Well folks, DAM here, and I'm returning to the realm of Left 4 Dead with Zivon's help, and I've decided to tackle the most infamous badfic of that realm (no, not my awful Left 4 Dead trilogy), Left 4 Dead: Crimson Tide. This story was written by Bladex1200 after one of his other L4D stories was less than successful and he attempted to reboot it. (Trying desperately to gain readership before something flourishes? Sin Count: 1) You may be asking yourself, DAM, what gives you the gall to talk down to others who have tried so hard to make good stories? Well, I have to responses, I wrote a similarly terrible series in this very realm, so I suck three times as much as one bad story in that realm! This, of course, is nothing like any bad story in the L4D verse. Secondly, I like being a dick. Now, without further ado, I will go paragraph by paragraph, sort out the sins, and finally tear a new orifice in:

EVERYTHING

WRONG

WITH:

-Left 4 Dead: Crimson Tide-

Author's note: My last fanfic didn't get any reviews, so I'm shelving that and lowering the rating (I think M was too high). Now I'll be restarting will a new fanfic which should include more description and better characterization. Again, this takes place in the Left 4 Dead Universe but will not feature Left 4 Dead characters as main characters (they may or may not appear, though). My previous character, Marcus Voyavich, will be carried over from the previous fanfic. You could see this as an alternate version. (Really pal, giving up so soon? There are Cubs fans still waiting half a century or more for another championship. Minimal errors in grammar, so far I can't put on my Nazi suit. Sin Count: 2)

Disclaimer: The Left 4 Dead Universe is owned by Valve Software. I only own this fanfic. (No shit. The first sentence is not necessary. Sin Count: 3)

One is the loneliest number... Such a true statement. Even more true in a zombie apocalypse. In what song had he first heard that phrase? He didn't remember and, frankly, it didn't matter. Marcus shook his head. He entered a safe room and quietly locked-and-barred the door. Sitting down, he looked around the grimy, damp safe room. Nothing much was expected - this was the worst part of Los Angeles, after all - but the room was ugly and disgusting even by his standards. A few rats could be seen peering out of the darkness in one corner of the room. When Marcus turned his head to face them, they scurried behind an old stove, out of sight once more. (Starting off with an obscure song reference your character is too dim to pick up on and a vague piece of crap you interpret as philosophical, strong! What about back-story, grabbing interest, and in-depth detail, the only thing you have done is set the tone, boring. Sin Count: 7)

Marcus lit up a cigarette and took a good look around. Near the corner where he had seen the rats he saw an old, rusty stove that probably didn't work anymore. Near it was a preparation table stained crimson with human blood, as well as a wood table filled with guns and ammunition. The entrance door was opposite of him, and to the left of it was a shelf with four health kits. The door on the other side had a table with K- and D-rations next to it, as well as several water bottles. He got up and walked to the water bottles... (We've acknowledged the almighty stove twice now! Even if this magical stove worked, electricity isn't really a thing anymore. Vague, boring description of the surroundings, is it nighttime, daytime, what?! Sin Count: 10)

"Doesn't seem clean," he muttered to himself, opening one bottle and smelling the liquid. He retched slightly, pouring the rancid liquid all over the floor. Leaning against the old stove, he reminisced about his past life. Sergeant Marcus Voyavich of Fire Team Zulu in the U.S. Army. A man who led one of the finest fire teams in the western sector of the U.S. He slowly slumped until he lay on the floor. His eyes drooped, despite his brain's protests to keep them open. Slowly, ever so quietly, he fell asleep. (Bottled water doesn't spoil. Unless it's Boomer bile, I'd take a swig of that than force myself onward. You try to make a fancy name by combining a fictional group and a powerful historical people, clearly trying too hard. I tend to sleep quietly and my brain's a bitch about it, let's write that down! Sin Count: 13)

Flashback (No one reads nor likes these, establish characterization, something you said you would do. Sin Count: 14)

