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Author Topic: Survivor Stories  (Read 2143 times)
salmonofdoubt12


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« on: January 28, 2015, 06:55:51 PM »

I've been out of college for a few years now, but I was recently reminiscing about how absurd some of my stories were from playing Zombies versus Humans. Here are a few of them.

I joined the game because one of my roommates was very passionate about trying it out. We spent weeks preparing, bought dozens of bags of mini marshmallows as ammo for our marshmallow guns, and equipped ourselves with Nerf guns. Then the organizer randomly picked the first two zombies. My roommate was one of them.

This made things complicated. We decided to set a few ground rules so that we could still live together, namely that our entire house was a safe zone and that we would still do things together when not actively participating in the game.

We ended up being two of the most active players on campus. My roommate organized most of the zombie raids, and I organized most of the human escorts. Unfortunately, we were so serious that it strained our friendship.

I lost all trust in my roommate during the second night of the game. He invited me to eat with him at a nearby dining hall. Throughout the meal, I noticed that he was constantly texting on his phone. I excused myself to use the bathroom and checked out the window. Just as I suspected, there were a dozen zombies hiding behind trees and bushes, waiting for me to leave with him. Instead of going to the bathroom, I asked a friend who worked at the dining hall to smuggle me out. She brought me through a back exit that the zombies were unaware of, through the kitchen and outside behind a dumpster. I sprinted home and avoided being caught, and I didn't accept another dinner invitation from my roommate until the game was over.

The game quickly became my life. After an English seminar, I was walking outside and chatting with the professor about an assignment. I heard feet smacking against the pavement behind me, and turned just in time to see a zombie rushing me at full speed. Without enough time to aim my marshmallow gun, I grabbed a handful of mini marshmallows from my pocket and flung them at my attacker. He was immersed in a cloud of sugary treats just moments before colliding into me. I turned and finished my conversation with my wide-eyed professor as the zombie stalked away angrily. After that day, I started carrying piles of marshmallows in all of my pockets. Spraying mini marshmallows like shotgun pellets was infinitely more effective than wielding a marshmallow gun at close range.

The next day, I was walking home from class when a zombie spotted me from across the street. I positioned myself behind a parked car and started unloading my marshmallow gun on him. He easily dodged the slow-moving projectiles. Eventually I ran out of ammo and loudly cursed my poor aim. The zombie smiled and ran around the car while I just stood sullenly in place, hands in my pockets. When he got within a few feet of me, I showered him with the mini marshmallows I was secretly gripping. After that, I used the gun as nothing more than a ruse to draw zombies close to me.

As the game progressed, it was clear that the humans were losing. The entirety of my intramural soccer team had turned into zombies, and I had a game scheduled with them that weekend. The rules stated that I was protected during athletic events, but as soon as the game ended I knew they would attack.

We won our soccer game, and I was completely exhausted from running after a ball for an hour. My team agreed to give me a ten minute grace period after the final score was called. I sat in the center of the field catching my breath as my teammates, including my roommate, took up positions around the field and tied on their headbands. I started texting and calling the remaining humans I knew. One of them picked up. I told him that I needed an extraction, and we sketched out a plan where I would climb the fence near the back of the field while he covered me. As the final minute of the grace period was elapsing, I noticed out of the corner of my eye someone hiding behind a bush near the back fence. It was the human I had just called, except he was wearing a headband. Knowing I had been betrayed, I looked around for a way out. There were a dozen zombies all around me and they were starting to close in. Then I spotted my roommate's bike propped up against the bleachers. He never locked it.

I sprinted as hard as my exhausted legs let me toward the bike. My roommate seemed to grasp what was about to happen and yelled "STOP HIM! STOP HIM NOW!" But it was too late. I made a running jump onto the bike and pedaled across the field toward the woods at the far end with a handful of zombies running a few feet behind me. The wet grass made it difficult to maintain speed, but somehow I outraced them. I made it into the woods without slowing down and weaved between trees and bounced over logs. Eventually I made it out the far side onto a road. That was when I saw the zombie car.

As soon as they realized I was taking a bike, five of the zombies from my team jumped in a car and drove around the woods to cut me off. When they saw me, the driver jammed the brakes and let a couple zombies out to chase me down. Luckily, I was slightly faster than them on a bike, and I was able to maneuver behind houses and through fields where the car couldn't easily follow. When I lost them, I kept biking for hours. The sun started to go down so I took a long detour around the school and returned to campus from a different direction. My roommate was furious that I stole his bike, but still honored our agreement to not play in the house. I vowed to never be caught by a planned attack again.

