I had just begun to see the world as it was before the Outbreak came. It didn't take long; I was out drinking in a bar, then the first signs began to appear, but we were to ignorant to see them. And then, it happened: I was out walking on the sidewalk, talking about maybe getting some decent pants, and then suddenly I heard that horrible sound. "YOU CLOT SUCKAS". Next second, we were fleeing in terror. The Cockney apocalypse had begun. My name is Specimen 17826 (Everyone calls me Jim), and this is my story.
Journal Entry 1, August: The streets are in chaos. We had just been released, us specimen, and were learning the rules of society only hours before it happened. They looked like normal people....but they spoke gibberish. I'm not sure if they even are sentient, but I do know this: they are deadly. Us clots are always the first to go; we were the most numerous, and most vulnerable (albeit, we had better attitudes and were usually much more cheerful company than others in my family). So far we have them contained, but we don't know how long. They are bloody difficult to kill, can heal themselves, and even revive if others in their pack survive long enough. They hunt and stalk the streets, the woods, the countryside...civilians long ago either died, were abducted, or fled. Its up to us...
Entry 2: The outbreak has been slowly spreading and gaining steam, but I have escaped, for now. After I fled to a countryside manor from London, I have met a number of other survivors, and we holed up for the night...however, in the middle of the night, we started hearing heavy metal music, coming from seemingly nowhere. Scared, Davidson led most of the survivors out of the manor, but I could hear the screams and gunfire from my hut. Me, Linda, and Tom hid under the canoes, but when Tom heard the footsteps in the water....Tom has always been excitable, gasping around, and he bolted. Through the gap in the wood, I could see him torn apart as all six fell on him. They have evolved since they first arrived...I saw them weilding new AKs and even blades. I will never forget hearing them as they stopped in my hut, the wood creaking as they ran about. One sounded more feminine, and there was some sort of glowing substance they launched at each other....they repeated the word "DOSH" enough times for me to guess thats what they call it. God save us all.
Entry 3: I escaped the Quarantine zone, finally, just me and Linda, and her friend Frank who hid in the closet last entry. Sorry I havent entered here since then, it's been...exciting. Father promised us that his new soldier model would win us the war, armed with armor and flame-launchers, and we began partying in response. We all went to a club that was the last human-run establishment, run by a Scotsman with a fine taste in alcohol. The rave was a color-blurred, chaotic blend of alcohol and music...until the DJ turned around and blasted the owner with a shotgun. They had gotten to the point of imitating humans, and soon enough, previous guests even turned on us. Linda and I ran the dark corridors of the former asylum, running till we could run no more. The....things had evolved beyond any expectations, and it had turned from a battle into a massacre. If these new soldiers are what they're said to be, hopefully we might resist, but even then, they have gotten more numerous and more deadly.
Tonight, though, I have taken to the subways.
Entry 4: I have finally found time to write again...the days have been long and hard, but I have found Father, and currently we are hiding out in a distant Lab. We are sending out distress messages to anyone who will listen, but few are answering...has the menace gone everywhere? One of the Father's old brothers has replied, though, so hopefully we might get some help. Already his agents are sabatoging their weapons, so hopefully our forces might have a chance.
In the meantime, Linda has gotten pregnant. Somehow. I'm not really sure what to say....I mean, we've wanted a child, but I'm starting to think it might not be mine. There was that Scrake whom she knew...before he was torn to bits in London. In any case, I'm hoping to put whatever happened behind us, and perhaps settle down and find a home in the suburbs.
Entry 5:Well, we have gotten some assistance, but not enough to make a dent. The Brother returned to the North Pole after some bum dressed as Santa blasted his sleigh fleet with a LAW ambush, and the Corporation turned out to be a pyschotic robot that wanted to test us in some cruel games...luckily, after they took some shiny potato thing, she was distracted enough for us to escape alive. However, these minor victories may not be enough. In the meantime, however, I have settled into the Suburbs. Nighttime raids have always been rare, and usually they don't have time to check the houses, but stick to the larger buildings. I could get used to this.
Entry 6:I have lost everything. Everything. They came in the night, and I woke up to hard rock blaring from outside. We locked the door, just in time, before I heard "UNWELDIN THIS UN" and they began tearing it apart. My pregnant wife used her old training to slip outside, and I took to the back door. Outside was bedlam, and I wandered, running, looking for Linda, until I saw her....and It. The Cockney had an assauly rifle, and where the others saw nothing, he spotted her shadow, and she was filled with lead, nearly to safety, and collapsed before me. The lunatic was surprised by my neighbor, though, Ulga, who nearly popped his head, but he stumbled away into my alleyway. I punched him in the face, and grabbed onto him, and he shot me with the last bullet in his clip, before he had to reload. It sent me onto the ground, but as he ran from Ulga, I grabbed his leg, bringing him down, and then opened his throat, ending his babbling about drugs.
I have tasted vengeance, and soon I shall have it in full. The Father's mercenaries buy me some time for now. (He ran off to join the circus when he was 12, after acquiring a very unique disease, which he even had trademarked. His mother never forgave him, but she did find the clown that inspired him. That clown dissapeared after a shout of "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY CHILDREN" was heard in the vicinity)
In the meantime, I have found sunglasses, a machete, a motorcycle, and a rocket launcher (but sadly, no pants). I have created a team which will soon (stylishly) be upon you. And before I kill you, I wanted to post it where any (English-understanding) cockney could know why they died. And tremble.