"Sir, we've got people trying to cross the line!" Marcus' newest private pointed to a stream of people climbing the fence which surrounded Fire Team Zulu's perimeter. The only evacuation bus left was behind the perimeter, and it was already filled to the brim. The fence creaked under the weight of the hysterical mob. Marcus nodded to his lieutenant, who was manning an M60, to open fire. The mob began to fall in a rain of crimson. Inside the bus, the driver nodded to Marcus as the bus began its journey to Sacramento, the last remaining safe haven in the Western states. The perimeter fell as the bus slowly shuffled out of the parking lot...(Because everyone knows the military doesn't try to have some order, no, they skip straight to a Mai Lai massacre. Seems like everyone has telekinesis, just a movement of the head and everybody knows what to do. Sin Count: 16)

"Pull back, pull back!" Marcus' lieutenant yelled as the unruly mob slowly transformed into a horde of infected. It all began with the fat woman who was complaining of a headache a few hours ago. She began puking up red chunks onto the people around her during the mob to try and get to the bus... and the rest is, well, history. (They did this suddenly and without warning, maybe that would justify your massacre! Maybe this fat chick was paying for that bad Chinese she had. Also, bullshit, Rule #1, cardio, she would not have made it this far. Sin Count: 19)

Marcus' troops slowly pulled back, still firing their assault rifles, to form a tight circle in the center of the perimeter, where the bus had once been. The infected kept coming and coming, with no end in sight. The fire team ended up splitting up, with Marcus, his lieutenant, and three privates going towards the apartments nearby. The rest of the troops chose to head to the garage across from the apartments. (Is this a porno, repeated attempts at pulling out, coming to the degree of bukkake, and me being ashamed for watching this afterwards. Yep, it's porn. Also, describe where the hell they are! I thought they were in a desert, is this a city, the suburbs, a campus, what!? Sin Count: 21)

"Good luck!" Marcus yelled as he directed his team into one of the apartments. As he closed the door, he got a quick glance of the other team. They were being quickly ovverun, with only two men left. One was firing the M60, and the other was puking on the floor, slowly turning into a mindless infected. Marcus shook his head and motioned for his teammates to head upstairs. He followed them, closing the door behind him. (Oh yeah, because every sergeant or whatever the hell your Marty Stu is based off of doesn't give two shits about his men being attacked and mauled to death. At this rate, you might as well flip them off and laugh at the service they provided to this country. Sin Count: 22.)

"Alright, everyone take positions!" Marcus ordered. Two of the three privates took positions by the single door leading to the room. His lieutenant took a position by him, each of them covering the two windows, and the final private took a position by the bookcase, facing the door. Only one, peeling wall, to the left of the door, was left undefended. Marcus would realize that mistake far too late... (Okay, this definitely sounds like porn. How did they get into this apartment, set the stage so my imagination doesn't have to do all the work you lazy bastard! Sin Count: 24)

At first his team made quick work of any infected who came upstairs. Then the peeling wall began to rumble. One of the privates scratched his head in confusion. (Yeah, because if a swarm of infected are attacking me, a rumble in the wall will perplex me to the point I am left powerless and not assume zombie treachery is afoot. Sin Count: 25)

"What the - Oh shit!" he realized what was going on. The infected broke through the wall, climbing up from the first floor, and swarmed the remenants of Fire Team Zulu. The two privates by the door were quickly overwhelmed, as was the private by the bookcase. They screamed in agony - in pain and horror - as their living flesh was torn. Their brains, their hearts, their arteries: all torn from them and thrown to the side. Marcus could only watch in horror, but his lieutenant kept firing and grabbed his collar.(Okay, this is a porno, there are severed pieces of manhood on a bookshelf and by the door, must be Lorena Bobit's apartment. Also, are these zombies spider-men, climbing through the floor?! I'm pretty sure I've never screamed in agony without feelings of pain and/or horror. He also starts to care about his troops at the worst of times. Sin Count: 29)

"It's now or never!" she yelled, smashing her elbow against one of the windows. She dragged Marcus and jumped out, both of them landing on top of a parked car. Luckily, its alarm was off. Marcus groaned slightly, thinking that bruises would probably color his chest soon enough. His lieutenant, however, was in far worse shape. She barely looked human anymore. Her eyes were – (Yes, the elbow, the anatomy's rifle butt, hard and impossible to wound or cut. Let me get this straight, a man jumped from, assumingly, a second story to a car chest first, and will only have bruises?! How did she do this transformation so quickly, was she infected right in the midst of her menstrual cycle?! Sin Count: 32)

