic frame, an indication that the magazine had run out of ammunition. Motioning to the others to begin jumping, I remove the plastic magazine from the gun and toss it aside. I reach into my pocket for my final magazine, with 23 shots. Rapidly I put the ammo in the rifle, desperately waiting for the clack to indicate that the gun was ready to fire. After what seems like eons, the magazine slides into place. My eyes scan the street for the deadly presence, but they’re no longer in sight. Suddenly, Linda screeches in pain, only seconds later her shotgun fires off. I turn to face her. She’s collapsed on the ground, one knee bent backwards under her, her foot in front. “Run!” she screams at me half in pain, half in desperation. Her voice was scratchy, like that of one losing their voice. Two more shotgun blasts rattle off.

As I toss my rifle onto the adjacent roof I do a quick headcount. 8 on the roof of Ortega’s, 4 on this roof including Linda and myself. I dare not peek into the alley below for the missing three people. I back up to the side of the roof farthest from Ortega’s I sprint as fast as possible, my heartbeat ringing in my ears. My legs ache with each step, Achilles tendon about ready to snap. I push off with my forward foot as I reach the edge. The other rooftop approaches quick, and high. I throw my arms out in a desperate attempt to grasp the edge. The corner of the roof slams into my abdomen, wind rushing out of me like air from a balloon. My eyes press against my eyelids, surely ready to pop out. I hear the three below me, shrieking in pain from broken legs. The sound of an onrushing horde fills the air, like a tornado speeding toward a small cabin. My nails search for traction in the roof above, but it’s useless. I’m sliding fast. All of the sudden Joseph grabs my arm on the roof. Grunting, he struggles to pull me up. With one final tug, I collapse on the roof, breathless. I look behind me to watch another man soaring through the air. His shin impacts with the corner of the roof with a sickening crack as he collapses onto the rooftop. He curls up in agony, grasping at his shin. Linda yells once more, this time, out of terror. A countless number of infected pile out of the doorway, collapsing on top of her, nails tearing at her skin. The last woman on the roof looks at us, and then back to Linda. Torn between her two fates, her face crinkles up in fear. With a final reluctant sigh, she raises the weapon at the infected and pulls the trigger. At that instant, even more infected pour out of the small doorframe and tackle her to the ground. I turn my back, unable to watch, and turn to walk down the stairs of Ortega’s. “Hey!” A man shouts at me. “You can’t just leave me here, I’ll die!” He screams at me, fighting off the pain with every word. It was the last man to jump, the one who had shattered his shin. Paper-white bone pokes though his delicate flesh in more places than one. Joseph stops in the doorway and looks at me, an urgent insistent look stained upon his face. I hand the man on the ground my rifle and bend down to his level. My arms reach under him as I struggle to put him on my shoulders. As I pull him off of the ground he screams out in suffering, his shin flopping around like rubber. Spittle from his mouth peppers the side of my face. His breath smelled like that of a dying man. I wrap my left arm around his thighs, and hunch forward with my right shoulder. My pistol lingers in my right hand, at the ready. The rest of us make our way downstairs, fighting hard to block out the screams of our lost members. Their death would not go un-noticed. In their fall, they would buy us our much needed time.

The alley behind Ortega’s was dark and musty. A sole arm lies next to a stuffed dumpster. Despite the lack of rain, the alley was wet, the air humid. The familiar smell of decay purges my nose. We move silently but quickly towards Chez Shea. The purple lights of the club illuminate the far end of the alley. Limping, I walk in the middle of the pack, protected on both sides. The air begins to lighten as we reach the end of the alley, the scent no longer as strong and intimidating. The first part of the group reaches the edge and opens fire at an unknown hostile. For once, nearly everybody with a clear line of sight had opened fire. But they pushed forward like a SWAT team, precision never seen earlier today. Perhaps it was Joseph’s incredible feat that had encouraged them to fight with a renewed passion. I turn the corner slowly, the weight of the man on my back crushing me. My pistol rises to see two more infected charging at us. I fire two shots into the nearest one and it falls to the ground like an anvil. The second one gets closer, but gets gunned down by the others. As it falls, its face impacts upon my chest, nearly toppling me. We had made it. 5 infected lay unmoving on the ground, and chopper blades reverberate in the distance. A sharp hiss of static erupts from my back pocket. “Survivors, what’s your status?” Behind me, Mark reaches into my pocket and grabs the comm. unit. “We’ve got 11 survivors here, 1 requires immediate medical attention.” He replies. “We’ll be rolling in in about 1 minute with two Black Haws. We picked up some survivors from a different block, so we’ve got 12 seats, 5 in one, 7 in the other. Make sure you clear the LZ so you can load up quick,” replies the unseen voice. “Understood,” Mark replies. The spinning of the helicopter blades gets louder and finally the two Hawks fly over the walls surrounding the plaza. A shadowed figure leaps off a rooftop and soars rapidly towards one of the choppers. A clawed arm reaches out towards the tail of the helicopter to intercept the fall. An ear-shattering crack roars through the air as the back half of the helicopter snaps off.

Unbalanced, the flaming metallic ball spins out of control towards the ground. Smoke pours out of the top of the vehicle. Panic-stricken faces can briefly be seen through the rotations. The creature roars in satisfaction and leaps out of sight, the other helicopter quickly angling away. The damaged helicopter chews through the weak pavement as it impacts the ground of the plaza. Bits and pieces of sharp rotor blades flash through the air in all directions like broken glass. Before anyone can react a small portion embeds itself within Mark’s chest, another in a female’s stomach. Both drop to the ground. Mark wheezes as he clutches at the ever-expanding red stain on his shirt. His eyes stare into nothingness, jaw stretched towards the ground. He looks up at me, pain etched in his eyes. With one final shake of the head he collapses on the ground. The woman leans against a wall, blood spattered across her rifle. “And to think I’d actually make it out of this,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes filled with disappointment, with remorse. A familiar static is emitted from the tiny black box in Mark’s lifeless hand. “For those of you still up and running, we’ve only got 5 seats left, but we can’t return there – not with that thing still running around. There should be a hallway behind the building you’re currently in front of. It leads to a small landing platform. Get there.” commanded the husky tone. The woman on the ground chuckles, a bloodstained grin spreading across her face. A light crimson dances around her teeth. “Looks like you guys have gotta’ get going.” she mutters, voice trailing off into hysterical laughter. One man in the group tries to say something, but his cracking voice makes it impossible to comprehend. His lower jaw trembles as he lowers himself to her level, a loving hand placed on her shoulder. His head turns to us, the outlines of tears tracing their way towards the bottom of his face. Blinking away the haze, he points his chin to the door. No one questioned why he was staying, most of us could guess anyway.

The purple light flickers in the massive building. The smell of stale alcohol fills the thick air. An eerie sensation lingers in the atmosphere. Without music or people the place was completely abandoned. Once bustling with activity, the club had been reduced to a mere shadow of its former self. A small martini area sits empty in the back. The corners of the building