When Michael woke back up, it was 2 in the afternoon. He sat on the edge of his bed and analyzed the situation at hand. He came to a relatively simple solution. "Either I can sit here and get eaten like a chump, or I can go out, have some fun, and probably die fighting. It's not everyday that a zombie apocalypse comes to fruition." he concluded.
"Now if videogames and movies have taught me anything, we (and by we I mean survivors),have at least 3 days until the military decides to carpet-bomb or nuke this joint, so it'd be wise to get the hell out of dodge as soon as possible.".
"Also," he continued with his self debate," in order to make any kind of progress, I'd need to find a weapon, preferably a gun. Since all the closest gun shops are run by inbred hicks, that option is moot. I'd rather not get shot in the face by a drunken hillbilly. Or to have this end up like a scene out of Deliverance."
"Third," he conjectured," I'd need a conviently placed military base, and since we do in fact have one some distance away, that would be the ideal place for a weapon and vehicle to get the hell out of here.". With that in mind, he began rummaging through his things until he found an old aluminum baseball bat and a baseball cap. "I feel like the scout in TF2," he thought to himself. With that done, and the plan all formulated, he set out in his search for other, capable survivors
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