End Flashback(Thank God! Sin Count: 31)

Marcus woke up, his arms flailing. (No, goddammit NO! Stay asleep; suffer cardiac arrest for no reason! Sin Count: 32) His mind was cloudy and at first he had no idea where he was. His eyes soon ajusted to the dark, though, and he realized that the sun was peering over the horizon. He had slept well over 8 hours! He pushed his thoughts of the past out of his mind and got up, his limbs aching slightly. Looking to the table, he saw that an assault rifle, a SCAR Close-Combat, was laying. His own weapon - an AK-47 that he had scavenged off of his late lieutenant, was out of ammunition. Upon further inspection of the table, he saw that there were no magazines compatible with his AK. Sighing, he picked up the SCAR and slung it. He paused for a moment and grunted, picking up his empty AK-47 and slinging it next to his SCAR. (Good to see he can tell time after an indefinite amount of unconsciousness. Also, from witnessing hardcore porn to grand theft, where does it end for this man! Sin Count: 34)

After watching the sun's few rays peaking over the buildings for a few moments, he grabbed a K-ration and cut it open with his Swiss-Army knife. It was standard stuff: crackers, cheese, a small can of tea to mix with water, and instructions. He discarded the instructions and stuffed his mouth full with the crackers and cheese - it had been a while since his last meal. He poured the tea into one of the cleaner water bottles and mixed it together. Taking a quick drink, he spat but kept the bottle anyway. Looking out onto the other door, he saw it was devoid of any infected. (Wait, you're telling me food that can spoil, go bad, or go stale has a longer shelf life than bottled water? Sin Count: 35)

"Strange," he muttered to himself, "I could've sworn -"

He cut off his rantings as he heard crying. Clearly someone was still alive - unless zombies had learned to cry? He dismissed the thought and decided he had to try and rescue to the distressed survivor. He took a closer look outside. He heard the crying echoing from a nearby townhouse. It had seen better days: its windows were all broken and the bricks that lined its walls were whitish and pale. It was slouching to one side and he hesitated. Did he really want to enter a building that could fall in on him at any moment? No, he couldn't hesitate. He could never live with himself if a survivor he could have rescued ended up dead. (Really, he has yet to meet a witch? Maybe it's fresh into the Green Flu Pandemic, I don't know because you haven't told us jack shit! Sin Count: 36)

Unbarring the exit door, he unslung his SCAR. He brushed his fingers against his waist, reassured by the cold metal of the Magnum that he felt slung on his belt. Smiling a bit, he opened the door and walked out into the cool dawn. He crept around carefully, lest he should alert a horde. As he approached the townhouse nearby, he saw something that caused his jaw to unhinge. (Oh my God, he bronzed one of the privates to keep it forever! Sin Count: 37)

There was an SUV there. He couldn't tell what make or what brand - he wasn't into cars - but it seemed like it was fit to drive. It only had a couple of dents, and there were even gas cans nearby. The prospect of escape seemed like a wild fantasy now, but there it was! However, it wasn't the car that had made his jaw hinge. Right in front of it was... (Does a brand matter in the apocalypse?! Whatever happened to your effort to save a survivor? ADHD, anyone? Sin Count: 39)

A witch. (You know what they are! Sin Count: 40) He had no idea of the danger he was in. (Okay, I jumped the gun… Sin Count: 39) Assuming it was just a survivor who had cracked, Marcus took slow steps towards her. She was a pale grey and had long grey hair that shaded her face from the sun. Her sharp claws were covering the rest of her face as she cried, and Marcus shuddered when she let out a long howl during the brief moments when she stopped crying. He raised his SCAR, its lazer sight accidently shining in her eyes. (Wait, you can easily identify a zombie, but this slips under your radar?! She has pale-ass Marilyn Manson, gamer nerd skin! Second, fucking claws! That's where you should at least think, "I say, I may have made an uncalculated error. Sin Count: 41)

