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File: DuskCity.jpg (336 KB, 1620x718)
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You wake to bright twinkling lights. They hang in the sky in defiance of the ground, it seems, this cold and wet ground upon which you lie. Each and every one is different in its own sparkling way. What is not so different is the horde of shambling creatures around you- dozens, no, hundreds. They lurch and stumble across the grey pavement, groaning without purpose or cause and paying you no attention at all.

With a start you look down from your starry soiree and examine yourself. The body you see, however, is not quite the one your foggy mind is familiar with. Your left arm is disturbingly missing; shreds of flesh are torn from your torso. There's no way you could have survived injuries so severe- but how did you get them in the first place? Are you dead? Remembering is so hard.. and perhaps something from around here will prove useful to your recollection.


Taking a quick glance around, you note a smattering of the not-quite-motile dead all along the ground near you. Corpses are splayed out in rictus displays of terror, faces contorted in clenched-jaw screams and bodies covered with vicious-looking bite marks. There are a series of objects near them: some familiar, like gloves and shoes and an abandoned can of ravioli, and others not, like a strange long black object and a set of elongated glasses.

There's also the tall buildings stretching up to the heavens nearby. Irritatingly, you can't remember how to read but you can tell that there's writing on the exterior of this crowded area.


As you look about, you take a moment to close your eyes. Something is pulling on your mind, an ever present low humming that inundates your addled brain with tendrils of sound and feeling. You cover your ears- well, ear- with your single hand, but the sound is coming from inside your head, not without. Weird.


>Investigate the objects

>Examine the dead bodies more closely

>Try to interact with the strange feeling

>Write in
>>
>>5321912
>Try to interact with the strange feeling
>>
>>5321912
>Examine the dead bodies more closely
>>
>>5321912
>Investigate the objects
>>
>>5321912
>Try to interact with the strange feeling
>>
File: BrainHurt.jpg (217 KB, 961x1526)
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>>5321913
>>5321927
>>5321942
>>5322055

Your eyes still closed, you extend your consciousness outward. This feels instinctual, correct, and the humming subsides to a series of low whispering sounds, as though the wind is whistling through the inner workings of your skull. Each of the previously-annoying tendrils is now clarified into a small point in your mindscape, and you reach out to the nearest of them and pull.

It is like flame in your head. Immediately, you are made aware of every nerve ending in your body, each miniscule transmitter burning and aching in anguish, your mind on fire. All the same, it feels distant, like you are not there and not occupying the body that is in this great pain. With a modicum of effort, you again open your eyes.

Standing in front of you and swaying like its compatriots is one of the walking dead that surround you. The corpulent man moves from side to side ever so slightly, but unwaveringly stays in place directly to your front- precisely in the place that you have moved that node to in your mind. Again, you close your eyes, focus, and jerk the node to the side. The sound of shuffling feet corresponds and when you look again, the creature has moved in accordance with your command.


Hm. You don't remember being able to do thatbefore now. Whatever "before now" means.


A cracking sound erupts from somewhere down the long, crowded street and the docile swarm of bodies erupts into shuddering movement as you watch, feeling an instinctual urge to follow that you suppress for the time being. The creatures- all in various states of disarray and destruction- move off down the road at a modest pace, tripping over debris and bumping into each other as they go. Your keen eye notes a few amongst the group that move more nimbly, bursting out into an agile loping jog rather than a slovenly walk. The entire procession makes their way down the road: all except one. Your obese.. friend? Slave?

You can feel the node trying to tug away from you and it does cause some discomfort, but a marginal amount of focus (without even closing your eyes this time, you note) pulls the control point back into compliance. The corpse standing in front of you opens and closes his mouth silently, eyes straight forward and unblinking.

There is no reason to stay, being that you can always return and investigate these things later, and so you cautiously follow in the wake of this march of the dead. Walking purposefully you quickly outpace the main body of the group, your fat companion shuffling along behind you and the faster creatures ahead of you.

[1/2]
>>
>>5322104
The scenery stays relatively similar down the stretch of the road- burnt out buildings and vehicles and more corpses- but before long a curious sight appears. Down one of the side streets, you spot a triplet of creatures similar to your group: two legs, two arms, a head- but they are less dirty, unwounded. They crouch behind a garbage container near-silently.

