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"description_bbcode_parsed": "When the zombie apocalypse hits you get stuck with a few choices. Some of them are easy, like trying to get food, ammo, supplies, but some of them are a bit more difficult. Some of them are decisions you didn't think you'd EVER have to make.
Featuring eight endings!
This took WAY too long to edit, write, upload, and I guarantee there are still probably gonna be some problems. Inkbunnies doc uploader just formats everything weird, and adds in a bunch of strange errors (like replacing " with ``, and replacing "Don't" with "Don?t"). It also just decides on a complete whim on whether or not it wants to indent things or not. Either way~ I'm glad it's out, and I hope you enjoy! :)",
"writing": "\tThe sound of gunshots and screams circling above your head faded out by the second week. The dying rasp of a collapsing society slowly wheezed out of the crumbling husk of a suburbia you once called home; the last martyrs falling victim to whatever horrors crawled above your cellar door. Horrors that replaced thundering footsteps of a panicked crowd with the shuffling stumble of a new one. Horrors that replaced the sickening wet crunch of teeth against bone with the weak moans of a hunger unsatiated. Horrors so depraved that not even children or animals were safe from the slow and painful reality that they now found themselves in. On one hand you were grateful for the ceasing of screams and gunshots, it certainly made sleeping at night a lot easier, but now sleep was one of the last things on your mind. Food and water that seemed plentiful on day one now was nearly finished by day thirty-five, and when you planned this safe room you intended to be rescued by day thirty. Sometimes you just couldn't trust online guides on apocalypse survival.\n\n\tYou kick an empty can across a room \"Fuck!\", you hissed quietly to yourself. The can bounces against the cracked stone wall, colliding with the other empty cans stacked against tacky paintings dressed in cobwebs that you moved down here long ago during happier times. You weren't expecting rescue to take this long. Every day you woke up eager to hear the sounds of boots stomping, magazines emptying, and orders screaming from a hopeful, eventual military rescue, but it doesn't look like that was ever going to come. You start to pace the dingy basement, thoughts and ideas running through your mind as you decide on what you need to do next. You can't stay here forever. Faded light bulbs have been flickering more and more, alluding to an eventual power collapse, and a deep and powerful filth permeates the dark hovel you now live in. You tried your hardest to keep the waste in it's corner, and your sleeping bag in another, but time is not on your side, and you're running out of options. You pick up a pistol lying on a dusty shelf on the north side of the room that you bought anticipating something like this, but procrastination has been with you since high school, and now that you desperately needed it's power, you aren't prepared very well with how to use it. You pull out the magazine, counting the bullets. Ten. Ten shots to get you out, somewhere safe, and somewhere with food and water. A dark thought crosses your mind as you remember the horrible screams on the first night as things started to go south. Nine. Eight bullets to get you to a new start, with one... Just in case.\n\n\tYou check the watch on your wrist, 1:35 PM, rescue wasn't gonna come any quicker, and neither was food. It's time. You're sick of looking at the same four walls that once held safety, but now only holds a prison. You're sick of listening with desperate hope for something new, other than the moans. Sick of pissing in a god damn corner. You grab a backpack and start stuffing it with what little things you have, A flashlight, an empty water bottle, a rolled up sleeping bag, basic medical supplies, just enough to get you somewhere new. You quickly look through the cellar for anything else you might need, and glance at the moldy walls hugged with water stains. At least somewhere that has a fucking window. You creep up the rotting stairs and press your ears against the heavy oak door, intently focused on anything that wasn't absolute silence, and convinced the coast was clear, slowly moved up the heavy bar keeping you inside, and the monsters outside.\n\n\tThe door creaking open makes you wince, and you remember that at one point you had meant to grab some W.D. 40. If only things were that simple. You hoped to god the creatures are terrible at hearing, took a deep breath, and took a few steps out into this hellish, new world. You can't help but notice the distinct odor of death permeating the air. \"At least it's better than down there.