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" She burst off sprinting after him. Marcus took off running for the SUV. (She's in front of it, she will kill you! Did you get displaced because even the author has no idea where to go with this plot!? Sin Count: 42) It was his only chance. As the witch neared closer and closer, he could almost feel her sharp, jagged claws sinking into his flesh. (How is she behind you, did you go in a circle!? What just happened to she's directly in front of the fucking car! Sin Count: 43) He ran into the open SUV door and slammed it shut. Just in time, too. The witch's arm dangled out in front of him, broken away from the rest of her body. He shot the quivering arm with his magnum and sighed uneasily. (Yes, because in this universe, severed limbs will attack you. Bonus, hands have brains! Sin Count: 44) Groaning, he looked to his chest and saw the witch had left a sizable slash on it. (How did she get your front, that makes no sense! Sin Count: 45) Reaching for his medkit, he pulled out bandages and some alcohol to clean his wound. The witch was still outside, banging against the SUV with her emaciated body. (Wait, she's still alive!? Kill it before it breaks your glass! Sin Count: 46) After washing his wound off, he pulled out his SCAR and shot the witch several times until she ceased to move. (So much for no broken glass, now there's nothing there to protect you from gore, cold wind, or rain. Sin Count: 47) Carefully opening the door, he threw the witch's arm out. Marcus proceeded to bandage himself. (What the fuck, HOW DID YOU SHOOT HER!? Did the bullets have a magical property that makes them intangible until it comes into contact with a zombie?! Sin Count: 49)

"Huh," he got out of the SUV and looked at the gas cans, "I wonder..." (Please, light yourself on fire to cleanse yourself of your sins!)

He walked towards the cans and picked them up. Marcus popped open the gas tank and refilled the SUV. It seemed strange to him that someone would leave a perfectly good SUV and gasoline during a zombie apocalypse. But, then again, now wasn't the time to question his good luck. He sat back into the driver seat and looked for a key. (Really, you wonder if you can properly gas a car up! This is the wrong time to start musing, pal! Sin Count: 51)

"Nothing," Marcus muttered, disappointed, "If John were here he could've hotwired this. Damn..." (He killed himself so he doesn't have to deal with your senseless bullshit)

Marcus looked to the passenger's seat and saw a zombified body that lay, shot, with a gun in its hand. (How do you miss a corpse, their has to be blood in this car! Sin Count: 52) He realized what had happened. (He read you story! The poor soul!) Shaking it off, he pulled out the wirebox in the car and began his many attempts to hotwire the SUV. (It was so easy in Grant Theft Auto (which you are now committing), why not in "real" life? Sin Count: 53)

Two hours earlier... (NO! I was a free, happy man two hours ago, stop this! Sin Count: 54)

Marcus was still sound asleep in the safe room. He turned over slightly, trying to drown out the faint buzzing noise that was coming from outside. He turned over, trying to get the buzzing sound out of his head, and awoke. Bleary-eyed, he could see the shadow of headlights approaching him, but he soon fell asleep again. Outside the safe room, a brand new, polished SUV was humming through town. It had two people inside - both young teenagers with guns. The driver was a dashing young man - blonde-haired, blue-eyed, the sort you see in the movies - and the passenger to his right was a girl - not beautiful but not ugly by any standards. (Yes, describe her vivid looks to us, Tara Gilesbie. Sin Count: 55) (Another thing, how did two teens, with little to no skill in survival, shooting, or fighting, manage to snag a working SUV: 56) Both were giggling and generally having a great time as the blonde man drove through the deserted city. They were survivors, of course,(No shit, Sherlock. Sin Count: 57) but they tried to make it seem like the apocalypse was a good time. (Trying to make it seem better…What is this, my senior prom? Sin Count: 58) They tried hard to take their minds off of the impending doom. (Wait, they know they're going to die…Sign me up as long as I never have to see things like this! Sin Count: 59)

