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threat_incapacitated_(zombieverse)

Oct 20th, 2019
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  1. >It had been nearly a year since the outbreak. It had come suddenly, without warning… those in high-density areas, particularly those living in cities, had suffered the most casualties. One or two shamblers were no problem… hell, even a GROUP of them provided little issue, unless you were some sort of idiot. But in large numbers? That was a different matter. All it took was one bite, and you were fucked.
  2. >But Bryson was one of the lucky ones. For the first time, he had been glad to live in the outskirts of the city… as soon as the scope of the outbreak became clear, he had wasted no time in gathering supplies and fleeing. While many had opted to flee towards other cities for protection, Bryson had a different plan: stay off the grid. Keep to rural wooded areas where there would be less people and, therefore, less zombies.
  3. >Which isn’t to say he hadn’t run into problems along the way. As bad as the shamblers were, the REAL threat were other survivors. Many had become desperate for survival, willingly killing and stealing from others without hesitation. Others were far more reasonable, but unfortunately for them Bryson fell into the former category. He was more than willing to earn a group’s trust and then, when they least expected it, butcher them without mercy. He knew this was harsh, but it was the only reason he had been able to survive thus far. Besides, he’d always been a loner.
  4.  
  5. >Bryson was not a particularly strong man, but he was clever, deceptive and, above all else, patient. He always waited until the time was right before making his move. And now, he had discovered quite possibly his greatest find yet: a car. An honest to God, fully functional car. Once again, fortune had shined upon the middle-aged man.
  6. >That said, there was a small issue… a VERY small issue, in fact. Bryson was not the first person here: a young boy made his way in and out of the auto repair shop, carrying out supplies and packing them into the car. He would be easy enough to deal with, of course, but for all Bryson knew there could be MORE survivors inside… hell, he’d bet his life on it. He couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old; surely there was no way such a young child could have survived this long on his own.
  7.  
  8. >The most unusual thing was the boy’s appearance. He wore a white helmet that even at a distance Bryson could tell was little more than a toy, topped with a red beacon and two antennae-like protrusions. It looked like he had a bandolier of some sort strapped across his torso, and perhaps most notable the entire right side of his body looked… wrong, to say the least. It was red and heavily scarred… perhaps he’d been burned. Either way, Bryson didn’t care. He wouldn’t make a move until he knew just what he was dealing with.
  9. >Bryson waited until the boy went inside again, then quickly bolted towards the building. He had gotten used to moving both quickly and quietly, and he was able to dart around the side of the building without being seen. He crept his way along to the back, looking for any way to get a handle on the situation.
  10.  
  11. >His answer came in the form of a row of windows along the back wall. They were high up, perhaps fifteen feet or so, but once again lady luck favored the man: amongst the wood pallets and dumpster were several empty oil drums and a decommissioned vending machine that, combined with his considerable height, would be JUST enough for him to peek through the windows.
  12. >Even empty the oil drum was quite heavy, but he couldn’t risk dragging it across the concrete… that would make far too much noise. He gently set it beside the vending machine and carefully climbed onto it. He nearly lost his footing, but was able to grab onto the vending machine for support just in the nick of time.
  13. >He let out a grunt of effort as he climbed atop the vending machine, then got to his feet and looked through the window. To his relief, there was nobody else inside… a car had been left on one of the lifts, no doubt abandoned mid-service as the mechanics fled for their lives. And now, with the boy struggling with a particularly heavy box of supplies, Bryson figured it was time to make his move.
  14.  
  15. >Bryson darted around to the front of the building, ducking down behind the car and out of the boy’s line of sight. Thankfully, the door had been left unlocked, and his face fell slightly as he looked inside. Though the key had been left in the ignition, there was a box strapped onto the seat and what looked to be makeshift wooden leg extensions secured to the gas and brake pedal. He could only assume that the boy had crafted these as a way to actually DRIVE the car, given his short stature. Bryson cursed under his breath; he’d have to remove them before he could make use of the car.
  16.  
  17. >”Wh-who are you?”
  18. >Bryson bolted upright, quickly drawing his handgun and aiming it at the intruder. It was the boy, of course… he stood a distance away, trembling and glaring right at the man. Now that he had a closer look, it was clear just how fucked up the kid actually was. Even mostly concealed by his tattered clothing, Bryson could tell that the entire right side of his body was severely burned. The crazed look in his exposed left eye left no doubt that this boy had seen some shit.
  19. >”I-I said, who are you?!” The boy repeated in a demanding tone, apparently unfazed by the gun pointed at his head. “State your name, rank a-and assigned s-starship.” Bryson cocked an eyebrow.
  20. >”The hell you on about, kid…?”
  21. >”Are y-you not with Starfleet?” The boy asked. The man’s brow furrowed as he realized that the bizarre child before him was completely out of his mind. He let out a short laugh and holstered his weapon.
  22.  
  23. >”…Yeah. Yeah, I am. And you are…?” He asked, figuring it best to play along with the child’s nonsense for now. Besides… he had to admit it was pretty amusing.
  24. >”I-I am Second Officer Robert Loud o-of the Starship Epsilon.” The boy stated. Bryson smirked. The boy had fallen right into his trap, introducing himself first so he would know the proper means of doing so. “N-now, I won’t say it again,” Bobby said, “State y-your name, rand a-and assigned starship!”
  25. >”Right, sorry. I’m… Captain Bryson Howard of the Starship… Detroit.” Bryson said. “At ease.” Bobby’s eyebrow raised slightly in surprise.
  26. >”I… I have not heard of a starship by that name…” The troubled boy mumbled.