\" You think morosely to yourself as you close the door behind you. First impressions are... Better than expected... Raiders haven't seemed to survive the initial attack, as most of the food in your fridge was still there, albeit rotting. You also never heard anyone enter your building that seemed to still have a conscience. Now that you think about it you haven't heard a full coherent English sentence since the first night, whether or not that was a good sign, you haven't decided yet. What definitely was not a good sign was the blood and fluids that now caked the bottom of your kitchen, What you were happy about, was that whatever left them there are long gone. Summer rays peak through the window above your sink, giving you slight reminiscence on the afternoons spent cooking TV dinners and hamburger helper. They seem so far away now. Steeling yourself, you decide to look out the window of your kitchen to see if there are any immediate threats, and get your first glimpse of the new world.\n\n\tThe hellscape that was now your view greeted you with grotesque detail, confirming your worst beliefs as your eyes teared up taking in a good month and a half of what seemed like a total war. Carnage and death colored the once happy suburb. Burnt cars and trash littered the streets around houses that stand proudly against the desolate emptiness of the complex. Most of them have windows broken, doors left open, showing that somebody either quickly left, or something else forced its way in, and whatever scenario did occur, it only ended in bloodshed. Some houses have makeshift barriers across windows and doors, but even those fell to whatever creatures decided to claim this land, broken boards lying across the floor, a bloody shirt hanging out of a second story window. Some houses don't stand at all anymore, just smoldering remains taking whatever was inside them out of this hellish reality. Some met the end of their story right outside of their house, you got a little nauseous as you notice desecrated corpses lying among the carnage, bloody skulls and bones prostrated among the streets and grass, staring hollowly at the sky, picked clean of all skin and muscle. \n\n You feel a deep sadness cloud your mind, you haven't been living in this neighborhood long, but these people didn't deserve this. Out in the distance you can see black smoke choking the summer sky, black plumes bleeding upwards, reminding even the heavens that hell is closer than it deserves to be. It looks like whatever started here started moving deeper, towards the outskirts of Raccoon City. You can't help but grimace at the thought of being there now, the city folk stand less of a chance than the poor people here did, and they didn't start off with much a chance at all. A sick hope begins to blossom within you, and you can't stifle the realization that if whatever happened here has passed and moved on to the outskirts of the city, then this is your chance to escape to greener pastures.\n\n\tTime was of the essence here, and you needed to get as much distance now during the calm, before night fell, bringing with it the storm. You quickly walk around your relatively untouched home, picking up bits and pieces of your past life and moving towards the door, slowly opening it and peering out towards the street, scanning for any movement. The piercing rays of a hot June afternoon sun leave little to shadow, and you can get a pretty good scan of the streets; everything seems to be quiet. You take a first few tentative steps down the sidewalk from your door, heart racing, as you quickly build into a brisk jog away from your house and the city being eaten alive.\n\n All the desolate homes seem to tell the same story, broken doors and bloody clothes, no survivors, no solace. You try to keep your eyes away from the sidelines as the repetitive sight of smeared blood and ripped pieces of clothing start to fill your mind with scenes of mayhem and fear, every detail adding a new twisted feature to the horror movie you now find yourself a part of, but before you can get far away, a crude image on a window catches your eye. It looked quickly drawn out, brown brushstrokes leaving a blurry message. You wouldn't have noticed it save for the ominous brown hand print dragging down right before the bottom of it. Smudged stick figures stand with arms outstretched, little hearts dotted around their bodies. \"DON'T BREATHE'' scrawled above it coldly. Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on? You quickly pass by the foreboding scrawling and continue down the street, counting the house numbers passing by. 6467, 6469. You don't really know where you're going, but at this point you don't really care. Every house number that passes you by takes you one house farther away from where you started, you were just going to have to start with that, anything to help remind you that you are making distance away from this damn town. 6471, 6473.