"Hey John," the passenger, Mary, smiled at him, "Where are we going?"(Mary Sue, we're going to a nice, quiet place where I can let my teenage urges take hold. Also, is this the John you were thinking of, Marcus, a teenager who shouldn't be driving? One last thing, what the fuck does this flashback have to do with anything, I'm so lost! Sin Count: 62)

"There are rumors that a 747 - one of those giant jetliners - is leaving for Pittsburgh from LAX. From there we can drive over to Allegheny National Forest where the military's gonna pick us up," John responded. He leaned back as he eased the car into a left turn near the safe room where Marcus was resting. All those months he racked up in Marcus' squad sure did help him when it came to nerves. (Wait, you're in a safe state, stay! Is this kid in the military, we are so fucked! Finally, is this the John Marcus was thinking about or are you even confused by your shitpile of story. Sin Count: 65)

"Why not somewhere closer, like near California," Mary leaned her head on John. She sighed quietly as John continued driving. Suddenly, she let out an ear-piercing yell.(YOU'RE IN CALIFORNIA, YOU DUMB BITCH! Sin Count: 66)

"THERE'S A ZOMBIE!" she screamed. John kept his nerve and veered away from the zombie. But it was too late. (Wow, a zombie in the zombie apocalypse, who would have guessed it? We're so unprepared, all we have is a few tons of plastic and metal to kill it wi… Sin Count: 68)

The SUV roared as its driver turned too hard, too fast. Skidding, the vehicle slammed into a nearby tree, denting it slightly in the front. John groaned, dazed and confused, but his hands found their way to the clutch. Switching to reverse, he ran right over the incoming zombie, crushing it with a sickening 'SQUELCH!' As the SUV backed up, the back popped open and several full gas cans fell out, rolling to a stop a few feet away from the vehicle. He breathed hard, trying to calm down from the adrenaline rush he had, and trying to better assess the situation.(That would have solved a few problems if you just DROVE STRAIGHT. Gas cans are RECTANGULAR, it's impossible for them to ROLL several times! Slide, yes, but roll, go to hell. What, killing a zombie is too intense for you? Sin Count: 71)

"Okay," he thought, "Zombie's dead. We'll be fine. Why does my arm hurt so much, though?"

John gulped. In a sudden, unexpected move he feverishly pulled up his right sleeve. Horrified, he rolled it back down before Mary could take a good look. His right arm had had a small slice in it an hour ago. Now, the wound was swelling and had puss. His thoughts began to cloud and he began to mumble incoherently. Pulling the key out of its slot, John jammed it in his pant pocket without a second thought. His mind was running on adrenaline now, and his thoughts began to fog as his brain slowly hemorraged and died.(Was he bitten?! Did this chick give him something he'll need medicine for? WHAT?! Yeah, better screw over your mentally incapacitated girlfriend by taking that key she'll need. Also, from family experience, you feel pain and then you're out when you bleed into your brain, not have enough time to get your thoughts in order. If that was the case, I'd be a millionaire if my grandpa could pay attention. Sin Count: 74)

"Gotta get out. Gotta get out. Gotta get out," John mumbled under his breath, violently lashing at the seatbelt, trying to get it off. Mary looked at him with a puzzled and slightly frightened look.

"John," she said seriously, "John are you alright?"

John calmed down a bit and leaned back against the chair. He stopped mumbling and groaned.

"Yeah," he said shakily, "Y-yeah I'm..."

John tilted his head back.

"I'm... I'm oh..."

Growls began to emate from his mouth. John opened his eyes quickly and shot a look at Mary, who screamed in horror. John's eyes were milky white, and his arms were scratching her. In a rare moment of strength, she yanked the pistol from John's belt and shot him in the head. Shaking, she dropped the pistol and screamed, this time even louder than the last. Unbuckling herself, she unbuckled John, opened the door, and dragged his body to the passenger's seat. Fearing that someone would think she was a killer, she took the pistol and lay it in John's hand. She began sobbing uncontrollably and her fingers began to ache. Dragging herself away from the SUV in pain, she sat down nearby and brought her hands up to her face. Thoughts were meshing together and she was losing her mind. She suddenly saw a bright light coming towards her. Raising her head, she began to walk towards it. It was warm... Comforting... Peaceful... Oh so very peaceful. (How do you go from eyes to a mauling? Also, I'm pretty sure those teenage urges are taking over right about now. It doesn't take strength, he's still in a seatbelt, he can do nothing! Yes, because killing a zombie is murder and you don't want anyone to use forensic evidence to hunt you down. Holy crap, my menstrual theory of random infection was right! Sin Count: 79)