These ones seem afraid of the passing horde, and as you look on from around the corner, a blonde-haired female separates from the group of runners and turns down the alley. There is a sort of compulsion, a violent hunger pulling you towards these three..


>Allow this compulsion to take you where it may- it is time to FEED

>Pull the attention of the horde in this direction; all should be sated

>Ward the runner away with your control and leave these other creatures be for now

>Write in
>>
>>5322107
>Allow this compulsion to take you where it may- it is time to FEED
HOMGRY
>>
>>5322107
>Allow this compulsion to take you where it may- it is time to FEED

We're a zambie, it's what we do
>>
Rolled 19, 14, 4 = 37 (3d20)

>>5322174
>>5322216

FEED. HUNGER. CONSUME.

The desire in your thoughts crystallizes into a voice, an all-encompassing need to feed. To rend their flesh asunder, chew and consume them, DESTROY what they are and turn them to food!

You rush down the alley, howling as you do. The female hears your cry- as do a half-dozen other runners- and your unthinking fellows rush after you. One of the three living ones stands up with a long, heavy pipe in hand and says something to the other two. They hesitate for a moment, watching you sprint down the long alleyway before breaking out into a run of their own, quickly cutting behind a corner and leaving the largest of the three to face you alone.


He hefts the pipe with ease and you can read his intent clearly: he expects you to run straight at him, perhaps leaping right before you strike. If you do that, he'll crush your skull in with that metal pipe, and so instead of doing as the man expects, you lunge to the right before diving for his leg. The air whistles by your face and the defender's eyes go wide in shock.

>Rolling 2d20 for your single-handed attack and then 1d20 for his surprised attempt to alter his own strike. DC is 8/10/12 for you, 17/19/20 for your foe.

[1/2]
>>
>>5322405
>4

Your dodging attack evades the wide swipe of the heavy metal pipe, much to the man's clear dismay and confusion. He adjusts, but it's far too late.

>19
Your deft movements bring you face-to-face with his calf, and you take him off his feet and bite down at the same time with a CRUNCH that echoes throughout the alleyway. The prey screams, trying to ready another swing at you with his weapon, but in the interceding seconds the front edge of the horde has fallen upon him as well. Every one of the mindless, running dead tear at his flesh, rending it with fingers, teeth and nails, and his screams fall silent in a matter of moments.

You are stuffing your face with handfuls of flesh when you realize: there are still two other meals down the way! It takes a considerable force of will to stand up from the meat in front of you, but you jerk yourself and your ride-along out of the feeding frenzy, heading towards the turn in the alley.


There, the pair of you come upon the two of them: the woman is trying to push the small one up a hanging ladder, but the child cannot manage to hang on. The terror in their faces is clear as you and your companion (you decide to refer to him as Steve, just for ease of reference) dive onto them and tear into a meal all of your own.

It is some time before you conclude this feast, the light in the sky growing from small points into a general, warm dawn that illuminates the streets more brightly. The bones and flesh of your prey sit in front of you as you crack another small femur, sucking out the delicious insides. Naturally, you've taken all the most delicious bits for yourself, leaving Steve with the dregs- not like he cares. It's clear to you at this point that the shamblers and runners don't care about anything really, other than chasing after their next meal. Sound, sight, and scent all attract these unthinking ones to wherever they might be drawn, like moths to a flame.

Your insides make a rumbling sound, drawing a droning moan from the indolent Steve. Something is happening inside of you, something strange..


You are already a smart controller zombie, but you have something else on your side, something fueled by and proportionate to the amount of human flesh and blood you have consumed recently.

>Your arm is twinging weirdly.. and your stump is as well [Regeneration and great strength]

>That fire courses again through your mind, though different this time [Biotic telekinesis]

>A curious sensation fills your eyes and ears, your skin taking on a dark brown patina [Enhanced senses, natural camouflage]
>>
>>5322409
>Your arm is twinging weirdly.. and your stump is as well [Regeneration and great strength]


Let's go boys
>>
>>5322409
>Your arm is twinging weirdly.. and your stump is as well [Regeneration and great strength]
>>
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>>5322414
>>5322531

Rippling strength fills you, the twinging turning to itching in your lost arm. Before your eyes, the flesh squirms, bone seemingly crystallizing into the thin air. It is a slow process- and it slows even further after you have finished with your meal completely, leaving your stump down to the elbow rather than at the shoulder, where it was previously. At this rate, you'll need several more meals of feeding just like this to fully replace a lost limb, though the shallow gashes on your stomach have covered themselves over with a greyish skin. Neat.