It turned out it was easy to discover where the zombies were going to attack because I was living with their leader. Once my roommate figured out he couldn't use his phone to organize the zombies since I could overhear him, I would regularly sneak into his room when he was in the bathroom or downstairs. I checked his email thread shared by all the zombies that included plans for attacks and gatherings. Somehow they had obtained the class schedules of all the humans. I started my own thread among the remaining humans (there were only about 15 of us at that point). Whenever I intercepted a message, usually a plan to ambush a human on their way to class, I would organize an escort party to extract or defend them. Sometimes the human would merely change their schedule at the last minute, either by skipping class or going somewhere new for dinner. The zombies didn't get a kill for days.

My roommate eventually figured out why his raids were unsuccessful, and started logging out of his email and locking his bedroom door when I was around. The trust between us was at an all time low.

With their secrecy intact, the zombies started picking off the humans one by one. We tried to frantically organize escorts whenever a human called during an ambush or a stakeout, but we often arrived too late.

The final night of the game before Fall Break, there were 5 humans left. I overheard my roommate planning an attack on two of the last humans who lived together. They both shared a class that ended relatively late in the evening and had to make it all the way across campus to their dorm. My roommate plotted to post zombie scouts all along their route home. I called the other humans and organized an escort party that would meet them at the door of their classroom and take them back to their dorm.

Only one of the other humans showed up to help us. The four of us cautiously made our way across campus in the dark, hiding behind cars and bushes while keeping an eye out for the attack we knew would come. Somehow we didn’t see a single zombie and got the couple to their dorm safely. We entered through a back stairwell. The couple thanked us for our help and said they would be fine the rest of the way, even though I offered to go up with them multiple times. I thought to myself that they would be fine. After all, they were only going up one flight of stairs to their room.

As I walked back to my house, my phone buzzed with a text. I already knew what it was going to say before I read it. The couple had been ambushed in the hallway just outside the door of their apartment. A dozen zombies were waiting for them, and the humans never stood a chance. If I had gone up the stairs too, I would have been dead. My roommate knew I was listening when he made the original ambush plans. He was hoping all of the remaining humans would be there so that the game could end. Because he was planning to get all of us in one place, no one was watching my room and I was able to make it back alive.

The game ended the next day with the remaining three humans victorious. I only survived because I could track the movements of the head zombie. The second human survivor was like me in that he participated in countless escort missions and had dozens of close calls. The final human survivor, I later learned, lived out of the library for weeks and had his friends bring him food. He never participated in any missions and didn't even go outside.

It took time, but my roommate and I finally learned to trust each other again. Zombies versus Humans was one of the most intense, all-consuming things I have ever done, but I don't regret it (even though I don't think I will ever play again). Does anyone else have any stories about their games? Was my group of friends unique in how seriously we took it? Also, they made a rule after that year to ban the use of zombie cars in future games.
« Last Edit: January 29, 2015, 02:16:46 PM by salmonofdoubt12 » Logged
Justplanefun2
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Embry-riddle Prescott class of 2018

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« Reply #1 on: April 11, 2015, 08:37:28 PM »

Well I didn't completely survive either time, but I'll share my experiences for the general benefit of society. 

My first game was Fall 2014 and I was the stereotypical overprepared noob.  I literally had a tac vest stuffed with socks and darts, a leg holster, and my rewired 9.6v NiMh Stryfe which I trusted in very well.  I survived the first day until 4PM, when I decided to run to the center of campus filled with classrooms to save humans from their classes.  I took a corner too tight, and a zombie got a tag on me which I disputed because I thought the guy I was with shot him first.  I died in a rock-paper-scissors match (the most common way to solve unsolvable disputes here).

The second game I learned a lot more.  I still used the Stryfe, but I carried a well modded Hammershot in the other hand for fast reaction.  The zombies were scared of me this time (the game was quite smaller, only about 40 players) and they didn't try to get me most of the week.  I survived till Thursday, when a zombie stood next to me in the dining hall safezone.  I couldn't leave because he would just follow me out and tag me, but I couldn't get rid of him because he was safe.  It was a weird situation.  Finally, when he looked the other way, I dashed away but he ran after me, which I didn't expect since I got a good jump on him.  I turned and shot him, but he claimed he got me first, so once again my life was decided by rock-paper-scissors, which I promptly lost.  This year we were implementing medics, and I failed to start a timer so we couldn't tell if the medic got to me within 19 minutes or 21 minutes (20 minutes was the cutoff).  The zombies were quite whiny and actually threatened to ragequit the game so I decided I'd be a zombie to settle the dispute.  Still a pretty fun game.

The mod team and I decided to make the practice of standing right next to someone to follow them out of a safezone count as "rule 0", or DBAD.  This way humans and zombies don't  find themselves in a sticky situation like mine.

Moral of the story: just shoot the zeds before they get close enough to dispute the tag.  Rock-Paper-Scissors is not your friend.
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Primary: Blade 180 2S Lipo stryfe "Spectre" with 18rd box mags
Secondary: AR and peg removed hammershot "Wingman" holstered
Specials: brassed Panther shotgun pistol made by TheSilverhead, 3-foot blowgun
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