As Marcus began to greet the morning sunshine after his rest, a Witch could be heard crying. There was no soul in this body, just an angry, diseased brain. The soul had departed a few hours back to live with John, her mother, and her father on a nice farm away from the city. That soul had been a happy, carefree one up until tonight. Now, only skin upon a bony skeleton remained.(This paragraph describes me perfectly as I read this shit. For using an allegory, I will take off one sin. Sin Count: 78)

Present time... (SON OF A BITCH! Sin Count: 79)

"Goddammit!" (My thoughts exactly!) Marcus threw the wires down in frustration. He had tried for two hours to hotwire the car without success. Grabbing the wirebox, he carefully set it back in its original position. (Wait, you cut through several wire, through it on the ground, and now you try to make amends by putting it back? Sin Count: 80) Looking to the dead body with the gunshot wound, he snaked out his arms tentatively. (It's been dead for four hours, it would have attacked you by now. Sin Count: 81) Upon seeing it was really dead, he began searching pocket after pocket for the key. After finding it in the body's pant pocket, he inserted it into the key slot and found, much to his delight, that it worked! (Wait, you waited two hours fiddling with a bunch of wires to finally search the body for that key!? Also, you've cut the wires to hell, how is it possible that thing still works! Sin Count: 83)

"Alright, time to get down to business," Marcus knew that the longer he stayed here the higher the chance that zombies would find him. Running to the safe room, he grabbed all the rations he could carry, as well as several water bottles, and threw them in the back seat of the SUV. (Why, they've gone bad for no reason, remember? Sin Count: 84) He then closed the trunk of the SUV, which he had mysteriously found to have been opened, and dragged the shot body from the passenger's seat to a nearby bush outside. (You can't identify this body of a man who knew you, horse shit! Also, what is with people just lugging corpses around, you can get sick from that, you know! Sin Count: 86) Closing the passenger door with a satisfied smirk, he jumped in the SUV, laid down his weapons in the passenger's seat, and drove off. As mile after mile of road passed him, and the sun began rising higher in the sky, he wondered where he was going to go. Slowing to a stop near a highway on-ramp, he opened the glove compartment and looked inside.

"Nothing useful, that's disgusting," Marcus haphazardly tossed the objects inside onto the car floor. He then caught a glimpse of a map underneath all of the other objects. (Wait, what was disgusting? Don't be a tease; tell us in your brand of little detail! Sin Count: 87)

"Hmm..." he unfolded the map, "Now THAT'S interesting."

The map was torn in many places (not that it mattered; the only spots left were California, Lousiana, and Pennsylvania), but he could make out a clear path to Los Angeles that was marked in bold, red letters: (Safe zones, is the story banned there?! Please, take me with you!)

"GO TO LAX AIRPORT FOR EVAC. 747 AVAILABLE FOR TRANSPORT. LIMITED SEATS. FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE."

"Looks like I'm getting out of here after all," Marcus grinned. He sped up and dodged the cars that filled the road, driving on sidewalks and into destroyed buildings as detours on his way to LAX...