You also feel strong, stronger than before. With no hesitation, you swing your fist into the brick wall nearby in this dead-end alleyway and it sends cracks spiderwebbing through the structure, though it also cracks your bones. It is but a moment before your fading regenerative factor mends these small microfractures, and the brick does not benefit from such healing. If you were to glut yourself on a truly massive feast, you could be worryingly strong and durable.


A few minutes pass as this strange feeling fills you, the great horde having now long passed you by. Steve still sits there, unaffected by your newly revealed power in any way. He just sways in the morning sun with his bald head and gangly limbs, business pants torn and tie ripped in twain. Whatever next ambition you have, Steve will have to make do for now, as he is and unaided by any luck or strange power.

With no immediate stimuli remaining nearby, you wander back towards the site of your awakening. The unmoving corpses still rest on the ground there, and you take a moment to look them and their effects over.


The faces are.. familiar. As though these ones were "Steves" to you in a past life. Deja vu (at least, you think that's what it is) flows through your brain and you recognize something else. The strange patterning on the clothing, matching your own! That's an attempt to blend into a more natural environment than the one you are in: camouflage. Memories come rushing back in bits and pieces like a great flood- formations, loading ammunition into weapons like the one that still lies on the floor nearby, conversing with these now-dead men. Military, the word comes, unbidden and unwelcome.

Frustratingly, the remembrance is only partial: names, places, and reasons why you were here all escape you. But you were part of some armed force, brought to this place for some inscrutable purpose. Unless that purpose was to become food for the great mob of shamblers, your mission seems to have failed.


[1/2]
>>
>>5322605
Steve groans again and you look up, noticing only now the snapping and cracking sounds of gunfire in the distance. Your fat associate seems interested in the far-off shots, and your marginal recollection is sufficient enough to identify the distinct firing profile of machine guns. Perhaps some of this military have weathered the shambling horde, but even your still-muddled brain can understand the simple fact of numbers. Whatever remains here is not enough to keep the great tide of the dead back.. but then again, they may not be alone for long.

There is also the building behind you, where you lay when you woke to this second life of yours. Having the weight of memory behind you now, you can identify the purpose of the building if not the name: science. The process of seeking knowledge. A possibility exists to find something that could be helpful in there. You grab one of the long-guns (rifle, you think to yourself) and a few magazines and head off.


>Move into the science place, searching for anything helpful

>Make your way across the city to see what the situation is with the military and decide what to do with that

>Forget both of those: hunt the living until your arm is back to full strength, and gather a greater horde to yourself, if you can

>Write in
>>
>>5322605
>Move into the science place, searching for anything helpful

We're a smart Zombo
>>
>>5322619


The entrance to the building is riddled with bullet holes, the glass panes shattered beyond all hope of stopping a stiff breeze, much less anyone wanting to get in. You step through, Steve in tow, and take note of the bodies strewn across the tile floor. This carpet of utterly ruined corpses seems to be a near-constant in the new world you've come to know. Each body on the ground is destroyed in some way or another- many have bullet wounds through the head; some with throats torn out and flesh rent to bone. Walking in this place you feel as though you are striding irreverently through a charnel house, an unholy mortician.

You proceed down the long, white-tile halls after a cursory and fruitless inspection of the lobby area. A majority of what is in here is words on paper, only occasionally still intact and legible, much less simple enough for you to parse. Reading is difficult, but doable- that's not the issue. So much of this documentation is dense with information, specialized stuff that you don't know. Disease research, microbiology, the terms spin in your head like a carousel, but at least you know where you are now. The letterhead at the top of every page is stamped with an ostentatious CDC logo, emblazoned with ATLANTA OFFICE. Center for Disease Control. What could your team have been looking for here?


As you move, you meet a thick, heavy steel door. It is open, luckily choked with corpses keeping its mechanisms from closing. Steve steps on the faces of the fallen unceremoniously and clumsily, and the two of you push deeper inside the area.

