Author's note: None of the following characters are mine, they are, as the basis of the story is © Valve. The story, on the other hand, © me! Enjoy.
[Fade in]
Louis is crouched over the keyboard in his cubicle, typing rapidly. He looks up from the keyboard every couple of seconds to check his work. A silhouette appears behind him.
Figure: Louis…. Your report… is duuuue!
Louis turns around and light is put on the figure, his boss with gray skin and glassy eyes groans. Louis whips a shotgun out from behind him and blasts the zombie's head off, then turns back to his computer with vigor
Louis: No more reports-
No more checking in with 'doctor' Hower,
I gotta get this one last file
Then I'll be outta here, within the hour-
There's a groan in the background and he puts one hand on his gun, other hand clicking the mouse madly. Transfer shows up on the screen with a progress bar. Louis stands up and starts shooting his pistol as zombie coworkers begin to stumble in from the stairwell.
They used to laugh, play their little games,
No one could understand my motivation
Why a computer nerd would go to the firing range,
Who knew in a week, I'd be killing my boss, no need for promotion!
[Change Over]
A dimly lit bar, light in the corner flickering. The bartender stands behind the counter, swaying from side-to-side. Pieces of glass are stuck in his forehead, blood streaming down both sides of his mouth. There's a hand propped on the counter, a customer with his arms crossed face-down, a bite taken out of his head. A chime rings as the door creaks and is swung open.
Light shines on Bill in the doorway, stooping to grab a pistol with a hand still holding onto the grip, cut off at the wrist.
Bill: Hey 'tender, what's a guy gotta do to get a drink in this place?
Bill yanks the hand from the grip and throws it over his shoulder as he aims with the other hand, squeezing the trigger. Cut to bartender missing an eye slamming back against the sink, slowly sliding down. Bill begins walking to the counter where he leans over the customer's side to grab himself a glass and bottle of whiskey. He rubs the glass on his shirt to get the blood off, singing:
Bill: No one believed me, they didn't even try-
No one wanted to hear the truth, neither did I,
I knew a war was comin' –comin' fast,
I never knew I'd be in it, savin' my own ass!
He pours himself a drink, and looks around at the bodies hunched over tables, other tables turned over.
All I wanted was my two minutes of fame,
All the youngsters so rude, no one listened,
And now I'm not the one to blame
For all those folks who never learned how ta aim.
Dramatic music begins to play from a nearby piano. Bill has his glass in one hand and readies his pistol, looking to the baby grand in the corner. A head peeks over the side-and Francis begins to sing as he plays. A sawed-off shotgun lay on top of the piano, as well as several broken glasses, the one intact holding a poorly made martini.
Francis: They weren't wrong in shuttin' you up,
You're full of nothin' but fluff,
Quit your whining and moaning,
Cause it's time to buck up!
You ain't a victim of nothin'
'cept wanting to hear yourself talk,
You're in the perfect place at the perfect time,
Cause there's barely anyone to make you stop.
Bill grits his teeth and clenches his drink tighter in one hand, as well as the gun in his lap.
Bill: I gave my country a great deal,
And they didn't even gimme proper pay!
Francis: You think your bitchin' woulda given kids proper aim?
Bill: -Now hold on a second, you got me all wrong!
Francis: You want the money? No one's at the bank
Get all ya want!
Bill gets to his feet and throws his drink on the ground, enraged.
Bill: Now you're not listenin' either,
Why don't ya let me explain-I'll show ya!
This ain't some game like ya say,
This is war, everyone's gonna pay!
Francis: Hey!
Francis stands with a pistol of his own, other hand going to the sawed off shotgun on the Piano. He aims the gun in Bill's direction. Bill's hands go up, saying 'now now'--and Francis fires, hitting the busty waitress who had just pulled her gray form over top the counter. Camera goes to Francis, whose spare hand goes from the shotgun to the martini, downing it.
Bill: Well, I—uh
Francis: Lets continue this argument elsewhere,
It looks like you're about ta scare--
We need to start lookin' for a safer state,
Firstly, a safer place to drink!
Bill and Francis walk out of the bar. The camera zooms out to show the block and staggering zombie figures. Upbeat music plays. A smoker stands on the roof of a house, grabbing the chimney and leaning down to look at the two figures walking so swiftly. In the bottom left corner can be seen four zombies on the street dancing in unison. They stagger one way then lurch to the left, arms moving in unison. As the camera continues to zoom out one of the zombies leans the wrong way into another dancer. A miniature shoving match ensues.
Switch to a ratty looking poster of four survivors standing in the grass. Francis stands tall with his arms spread- auto-shotgun in one outstretched hand, singing strong. Louis stands at a ¾ view beside him with an uzi in both hands, singing. Zoey is kneeling on the other side of Francis holding her two pistols, singing with Louis. Bill sits on a crate of ammo with one hand on his forehead, assault rifle on his lap, looking disgruntled.