Meanwhile, at Allegheny National Forest...(Really, this isn't a flashback, STOP! Sin Count: 88)

"Goddammit Bill!" Francis threw his arms up as the APC jerked from side to side, "Don't you know how to drive? I thought you fought in 'Nam!"(Bull shit, the survivors got in the back, they didn't drive. Sin Count: 89)

"I was a gunner in 'Nam," Bill responded, his cigarette flaring up slightly as if it were angry, "I'll be damned if I know how to drive this thing!"(They…didn't…drive! Sin Count: 90)

The APC jerked wildly as the old veteran tried to tame it. Unlike a car, this APC had insensative steering, so Bill ended up swerving left and right as he attempted to dodge zombies and other obstacles... This was gonna be a long few days... (SENSATIVE steering is where you turn every which direction and up, INSENSATIVE steering doesn't turn for shit. Sin Count: 91)

Author's Note: So, what do you think of it? I spent three days writing it, so if there's any mistakes or universe errors that's probably why. (READ A DAMN WIKI! Also, you just admitted to your story sucking, why didn't you do that in the start?! Sin Count: 93) Anyway, review please! (You made AIDS treatment seem a more manageable process than this.) If you're going to flame, stay the hell away! (You just opened the floodgates to trolls like myself, who I hope will find and flame your story back to Hell! Sin Count: 94) But, if you didn't like it for good reasons, please explain in your review what I should improve and what you didn't like. (You wrote this. Sin Count: 95) First reviewer gets to pick how the survivors and Marcus meet up! (They shoot Marcus to death like in the beginning of the original RoboCop.) Also, please vote on whether you would like the Left 4 Dead 2 characters (Nick, Coach, Rochelle, Ellis) to make an appearance in the fanfic. (Why must more people suffer now?! Sin Count: 96) I'll continue writing when I get at least 5 reviews - whether positive or negative. (Don't wait pal, just write until this is either successful or you realize how stupid it his. Sin Count: 97) (Also, you're a quitter who gives up just because his story isn't popular, keep trying! Oh wait, you did the right thing, everyone else, don't quit! Sin Count: 98) :3

THE RANT:

OH MY GOD, what the hell was that?! First off, I've gone over stuff you've done, and you have a history of quitting because things don't get popular. Nobody, except Scarecrow'sMainFan, can write a successful first story, you have to be patient and wait. Also, holy shit, the description is sparse and atrocious. I don't know where half of this is occurring, so I just assume the Death Toll map, but this is California, so give me a background! What was his drive like, how did he get here, and what was his early life, and no flashbacks, just mention it! Paint a picture, not draw squiggly lines and let me guess what the fuck it is, you lazy Pictionary prick! Then we get to this question, how are people getting infected randomly?! The infection spreads quickly so signs should be readily available. It seems they have enough will power to save Marty Stu and die before him. Another thing, plot holes and nonsensical add-ins, where do I begin! I could pick your logic apart bit by bit, but I've already completely discredited that so let's get to other aspects, like Marcus. There is a car outside that safehouse, salvation as he knows it, but he'd rather sleep on a cold, hard concrete surface. This guy is also pretty indecisive; he can't save two groups of people that he is in charge of. For one, he basically told them to screw off because they didn't agree with his plan of defense, like any general will tell you, sacrificing half your forces is good strategy. Then, his other crew got ripped apart and he just watched, as opposed to shooting the damn zombies! The guy also has his own brand of ADHD, he continues to use and save that "rancid" water only to rediscover how bad it is, heal his wounds before remembering a witch that could have busted his window open and killed him, and, with a thought of his pal who is right next to him, goes from looking for a key to hotwiring a car, something he has no knowledge of. Finally, I have to pick at your effort. Honestly, writing one chapter of this length and quality is stunning and concerning. You managed to make procrastinators like me seem as though we can wait until the last minute and write works of art compared to what you do. You try to make Marty, I mean Marcus seems like a reasonable Joe-turned-hero, but he falls to the dreaded author-projected-character of a Mary Sue. While others around him randomly die, he remains unaffected by this and continues on a mission to nowhere until something pops up. You honestly want to make your character seem as manly and awesome as possible, but you churned out a dim-witted, apathetic, overly-lucky Marty Stu. Next time, don't try so hard to write a masterpiece and focus on key details, bud.

Total Sin Count: 98

Sentencing:

While normally I'd condemn this trash back to Hell, I'd much rather see the floodgate of trolls go after this story. So yeah, welcome to Hell. Better yet, I'll have a tank fist you next time you attempt to write a popular L4D story.

Next Time: As requested by a reviewer and a major staple of 's badfic section, the scourge of Bronies everywhere:

Cupcakes