Your finely tuned hearing picks up on two sounds as you enter this now unsecured area: the unmistakable cacophony of the moaning dead, and the frantic pounding of fists against glass. The long cubicle farm/hallway you are at leads in three directions- STAIRWELL, LAB 1B, and DISBURSING. It seems as though the sounds are coming from beyond the right side, towards the disbursing section, and you make haste to see what this scientific swarm has found.


Behind a low counter and large plexiglass pane a young man in a white coat crouches, separated from the small group of hungry corpses for the time being. He violently pounds his fists on a glass pane in a grey door behind the counter, locked to him by some means. You are yet unseen, poking your head around a corner, and your HUNGER thrums inside you as food awaits. Or perhaps you should see what information you can extract from him if you try to pass as fellow prey. The only wound on you is the stump of your arm- which, while gory, is scarred over as though you've had it for some time.

>Lead the horde in bashing down the plexiglass and take your fill of this fool

>Push through the horde and try to unlock the wide door that leads to behind the plexiglass- that's an easy way in, you'll keep the meal to yourself

>Try to pull the swarm away with your control and get to the man alone, disguising yourself as human

>Write in
>>
>>5323130
>Try to pull the swarm away with your control and get to the man alone, disguising yourself as human

We can eat him after
>>
>>5323130
>>Try to pull the swarm away with your control and get to the man alone, disguising yourself as human
>>
File: Janim.png (1.66 MB, 1350x2400)
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>>5323234
>>5323248
Given your difficulty with the subject matter in some of the papers around this area, a learned professional is in order. You decide to, at the very least, get close to the scientist and see what you can learn- and consume him afterwards, most likely. Each of the three dozen shamblers in the room is an individual task to be reckoned with; it takes time, but after thirty minutes of moving them each one at a time, you manage to drag the last one out of sight with your mind and shove the final, pacified shambler into the stairway nearby. You would be sweating with exertion- but you don't seem to sweat, not anymore.

Three dozen is well beyond your current capabilities to control. This is the lesson you've learned here already, you muse, as you watch the scientist crane his head to see where the dead have gone. You could handle commanding perhaps a dozen of the walking dead without being totally incapacitated by the requisite mental focus, though each puppet taxes you progressively more.

After a while, the brown-skinned man turns his back to continue fiddling with the grey door, and it's showtime.
You rush to turn the corner, scrambling for each step as Steve plods around the corner right behind you. Tugging at his strings, you mentally self-trip him, and sprint up to the door with a wild look in your eyes.

"Puh-leez, leht me in," you mumble loudly. Shit. Your voice is rather strange.

Despite your lack of clear speech, the man immediately comes to the closed door, levering it open. "Hurry, get in! It's right behind you!"


Steve stands as you slip inside the disbursing counter, closing the door behind you and locking it with a feeble, bathroom-style deadbolt. How have the horde not knocked this down and consumed this idiot?

"You okay, brother? You don't look so hot," he says, extending a hand to you. Memory indicates you should shake it, and so you do.

"Oh-kay," you respond, nodding and gesturing to your arm, "ohld wound."


An expression comes over his face that takes you a moment to place. Pity- he thinks you're mentally damaged, or half-mute. All the better.

"God, what a fucking mess this is." He collapses to the floor, sliding down the side wall next to the grey door as Steve ineffectually slams his fists on the plexiglass. The man seems utterly forlorn, his face crestfallen and his voice low. His coat is slightly ripped and covered in blood, and he looks to have seen better days- hair greasy, bags under eyes, skin ashy and pallid.

"So, you work in the building or from somewhere else in Atlanta? Feels like its been weeks since this shitshow started, even though it's what, four days? Is it as fucked outside as it is in here?"


>Take your chance to jump on him and tear his throat out- he is off guard, easy prey

>Respond with a made-up story and question him in turn [What do you want to know? Specify, please.]

>Open up to him, exposing the truth about yourself to this unarmed, terrified stranger

>Write in
>>
>Respond with a made-up story and question him in turn [What do you want to know? Specify, please.]

"Janitor. What happened?"

Let's start with the broad strokes, then claim to have seen a controller zombie and get his theories. Understanding our origins better maybe give us a leg up on survival.