  27. >”We’re, uh… we’re new.” Bryson said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Bobby frowned and gave a small nod.
  28. >”I-I see. My apologies, captain… one cannot be too careful in this hostile world.” He said. “It would seem much h-has changed in my a-absence. A-are you s-stranded here as well?”
  29. >”Er… yeah… crashed here a few months ago. Damnedest thing.” Bryson muttered. “Pretty nice ride you got here, Robert.” He added, resting a hand on the car.
  30.  
  31. >”…Yes, finding a craft in such condition was fortuitous indeed.” Said Bobby.
  32. >”I’ll bet. Anyway, I’m afraid I’m going to be… commandeering this vessel.” The man said with a smirk. Bobby frowned.
  33. >”I c-cannot let you do that,” The boy said. “I have need of it. You are more than welcome to a-a-accompany me if you wish, but I will not relinquish o-ownership to you.”
  34. >”Yeah, see, that’s kind of a problem… I’m something of a loner, you see.” Bryson sneered. “And I’m a captain. That means you gotta do what I say.” Bobby narrowed his eye.
  35. >”…Tell me, captain.” Bobby’s tone grew stern. “What is your serial number?” Bryson sighed.
  36. >”Uh… 90210. Satisfied?” He scoffed. Bobby’s suspicious expression suddenly shifted to a furious glare; he quickly drew the toy gun from his thigh and aimed it right at the man before him.
  37.  
  38. >”That is NOT a valid Starfleet s-serial number,” Bobby hissed. “Y-you’re one of THEM, aren’t you?! A r-r-reptilian!”
  39. >”Well shit, ya got me.” Bryson chuckled, shrugging in defeat. “Either way, I’m taking this… so be a good little boy and fuck off, alright?” But Bobby didn’t budge; he flicked a small switch on the side of the toy, not taking his eye off the man for a second.
  40. >”Ph-phaser set to stun…” The boy muttered. “Step away from the craft. You have five seconds to comply.” Bryson simply let out a loud, booming laugh. “…Four seconds.” Bobby said.
  41. >”Uh oh, looks like someone’s pissed.” Bryson laughed. “What ever will I do?”
  42. >”Three seconds.”
  43. >”Ooohhh, PLEASE, officer! Don’t shoot!” Bryson pleaded, holding up his hands in mock fear.
  44. >”Two seconds.” Bobby said, ignoring the man’s taunts. Bryson rolled his eyes; quite frankly, he’d played around more than enough. Now the shtick was just getting old.
  45. >”Alright, fuck it.” The man huffed, reaching for his pistol. The kid was living on borrowed time as it was… may as well speed things along, right?
  46.  
  47. >No sooner had his fingers touched the gun than a shot rang out, and Bryson felt a sharp pain in the left side of his chest. He looked down to see a red spot spreading across his shirt… he’d been SHOT.
  48. >”Th-the fuck…?!” Bryson wheezed, his punctured lung beginning to fill with blood. He looked up to see Bobby standing there with his gun in hand, a faint wisp of smoke billowing from the barrel… and then, he spotted it. Jutting out slightly from the funnel-shaped opening was the barrel of a handgun. It wasn’t a toy at all.
  49. >Bobby lowered the gun slightly and pulled the trigger again. Bryson cried out in pain as the next bullet pierced straight through his knee, dropping him to the ground.
  50. >”Shit…!” The man hissed, quickly reaching for his gun again, but a third shot blew off half his hand. He screamed in agony, coughing up blood from his collapsed lung.
  51. >”Subject would not comply,” He heard Bobby say. He looked up to find the boy walking towards, him, seemingly unfazed by what he was doing… he simply stared down at the man with the same wide-eyed gaze as before. He raised the gun again, this time pointing directly at Bryson’s head. The man’s eyes went wide with horror. ”…Use of non-lethal force d-deemed necessary.”
  52.  
  53. >”N-NO, PLE-“ Bryson was silenced by a single shot through the forehead, spattering Bobby’s shirt and face with blood. He didn’t seem to notice, or care… he simply watched with a stoic expression as the man slumped over, dead.
  54. >”…Threat has b-been incapacitated.” Bobby muttered. Then, Bryson’s body twitched; the child let out a frightened yelp and emptied the rest of the clip into the dead man’s head, reducing it to little more than a scrambled mess of blood, flesh and chunks of brain. He stood breathing heavily as the body finally went still. Bobby swallowed, taking a moment to compose himself before fishing out his tape recorder from his pocket.
  55. >”O-officer’s Log… s-s-stardate 4503.2. Encountered a hostile native of th-this world… use of non-lethal f-force was deemed necessary. An entire p-power cell was needed to stun target… either reptilians have g-grown resistant to nadion particles, or my ph-phaser is in need of recalibration. For now, I am resuming the mission. S-second Officer Robert Loud, signing off.” Bobby stopped recording and looked down at the corpse lying before him. “D-do not worry… the immobilization should w-wear off within the hour.”
  56.  
  57. >And with that, Bobby resumed loading his supplies into the car. It didn’t register within Bobby’s mind at all that he had just brutally killed a man: all he saw lying there was a stunned reptilian. He didn’t notice that the man’s body had begun to attract flies, nor the giant pool of blood spreading out from beneath it… not even when he stepped through the puddle as he got into the car. After all, he was a proud officer of Starfleet… he would never use lethal force unless there was absolutely no other option.
  58. >Bobby got into the car, strapping himself into his self-made ‘piloting frame’. He turned the key and, once the engine had revved to life, drove off; after all, he couldn’t waste any more time than he already had.
  59. >The mothership was out there somewhere, waiting for him.
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