Sincerely, Jim the Clot.
Journal Entry 1, August: The streets are in chaos. We had just been released, us specimen, and were learning the rules of society only hours before it happened. They looked like normal people....but they spoke gibberish. I'm not sure if they even are sentient, but I do know this: they are deadly. Us clots are always the first to go; we were the most numerous, and most vulnerable (albeit, we had better attitudes and were usually much more cheerful company than others in my family). So far we have them contained, but we don't know how long. They are bloody difficult to kill, can heal themselves, and even revive if others in their pack survive long enough. They hunt and stalk the streets, the woods, the countryside...civilians long ago either died, were abducted, or fled. Its up to us...
Entry 2: The outbreak has been slowly spreading and gaining steam, but I have escaped, for now. After I fled to a countryside manor from London, I have met a number of other survivors, and we holed up for the night...however, in the middle of the night, we started hearing heavy metal music, coming from seemingly nowhere. Scared, Davidson led most of the survivors out of the manor, but I could hear the screams and gunfire from my hut. Me, Linda, and Tom hid under the canoes, but when Tom heard the footsteps in the water....Tom has always been excitable, gasping around, and he bolted. Through the gap in the wood, I could see him torn apart as all six fell on him. They have evolved since they first arrived...I saw them weilding new AKs and even blades. I will never forget hearing them as they stopped in my hut, the wood creaking as they ran about. One sounded more feminine, and there was some sort of glowing substance they launched at each other....they repeated the word "DOSH" enough times for me to guess thats what they call it. God save us all.
Entry 3: I escaped the Quarantine zone, finally, just me and Linda, and her friend Frank who hid in the closet last entry. Sorry I havent entered here since then, it's been...exciting. Father promised us that his new soldier model would win us the war, armed with armor and flame-launchers, and we began partying in response. We all went to a club that was the last human-run establishment, run by a Scotsman with a fine taste in alcohol. The rave was a color-blurred, chaotic blend of alcohol and music...until the DJ turned around and blasted the owner with a shotgun. They had gotten to the point of imitating humans, and soon enough, previous guests even turned on us. Linda and I ran the dark corridors of the former asylum, running till we could run no more. The....things had evolved beyond any expectations, and it had turned from a battle into a massacre. If these new soldiers are what they're said to be, hopefully we might resist, but even then, they have gotten more numerous and more deadly.
Tonight, though, I have taken to the subways.
Entry 4: I have finally found time to write again...the days have been long and hard, but I have found Father, and currently we are hiding out in a distant Lab. We are sending out distress messages to anyone who will listen, but few are answering...has the menace gone everywhere? One of the Father's old brothers has replied, though, so hopefully we might get some help. Already his agents are sabatoging their weapons, so hopefully our forces might have a chance.
In the meantime, Linda has gotten pregnant. Somehow. I'm not really sure what to say....I mean, we've wanted a child, but I'm starting to think it might not be mine. There was that Scrake whom she knew...before he was torn to bits in London. In any case, I'm hoping to put whatever happened behind us, and perhaps settle down and find a home in the suburbs.
Entry 5:Well, we have gotten some assistance, but not enough to make a dent. The Brother returned to the North Pole after some bum dressed as Santa blasted his sleigh fleet with a LAW ambush, and the Corporation turned out to be a pyschotic robot that wanted to test us in some cruel games...luckily, after they took some shiny potato thing, she was distracted enough for us to escape alive. However, these minor victories may not be enough. In the meantime, however, I have settled into the Suburbs. Nighttime raids have always been rare, and usually they don't have time to check the houses, but stick to the larger buildings. I could get used to this.
Entry 6:I have lost everything. Everything. They came in the night, and I woke up to hard rock blaring from outside. We locked the door, just in time, before I heard "UNWELDIN THIS UN" and they began tearing it apart. My pregnant wife used her old training to slip outside, and I took to the back door. Outside was bedlam, and I wandered, running, looking for Linda, until I saw her....and It. The Cockney had an assauly rifle, and where the others saw nothing, he spotted her shadow, and she was filled with lead, nearly to safety, and collapsed before me. The lunatic was surprised by my neighbor, though, Ulga, who nearly popped his head, but he stumbled away into my alleyway. I punched him in the face, and grabbed onto him, and he shot me with the last bullet in his clip, before he had to reload. It sent me onto the ground, but as he ran from Ulga, I grabbed his leg, bringing him down, and then opened his throat, ending his babbling about drugs.
I have tasted vengeance, and soon I shall have it in full. The Father's mercenaries buy me some time for now. (He ran off to join the circus when he was 12, after acquiring a very unique disease, which he even had trademarked. His mother never forgave him, but she did find the clown that inspired him. That clown dissapeared after a shout of "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY CHILDREN" was heard in the vicinity)
In the meantime, I have found sunglasses, a machete, a motorcycle, and a rocket launcher (but sadly, no pants). I have created a team which will soon (stylishly) be upon you. And before I kill you, I wanted to post it where any (English-understanding) cockney could know why they died. And tremble.
Sincerely, Jim the Clot.
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