Ask if he has any weapons. Tempted to reveal ourselves, maybe he could run some tests on us, maybe he would stab us with a scalpel. Hard to tell.
>>
>>5323340
>>5323379 +1
>>
File: MeteorStrike.png (322 KB, 675x381)
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>>5323379
>>5323382

For the time being, you set aside your burning HUNGER to figure out what's going on. Janim (he occasionally lapses into inane, useless information like his name) goes through a long-winded recap about everything that's happened "since it started", which you presume to be the time four days ago when prey started turning into predator.

He works here in the CDC and has since a few years back, due to be "promoted to downstairs" in the near future. Four days ago on Tuesday, May 17th, 2023, a meteor of some sort hit the city of Atlanta in conjunction with several other American cities, with impacts of similar fashion occurring all across the globe in populated areas. Hours after the impacts- which killed tens of thousands in total worldwide, though Janim describes these as the lucky ones- the meteors cracked open and emitted some airborne biohazard that began to warp people into flesh-eating monsters.

"But you know all that, yeah? It was on the radio and TV for most of the first day. I guess maybe with your.. stuff.. you needed it explained. Okay, no biggie." He looks at your camouflage uniform and rifle with a sigh, excusing your strange appearance just as much as your gravelly voice. Convenient.


Janim continues on genially, having noticeably calmed after his earlier encounter with your many mindless allies. He speaks about the CDC's immediate lockdown and subsequent reopening after government order, and how the military deployed to the ravenous streets of the city within the first twelve hours. This kept the CDC building safe for two entire days as many of the scientists, lab equipment and boxes full of documents were airlifted out of the area and to some more remote facility. Apparently, however, the momentum of the horde eventually overcame the military cordon and yesterday evening they enacted a fighting retreat to the outskirts of the city.

"As for me I've just been here, hiding from these fuckin' things. I'm not a fighter, man. Just a virology research assistant, not important enough to get evacuated. Management were in the middle of giving us what supplies they had left when the cordon broke and everyone bolted; I figured earlier today that I was done hiding in the bathroom, so I tried to make it to the cafeteria. Didn't work, plan B is the disbursing vault so here I am, but I don't know the damn door code."

[1/2]
>>
>>5323528
His story now told, you launch into a quiet, mumbled fabrication of your own. You were a cleaner here, also not important enough to evacuate; previous military service rendered you brain damaged and took your arm. He nods along understandingly, even muttering a quiet "thank you for your service." For some reason that enrages you, but you let it pass you by and mention how a day ago, you saw a zombie you thought was controlling other zombies.

"Holy shit, really?" Janim's eyes are wide. "That's super fuckin' bad, G. The military has a chance if it's mostly the walking ones and a few running ones mixed in, but you're saying there's smart ones? Jesus. With the way everything is going.. man. We're doomed."

Continuing on, you inquire if Janim has anything he could use as a weapon. He pulls his pockets out, a bloody metal pen falling onto the floor along with a pair of gum wrappers and a wallet. "Nada. That pen goes through an eyeball pretty okay, but I don't think I could do that again if I tried. Pure luck."


"The.. blood not may-ke you sick?"


He shrugs. "I mean, two and a half days of research doesn't tell you much, but it did confirm a few things." He holds up a few fingers. "One. Not a virus, bacteria, fungus, prion, or parasite that we can tell. Got a rocky structure of some kind. Two, it's not bloodborne or waterborne, and it's inactive in most of the corpses we've found. Even the ones with active particles don't move or do anything. Three, it sustains the host until catastrophic brain destruction or the body literally can't run anymore, and the host doesn't need much sustenance. High aggression, low actual consumption. Honestly, man, it's a bit of an enigma where the energy all comes from. Propagation's also a total question mark; it's in the air pretty much everywhere but only some people stand up when they die. Others just randomly keel over and pop right into chomping necks."

Janim scratches his head.

"So what's next? You've got the gun here, man. They can hear really well but if we run fast we might be able to shoot that one and get past it, maybe go to the basement or the roof."


