[It was a lot to take in - he'd prided himself on his ability to comprehend, to deal with numerous things at once, to process things that others could not. But this, it seemed like an inexplicably cruel joke. Yet that didn't mean that he could simply give up living. Whether or not he was a fictional character didn't change the fact the zombies seemed really quite real (ironic, when that really should have been the other way around.)
Maybe Maslow was right about the hierarchy of needs after all - survival became certainly did become a quick priority. At least he knew how to fight, how to think, how to out run slowly moving zombies. All in all, it could have been worse.
Yet the thing in the other room didn't sound as slow moving as a zombie - quicker and somewhat more frantically searching for something which seemed a little out side of the normal "Let me have your braaaaaaains" vibe he was getting from the things outside. He picks up what appears to be an extremely dull kitchen knife, though his fighting style had always been some what more martial arts based. It could be useful. You could kill a man with anything, if you tried hard enough.
No time like the present to investigate, so he heads into the other room, knife tucked away in his shoe (mental note: find something to make it sharp, later) and finds not a zombie, but a man with a crowbar who looked, well, just as out of place here as he felt.
He raises his hands up - no weapons, see? Don't attack him with the crowbar, bro.]
The movements sounded too quick to be another [wow saying zombie outloud seems really weird] one of those things - and what a relief, unless they've gotten better at mocking actual thought.
o//
Maybe Maslow was right about the hierarchy of needs after all - survival became certainly did become a quick priority. At least he knew how to fight, how to think, how to out run slowly moving zombies. All in all, it could have been worse.
Yet the thing in the other room didn't sound as slow moving as a zombie - quicker and somewhat more frantically searching for something which seemed a little out side of the normal "Let me have your braaaaaaains" vibe he was getting from the things outside. He picks up what appears to be an extremely dull kitchen knife, though his fighting style had always been some what more martial arts based. It could be useful. You could kill a man with anything, if you tried hard enough.
No time like the present to investigate, so he heads into the other room, knife tucked away in his shoe (mental note: find something to make it sharp, later) and finds not a zombie, but a man with a crowbar who looked, well, just as out of place here as he felt.
He raises his hands up - no weapons, see? Don't attack him with the crowbar, bro.]
The movements sounded too quick to be another [wow saying zombie outloud seems really weird] one of those things - and what a relief, unless they've gotten better at mocking actual thought.