\n\n\t\"6473'', it looks so familiar for some reason, and you slow your jog to a stop as you struggle to remember why, taking the moment to catch your breath. The number seemed important, familiar, a relic from your memory. You struggle to remember where you've heard this number before, slowly recalling a passing conversation you had with your neighbors, The Hurley's... Something about the NRA and how gun nuts were going to ruin the country. Your brain slowly dredges up a conversation your mind left to dissolve a while ago, but enough pieces are there to form a picture. These people once owned guns. \n\n\tThis... could change things, for the better! You quickly take in the house before you, on one hand you needed to get out of here quickly, but on the other, the monsters seem to have left this place for more fertile feeding grounds so you should have a little bit of time. How much time? You couldn't say. \n\nThe building itself was thin and simple box, yet two storied that conformed to the neighborhood in a predictable way. All of the buildings here were the same in order to save on time and money for the contractor, with the only changes being superficially to the outside. This house was a deep red hue with black highlights around the windows and roof. A small garden surrounded a fire hydrant in the center, carnations and daisies reaching up to the summer sky, swaying and bending with the wind, careless of the death around them. A single pink flamingo stood defiantly next to the garden, plastic coating bleached a light pink, like a soldier erected tall against the approaching enemy. Oddly enough this house was pristine when compared to it's neighbors, all the windows were unbroken and the driveway stood empty, clean, recently power washed. A white flag in a sea of red and black, almost like a surrender hoisted right in the middle of the field, sparing it from the worst of war. The fact that this house stood untouched in a forest of carnage made you hesitant, but the potential of defense was too much for you to pass up. Besides, this house would have the same floor plan as your own, and if the door was always right behind you, even if things went sour you still had a decent chance of escape. You pull out the pistol from the waistband of your jeans, and clicked the safety off... You think, maybe you should have practiced more before building the shelter, but you'll get your practice in now.\n\n\tYou swallow your anxiety and slowly make your way up to the black door. A door mat welcomes you kindly, \"GOD BLESS THE SECOND AMENDMENT''. You can't help but smile a little, you weren't really the religious type but if God was handing out blessings today, you hoped you could grab one. You reach your hand for the door knob and give it a slow turn, the doorknob gives, but the door doesn't.\n\n\t\"Shit'', you gripe to yourself, of course the door is locked, these lucky bastards probably left before everything hit the fan, would explain the empty drive way. You quickly scamper from the front door to the left of the house to a window that enters the kitchen. Mustering up the courage, you take the butt of your pistol and quickly strike the glass, sending the unmistakable sound of breaking and entering far down the empty streets. Hopefully they stay empty. You quickly clear out a little bit of glass from the bottom of the window and step through into the kitchen. Much as you thought, aside from your rude entrance, the kitchen was left unperturbed. You heave a sigh of relief, as you now know that the rest of the house should be cleared, now to just hopefully find some guns and food. You start with the kitchen, most perishables aren't even here, but you grab a few cans of beans and spam, and top off your water bottle from the sink. Emboldened by the small fortune, you quickly peek through the rest of the rooms of the bottom floor. Pretty sparse living it looks like, most keepsakes and mementos of a regular home life are missing with only the bare necessities remaining, leaving the house oddly empty. The owners must use it seasonally, as it doesn't even look like it's been lived in recently. The bathroom yields some painkillers and sleeping medication, but nothing of a more offensive nature, and the rest of the house is pretty barren of supplies. Before you trap yourself upstairs you quickly go back to the window you entered and peer outside for anything that might have followed the sound of you entering, but it looks pretty quiet. Anxiety dying down a little bit, you moved to the upstairs and take a left into the bedroom.\n\n\tJackpot. The room is pretty empty with a neatly made bed, empty drawers and nightstands, but the closet opens up to reveal exactly what you needed. A small caliber hunting rifle is left standing against the white wall, a small note attached reads \"For Jeremy's birthday, don't forget to take him down to the range after cake.'' You can't even hide your happiness as you take the weapon in your hands, it's brand new, sleek camo-painted barrel shining like a hope in darkness, green mottled wooden paneling feeling perfect in your hands. Two boxes of ammunition sit next to it on the floor, and you reach down to grab it before the sound of glass being stepped on rips you away from your momentary happiness.\n\n\tYour heart starts to thump in your chest as you crouch down in reaction against the walls of the closet, blood rushing to your ears, your hearing sharpening due to the anxiety. Unfortunately, you're worst nightmares spring to life as a noise cuts through the tranquil silence of the abode. You hear...\n\nAn inhuman pained screech of something that just cut itself on the broken glass from the only way out of here! https://inkbunny.net/s/2861644\n\nAn inhuman... expletive? Something just stumbled through the same window you did, but you didn't hear it just swear, did you? https://inkbunny.net/s/2861642\n\n",