>Try the door for the vault, looking around for the code if it does need one. It might be nice to have a well-protected lair, so to speak

>Say goodbye to Steve to keep your cover, shooting him in the head and running off with Janim. You'll figure your plan out as you go along

>Tell Janim the truth and ask his help to figure out what's going on

>You've learned enough- put Janim out of his misery and consume his flesh

>Write in

[You may select multiple options here, should you desire.]
>>
>>5323535
>Try the door for the vault, looking around for the code if it does need one. It might be nice to have a well-protected lair, so to speak

>Tell Janim the truth and ask his help to figure out what's going on

Definitely want the vault to protect from us getting ganked by the military, if they figure us out right now we're toast
>>
>>5323535
>Try the door for the vault, looking around for the code if it does need one. It might be nice to have a well-protected lair, so to speak

We can eat him or tell the truth later, first we need that vault
>>
[Waiting for a few more votes here, hopefully. If not, I'll move on in the morning.]
>>
>>5323535
>>Try the door for the vault, looking around for the code if it does need one. It might be nice to have a well-protected lair, so to speak
>>
>>5323535
>Try the door for the vault, looking around for the code if it does need one. It might be nice to have a well-protected lair, so to speak
>>
File: DisbursingVaultDoor.png (562 KB, 548x931)
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Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>5323758
>>5323812
>>5324089
>>5324095

This vault that Janim was trying to get into does seem like a rather wise choice. You mentally run through the downsides and upsides pretty quickly- you don't have to eat, or breathe, as far as you know- and it just makes sense. You turn to him, motioning back to the door, and he sighs. "I told you, man, I don't have the code."

"We.. loooo-hk."

"Alright, whatever you want. I guess it might be around here somewhere. Nothing better to do anyways."

Janim starts to search for the door code, looking under countertops and in drawers as you approach the door. Maybe your natural strength can bust the lock off.

[Rolling 1d20 luck die..]
>>
>>5324394
You tug on the door while Janim is preoccupied with his search. It creaks ever so slightly when you pull as hard as you can, but it's simple enough to tell that accessing the vault in this way would take you many hours, if not days. Luckily though, after about 10 minutes of looking around, Janim jumps up with a whoop. "Found it!"

The nodes in your mindscape correlated with the stairwell group vibrate excitedly, them clearly having heard his yell even through the plexiglass and across the distance. On the plus side, they're trapped in a pull-to-open doorway, and may as well be buried under sixty feet of concrete. Janim brings over a small post-it note. "There was a key in one of the drawers that opened a little box with this in it. Here, let me give it a shot."

He sidles up alongside you and pushes a 10-digit code into the door's number box, each press emitting a beep. On the final press, an indicator in the door bings a pleasant tone and shines green, and you hear the lock actuate.


He opens the door and you are met by four trapped and very hungry disbursing workers- one runner and three shamblers. The young, skirt-wearing woman with her jaw half-blasted off breaks immediately into a sprint at the sight of Janim's living flesh, and her three co-workers are not far behind. Your living colleague, for his part, screams like a child and begins to turn away. "CLOSE IT, CLOSE IT!"

Time seems to slow as you process everything. The interior of the vault (more of a safe-deposit box room than a vault, frankly) does seem well-reinforced, and should prove useful. It is interesting to you that your mind could not see these creatures through the vault door. Maybe enough material blocks this sixth sense of yours.


>Close the door, saving Janim's life but preventing you from utilizing the interior of the vault

>Open fire with the rifle- you know the dead will not pursue you and it will buy you goodwill with Janim

>Take control of the dead; as good a time as any to show what you can do

>Write in


No matter what you do, you'll have to decide what course of action to pursue immediately following.

>Take time to look through the vault for anything useful

>Explore the building [Alone? With Janim? Looking for anything specific, going upstairs or down?]

>Depart the lab- you have something else in mind [Specify your plans.]

[Previous options, including consuming Janim or doing something else entirely, are welcome.]
>>
>>5324401
>You've learned enough- put Janim out of his misery and consume his flesh
>>
>>5324401
>Open fire with the rifle
>Take time to look through the vault for anything useful
>>
>>5324401
>Open fire with the rifle- you know the dead will not pursue you and it will buy you goodwill with Janim

>Take time to look through the vault for anything useful
>>
>>5324401
>>Open fire with the rifle- you know the dead will not pursue you and it will buy you goodwill with Janim
>Take time to look through the vault for anything useful
>>
>>5324401
>>>Open fire with the rifle- you know the dead will not pursue you and it will buy you goodwill with Janim
>>Take time to look through the vault for anything useful



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