Hello, ladies and gentlemen! I am breaking new ground! The first Last of Us and Sonny...possibly the last of...them.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sonny nor Last of Us
The wind whipped and cracked around the forlorn bodies in the snow-blanketed region.
The snow whirled, following the wind in a never ending cyclone to form a misty covering which reduced visibility to near zero.
An angered voice shouted over the wind: "Get them! We can't leave anyone alive! DO IT!"
The soft paddle of footwear concluded the original theory of the his soon-to-be murders: the meddlers had escaped.
The band of three had successfully defeated a well trained and well equipped ZPCI squadron.
Now, by mere guess, the last two ZPCI Elites were going to hunt down the two zombies and insurgent.
But, it mattered not. For one, the elites would surely fail, considering of all the people those assailants killed. Two, his crumpled body laid in the snow. Why should he care about the damned mission or even his contract anymore?
More footfalls indicated the fact that Captain Hunt had retreated, licking his wounds and most likely about to radio evacuation via helicopter. He will probably even confirm the fatal casualties of his personal entourage, of which still lay bleeding, wheezing and coughing in the snow. Didn't even try to check for vitals. Didn't even look in their direction.
Typical superior.
The Medic gave another throatily cough, before twisting his head to look at the sniper.
He lay about five feet away, on his back, sluggishly moving his limbs up and down, as if he were creating a snow angel. An unreasonable attempt to live, no doubt, although his brain would be far too dysfunctional from blood loss to perceive that it's actions made absolutely no sense and were futile.
The Medic still lay on his stomach, his wounds being chilled to an unnatural body temperature while the rest of his body stayed warmed due to the technology in his suit.
The Medic knew this was his fate, for he pertained no focus to heal either of the two. Besides, the insurgent had silenced him, handicapping the Medic's ability to heal completely. In addition, the Medic was fairly sure that hypothermia or blood loss would eliminate both of them before he had any focus to heal.
Of course, Captain Hunt could provide assistance, however, he had been all so careless as to not even check to see if the two were alive!
"Captain! Captain! Captain!" The Medic's voice was frail and scratchy and the Captain was most likely out of earshot. Hunt was probably back at the village, sipping hot cocoa and waiting for evac.
The bastard.
However, he heard the crunching of snow created by someone or something nearby.
'Could it be the Captain?' The Medic thought, hopefully.
It footfalls drew closer and closer and the Medic shifted his head so he could gaze North-East of his location.
What approached horrified him. His training told him to classify the figure as a zombie...but he only heard about these in textbooks and stories told by the veterans of Zombie Pest Control Incorporated.
The creature appeared to be made out of molten rock, cracks in his skin exposing a red glow (which was assumed to be lava) emanating from within his body. A small crater occupied his chest with a strange purple orb acting at the core. A deep yellow scar lead from his right shoulder to his left hip; yet strangely enough, no yellow gash anywhere in the crater itself.
Despite the skin variation, the orb and the gash, he looked human.
However, what truly terrified the Medic was the devilish grin stretched across his gruesome features, a giant runed sword he brandished and an aura of dread he brought with him.
He hoped the figure would give him a swift clean death, for the Medic feared he might have wanted to die by blood loss or hypothermia instead.
"Hellllloooo…" The figure spoke, his voice containing a nearly inaudible echo to which reminded that the creature was from another realm.
Although, as the figure looked down at him, a realization finally came to the Medic: the creature was indeed intelligent, able to use speech and wield weapons, even if it were a sword (And, said sword is tightly gripped in his right hand, the tip of the blade dipped in snow).
'Another weapon created by the scientists, maybe?'
"I observe you are in an inescapable predicament." The figure continued.
A long moment of silence swept over, the Medic deciding not to speak as he found he really had not the strength nor patience; in all honesty, he would rather have been finished off then, seeing as how large amounts of blood were pooling from his wounds and changing the color of nearly all snow around him red. Perhaps, if the Medic was fortunate/unfortunate (depending on how you observe it) he had three minutes, five minutes at best, to live.
"I can help you to live another day." He spoke again.