"writing_bbcode_parsed": "\tThe sound of gunshots and screams circling above your head faded out by the second week. The dying rasp of a collapsing society slowly wheezed out of the crumbling husk of a suburbia you once called home; the last martyrs falling victim to whatever horrors crawled above your cellar door. Horrors that replaced thundering footsteps of a panicked crowd with the shuffling stumble of a new one. Horrors that replaced the sickening wet crunch of teeth against bone with the weak moans of a hunger unsatiated. Horrors so depraved that not even children or animals were safe from the slow and painful reality that they now found themselves in. On one hand you were grateful for the ceasing of screams and gunshots, it certainly made sleeping at night a lot easier, but now sleep was one of the last things on your mind. Food and water that seemed plentiful on day one now was nearly finished by day thirty-five, and when you planned this safe room you intended to be rescued by day thirty. Sometimes you just couldn't trust online guides on apocalypse survival.
\tYou kick an empty can across a room "Fuck!", you hissed quietly to yourself. The can bounces against the cracked stone wall, colliding with the other empty cans stacked against tacky paintings dressed in cobwebs that you moved down here long ago during happier times. You weren't expecting rescue to take this long. Every day you woke up eager to hear the sounds of boots stomping, magazines emptying, and orders screaming from a hopeful, eventual military rescue, but it doesn't look like that was ever going to come. You start to pace the dingy basement, thoughts and ideas running through your mind as you decide on what you need to do next. You can't stay here forever. Faded light bulbs have been flickering more and more, alluding to an eventual power collapse, and a deep and powerful filth permeates the dark hovel you now live in. You tried your hardest to keep the waste in it's corner, and your sleeping bag in another, but time is not on your side, and you're running out of options. You pick up a pistol lying on a dusty shelf on the north side of the room that you bought anticipating something like this, but procrastination has been with you since high school, and now that you desperately needed it's power, you aren't prepared very well with how to use it. You pull out the magazine, counting the bullets. Ten. Ten shots to get you out, somewhere safe, and somewhere with food and water. A dark thought crosses your mind as you remember the horrible screams on the first night as things started to go south. Nine. Eight bullets to get you to a new start, with one... Just in case.
\tYou check the watch on your wrist, 1:35 PM, rescue wasn't gonna come any quicker, and neither was food. It's time. You're sick of looking at the same four walls that once held safety, but now only holds a prison. You're sick of listening with desperate hope for something new, other than the moans. Sick of pissing in a god damn corner. You grab a backpack and start stuffing it with what little things you have, A flashlight, an empty water bottle, a rolled up sleeping bag, basic medical supplies, just enough to get you somewhere new. You quickly look through the cellar for anything else you might need, and glance at the moldy walls hugged with water stains. At least somewhere that has a fucking window. You creep up the rotting stairs and press your ears against the heavy oak door, intently focused on anything that wasn't absolute silence, and convinced the coast was clear, slowly moved up the heavy bar keeping you inside, and the monsters outside.
\tThe door creaking open makes you wince, and you remember that at one point you had meant to grab some W.D. 40. If only things were that simple. You hoped to god the creatures are terrible at hearing, took a deep breath, and took a few steps out into this hellish, new world. You can't help but notice the distinct odor of death permeating the air. "At least it's better than down there." You think morosely to yourself as you close the door behind you. First impressions are... Better than expected... Raiders haven't seemed to survive the initial attack, as most of the food in your fridge was still there, albeit rotting. You also never heard anyone enter your building that seemed to still have a conscience. Now that you think about it you haven't heard a full coherent English sentence since the first night, whether or not that was a good sign, you haven't decided yet. What definitely was not a good sign was the blood and fluids that now caked the bottom of your kitchen, What you were happy about, was that whatever left them there are long gone. Summer rays peak through the window above your sink, giving you slight reminiscence on the afternoons spent cooking TV dinners and hamburger helper. They seem so far away now. Steeling yourself, you decide to look out the window of your kitchen to see if there are any immediate threats, and get your first glimpse of the new world.
