Day 5: Daftwager Twitter

Day 5:

07:00; Autopsy complete. Dr Nation has his grunts on a short leash. Kept for a few hours from returning to La Pantalon Rouge, my charge continued to fall apart. While. Still. Alive. These ‘soldiers’ of his on are on high-contrast version of his formula; furious strength, speed, stamina, ’28 Days Later’ Badasses while topped up, decomposing Romeros when they aren’t. Maybe these men were already rotting when Nation found them. Maybe this is the long-term effects of the drug itself, or its early prototypes.

Maybe

Or maybe Nation just likes to be daddy.

08:00; Head disconnected early. Upon questioning, it is revealing much concerning Nation’s operation. Surprisingly cogent for something with maggots in the brain. Its hatred for Nation seems to be fuelling it.

Ah, a kindred spirit in arms.

Still a gruelling interrobanging though; have had to disconnect the bellows from the furnace and insert and work them in the zombie’s neck so it can talk.

09:00; It seems its one of the original Nation zombie mob. Quite a quiet mad, Nation. They didn’t see anything coming until the combination strychnine/U.N.D.E.A.D. in the stew.

10:00; Majority of the zombie mob are grunts, like this guy; need to eat flesh to stop falling apart & spread infection. A few generals in Nation’s elite inner circle are functionally human.

The good doctor may be socialist in name, but not necessarily in nature.

The docks are blockaded with seized ships, the roads crammed with zombie traffic. Blow town with the balloon? A definite option.

11:00; Well, time to burn this fool. Open furnace & raid the net – hand, foot, torso, forearm, upperarm, pelvis, thigh, foot, upperarm, forearm, thigh, shin, neck, shin . . . that it?

12:00; No, that is not it. Hand rambles about, pure evil. With a knife, it is pivoting quite effectively on its wrist. A leap for my throat, as the noonday cannons roar.

13:00; It crawled spider-like up the rigging to the burner beneath the balloon. Mute, its ultimatum is still clear; I follow it and it destroys the burner, crippling the balloon. A stalemate? Only in that hand belonged to a first mate who is now stale.

14:00; Tore the bellows from the dead man’s neck, shoving the dead head into the furnace, and the bellows into the air valve. Stoked it up over incoherent, airless screams. Mild blood explosion.

Mild disappointment – I wasn’t able to tell whether the burning of the head disabled the hand or whether it continued, blind but independant; the burner flare fried the hand to a crisp. Oh well, these are the pitfalls of science.

15:00; Dinnertime!

16:00; That was a lovely albatross.

17:00; Whoa. More damage than anticipated with the airtop struggle. Not crippled, but a requisite repair requires a bring down.

What bad, completely unanticipated or precipitated, luck.

18:00; Night time landing. Patrols are out again. Still quite small.

19:00; I moored the balloon to the tower of the abandoned Spiritualist Church. Abandoned by the Spiritualists only, of course. The things that go bump in the night get bumped right back by bigger things. With extra dimensions.

I’m there a whole ten minutes when Bill Eldritch tries to bean me with a Buddy Christ statuette.

20:00; Eldritch, Bill. Less magical than the dear departed Top Hat, more magical than the ‘merely mortal’ Hell Boyle. If there was anybody I can trust the zombies to stay the nine hells away from, its him. Lord Azathoth knows he has raised enough of them himself.

21:00; Eldritch asks me if I’m using my balloon to help the town, given that I haven’t used it to skip town.

. . . Uh, yeah, thats why . . .

I respond in the affirmative and, on an unrelated note, ask if I can make my dirigible thermal-worthy again here. To, uh, help.

22:00; Eldritch is fine with it, but asks me to keep it down up to and at midnight, so he can work on reversing the situation.

Situation?

Oh my, Eldritch says he thinks he caused this.

23:00; I help him prepare his rituals so he can explain. He was trying to resurrect a few choice corpses from the graveyard out the back this place. A very straight revenge plot;

1: Kill the guys who cancelled ‘Pushing Daisies’ by resurrecting the guys who cancelled ‘Dead Like Me’, who were killed by the resurrected guys who cancelled ‘Firefly’, who were killed by a train.

2: Kill Michael Bay and Uwe Boll with the zombies of Hitchcock and Kubrick.

3: Resurrecting Douglas Adams to write the final Hitch-hiker’s book – then kill Eoin Colfer for the audacity.

Can’t fault his aims. I pass him the requisite eyeballs & Cthulu Plushie and I tell him so.

00:00; Could Eldritch be responsible? The zombies have kept away from his elohim wards and heretic calligraphies.

More importantly – how can I use this to further my own ends in a town alive with burning cells.

Ah, here comes Nyarlahotep to our dread tea party. Toodles!

 

 

liana-6

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