The Medic nodded, as if dumbfounded. He barely had energy to process what he had said, however, he had not anything else to "lose" and if the zombie had been suggesting to turn him, he would have done so anyway with or without his consent. As long as the zombie gave him a swift demise, the Medic was A-OK with any suggestions. The Medic also felt the wounded areas go numb, as said numbness started to spread through his body as if it were virus.
The zombie went to the Medic's right, over to the sniper which had become motionless.
"By the way," The zombie said, as he raised his sword, switching the blade so he pointed downward, "My name is the Baron."
He then brought his sword down, which enlodged into the sniper's chest with a sickening crunch.
The Medic winched, witnessing his comrade's brutal execution.
However, after the "Baron" had dislodged his sword, planted the tip of the blade into the snow so now the blade was free standing, the Baron returned to the corpse.
The Baron hoovered a hand over the sniper's chest, and a strange green energy was drawn forth. The site was dazzling and wondrous, in a sense, as the energy appeared as if it were thick clouds being abducted into the Baron's hand, whilst glowing a vibrant dark green. Now, the energy had formed into an orb, with barely visible, centimetre inched tendrils gentle swaying from it. The Baron approached the Medic again, as said Medic felt the numbness consuming him.
"Listen to me, now." The Baron ordered, an amused grin still playing across his features, "I have not properly tested this before, however, you are lucky enough to be my first true test subject. Congratulations."
The Medic could practically feel death coming to collect his soul.
"Your body is far too damaged, you cannot exist in this realm any further, even if I reanimated; Besides, I don't turn people, it's not my style. However…" The Baron drew forth, putting forth his words as he allows the Medic to feel death creep in on him, "I believe that using your friend's essence, I can golf you to another plain of existence. Where? I haven't a clue! And that is the fun!"
He gave a demented chuckle of glee, however, retained himself as he knew time was drawing short, "In another, simpler, set of words: I am going to play golf. You are the ball and the orb the club."
The Medic's consciousness slipped from him, all too suddenly.
First, black surrounded him, the wind still acting as a chorus for his eternal lullaby.
But, suddenly, all had been turned to white, a high pitched 'WOOH' filling in his ears and forcing his brain to swim. The white intensified, never ceasing to increase in brightness which started to sting his retinas.
However, the whiteness seized. The sound had stopped. The wind returned with it's soft melody.
The Medic still felt numb, which slowly started to decrease as his blood circulated again.
After a while, the Medic opened his eyes. Through his thick, glass visor on his helm, he came to realize that his body had been positioned (with his head faced down and laying on his stomach) on asphalt. With most of the numbness gone, he lifted his body up with his hands and stood with his feet. He deduced by the white lines (which were covered with a good amount of snow) he was in a parking lot. And, before him stood a massive structure.
Well, he definitely wasn't in Oberursel anymore.
How could he honestly believe a zombie have the ability to teleport him across dimensions?
He argued with himself, concerning the circumstances surrounding this situation. However, he finally felt the light patting against his hip. He finally notched that a sterile white, cloth satchel had been attached to his person. On his left shoulder, the handle was perched. On his right hip, the actually satchel (which had been ordinated with a red cross) patted against his hip. He flip back the flap of the satchel (with his gloved hand, reminding him he still wore his ZPCI Combat-Medic suit) and peered inside.
From the size of contents within the satch, he deduced he had an abundance of medical supplies. He decided not to account inventory, for he felt it was not the time nor place.
On another note, whilst looking down into the bag, at the roof of his eye sight, he saw gleaming metal. He lifted his head slightly, so his eyes could meet with his trusty rifle. He walked a few paces and picked it up.
In all due honesty, the Medic felt better, once more being armed in strange times.
He checked the chamber to find no bullets currently loaded and quickly checked his entire person to see if he could find any. He found none of the sort.
"What was the point of-" At that exact time, his eyes happened to wander to the tip of his weapon, only to come to the shining, metallic bayonet at the end.
The Medic grinned.
He had no information or details concerning his current location nor situation. But he be damned if he was going down without a fight.
Before any of you think otherwise, his name is not "The Medic", I just decided to refer to him as the Medic for the first chapter. And, as for the premise, do not be deceived. It may be better then it sounds.
Please review if you can!