\tThe hellscape that was now your view greeted you with grotesque detail, confirming your worst beliefs as your eyes teared up taking in a good month and a half of what seemed like a total war. Carnage and death colored the once happy suburb. Burnt cars and trash littered the streets around houses that stand proudly against the desolate emptiness of the complex. Most of them have windows broken, doors left open, showing that somebody either quickly left, or something else forced its way in, and whatever scenario did occur, it only ended in bloodshed. Some houses have makeshift barriers across windows and doors, but even those fell to whatever creatures decided to claim this land, broken boards lying across the floor, a bloody shirt hanging out of a second story window. Some houses don't stand at all anymore, just smoldering remains taking whatever was inside them out of this hellish reality. Some met the end of their story right outside of their house, you got a little nauseous as you notice desecrated corpses lying among the carnage, bloody skulls and bones prostrated among the streets and grass, staring hollowly at the sky, picked clean of all skin and muscle.
You feel a deep sadness cloud your mind, you haven't been living in this neighborhood long, but these people didn't deserve this. Out in the distance you can see black smoke choking the summer sky, black plumes bleeding upwards, reminding even the heavens that hell is closer than it deserves to be. It looks like whatever started here started moving deeper, towards the outskirts of Raccoon City. You can't help but grimace at the thought of being there now, the city folk stand less of a chance than the poor people here did, and they didn't start off with much a chance at all. A sick hope begins to blossom within you, and you can't stifle the realization that if whatever happened here has passed and moved on to the outskirts of the city, then this is your chance to escape to greener pastures.
\tTime was of the essence here, and you needed to get as much distance now during the calm, before night fell, bringing with it the storm. You quickly walk around your relatively untouched home, picking up bits and pieces of your past life and moving towards the door, slowly opening it and peering out towards the street, scanning for any movement. The piercing rays of a hot June afternoon sun leave little to shadow, and you can get a pretty good scan of the streets; everything seems to be quiet. You take a first few tentative steps down the sidewalk from your door, heart racing, as you quickly build into a brisk jog away from your house and the city being eaten alive.
All the desolate homes seem to tell the same story, broken doors and bloody clothes, no survivors, no solace. You try to keep your eyes away from the sidelines as the repetitive sight of smeared blood and ripped pieces of clothing start to fill your mind with scenes of mayhem and fear, every detail adding a new twisted feature to the horror movie you now find yourself a part of, but before you can get far away, a crude image on a window catches your eye. It looked quickly drawn out, brown brushstrokes leaving a blurry message. You wouldn't have noticed it save for the ominous brown hand print dragging down right before the bottom of it. Smudged stick figures stand with arms outstretched, little hearts dotted around their bodies. "DON'T BREATHE'' scrawled above it coldly. Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on? You quickly pass by the foreboding scrawling and continue down the street, counting the house numbers passing by. 6467, 6469. You don't really know where you're going, but at this point you don't really care. Every house number that passes you by takes you one house farther away from where you started, you were just going to have to start with that, anything to help remind you that you are making distance away from this damn town. 6471, 6473.
\t"6473'', it looks so familiar for some reason, and you slow your jog to a stop as you struggle to remember why, taking the moment to catch your breath. The number seemed important, familiar, a relic from your memory. You struggle to remember where you've heard this number before, slowly recalling a passing conversation you had with your neighbors, The Hurley's... Something about the NRA and how gun nuts were going to ruin the country. Your brain slowly dredges up a conversation your mind left to dissolve a while ago, but enough pieces are there to form a picture. These people once owned guns.
\tThis... could change things, for the better! You quickly take in the house before you, on one hand you needed to get out of here quickly, but on the other, the monsters seem to have left this place for more fertile feeding grounds so you should have a little bit of time. How much time? You couldn't say.
The building itself was thin and simple box, yet two storied that conformed to the neighborhood in a predictable way. All of the buildings here were the same in order to save on time and money for the contractor, with the only changes being superficially to the outside. This house was a deep red hue with black highlights around the windows and roof. A small garden surrounded a fire hydrant in the center, carnations and daisies reaching up to the summer sky, swaying and bending with the wind, careless of the death around them. A single pink flamingo stood defiantly next to the garden, plastic coating bleached a light pink, like a soldier erected tall against the approaching enemy. Oddly enough this house was pristine when compared to it's neighbors, all the windows were unbroken and the driveway stood empty, clean, recently power washed. A white flag in a sea of red and black, almost like a surrender hoisted right in the middle of the field, sparing it from the worst of war. The fact that this house stood untouched in a forest of carnage made you hesitant, but the potential of defense was too much for you to pass up. Besides, this house would have the same floor plan as your own, and if the door was always right behind you, even if things went sour you still had a decent chance of escape. You pull out the pistol from the waistband of your jeans, and clicked the safety off... You think, maybe you should have practiced more before building the shelter, but you'll get your practice in now.
\tYou swallow your anxiety and slowly make your way up to the black door. A door mat welcomes you kindly, "GOD BLESS THE SECOND AMENDMENT''. You can't help but smile a little, you weren't really the religious type but if God was handing out blessings today, you hoped you could grab one. You reach your hand for the door knob and give it a slow turn, the doorknob gives, but the door doesn't.
\t"Shit'', you gripe to yourself, of course the door is locked, these lucky bastards probably left before everything hit the fan, would explain the empty drive way. You quickly scamper from the front door to the left of the house to a window that enters the kitchen. Mustering up the courage, you take the butt of your pistol and quickly strike the glass, sending the unmistakable sound of breaking and entering far down the empty streets. Hopefully they stay empty. You quickly clear out a little bit of glass from the bottom of the window and step through into the kitchen. Much as you thought, aside from your rude entrance, the kitchen was left unperturbed. You heave a sigh of relief, as you now know that the rest of the house should be cleared, now to just hopefully find some guns and food. You start with the kitchen, most perishables aren't even here, but you grab a few cans of beans and spam, and top off your water bottle from the sink. Emboldened by the small fortune, you quickly peek through the rest of the rooms of the bottom floor. Pretty sparse living it looks like, most keepsakes and mementos of a regular home life are missing with only the bare necessities remaining, leaving the house oddly empty. The owners must use it seasonally, as it doesn't even look like it's been lived in recently. The bathroom yields some painkillers and sleeping medication, but nothing of a more offensive nature, and the rest of the house is pretty barren of supplies. Before you trap yourself upstairs you quickly go back to the window you entered and peer outside for anything that might have followed the sound of you entering, but it looks pretty quiet. Anxiety dying down a little bit, you moved to the upstairs and take a left into the bedroom.
\tJackpot. The room is pretty empty with a neatly made bed, empty drawers and nightstands, but the closet opens up to reveal exactly what you needed. A small caliber hunting rifle is left standing against the white wall, a small note attached reads "For Jeremy's birthday, don't forget to take him down to the range after cake.'' You can't even hide your happiness as you take the weapon in your hands, it's brand new, sleek camo-painted barrel shining like a hope in darkness, green mottled wooden paneling feeling perfect in your hands. Two boxes of ammunition sit next to it on the floor, and you reach down to grab it before the sound of glass being stepped on rips you away from your momentary happiness.
\tYour heart starts to thump in your chest as you crouch down in reaction against the walls of the closet, blood rushing to your ears, your hearing sharpening due to the anxiety. Unfortunately, you're worst nightmares spring to life as a noise cuts through the tranquil silence of the abode. You hear...
An inhuman pained screech of something that just cut itself on the broken glass from the only way out of here! https://inkbunny.net/s/2861644
An inhuman... expletive? Something just stumbled through the same window you did, but you didn't hear it just swear, did you? https://inkbunny.net/s/2861642
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