Strange Coffee 2: SNAFU

Fourth story that's kindof a 'post whenever' thing. not sure where it's going or what the plot is. Just kindof letting it roll.




Fleeing the ancestral home was an unforgivable indignity that George didn't feel he could let stand. So as soon as the zombie attacks against his friends had let up he went back home to see what his nemesis had done with his ill-gotten gains. It was cold, and most people would have found the hike uncomfortable at best and unbearable under normal conditions; but George wasn't most people.

This was his home. Built in the twelfth century in the side of a mountain as both fortress against Turkish invasion and as a center which the surrounding town, long since turned to dust and forgotten, was built on.

Now? Now its halls were fouled by unnatural things. Sins against God and Nature walking the halls freely. Werebeasts, undead, abominations that defied description carrying equipment few would know the purpose of.

This made George mad. Not the sins against God and Nature part so much as they were somebody else's sins against God and Nature wandering his home as if they owned the place.

He rummaged through his pack to radio in his report. They hadn't seen him and it was unlikely he had left tracks to follow. What was done to him as a child was unforgivable and unspeakable. Yet it had served to imprint on his mind a connection between this place and himself. He knew every feature and native inhabitant with the kind of instinctive clarity as anyone waking in the middle of the night and navigating their unlit home would be familiar with.

Knowing where everything was had been a boon. However it didn't mean he could act. He was outnumbered and out gunned. He had theorized the undead attacks on his friends across the Atlantic were to deprive him of allies, which worked out well enough for those that opposed his homecoming.

That hadn't stopped him. It was stupid and rash, but this was his home. Through a little used exit originally designed to aid the nobility in escaping or supplies secreted in under any besieging army's nose he found his way inside with no trouble whatsoever. Once inside though he had problems with security. The bleeping blaring sort of problems that often end in your trusty raygun being drawn in desperation and anger.

A mountain of twisted and blackened Minions later a black clad man strolled into the room they'd cornered George in. "Really," Shots seemed to fizzle before getting anywhere near this man, "You are pathetic you know that? I've won. This is all mine by right of law and conquest. Go away and I'll probably just go back to forgetting you exist."

George snarled. "You took my land. You've been sending the undead after me ever since!"

Puzzlement crossed the person's face. "No George... While it would be tempting to crush you outright I've been far too busy. Plus knowing you're out there stewing and boiling with impotent rage is a pleasure all it's own." He calmly pulled a pistol from the holster at his hip and shot George's raygun. "Also you really do need to come up wit ha less predictable strategy. I can understand you having so many enemies that you get everything \confused between the senility and sub-par brain bu-"

George threw a brick at him and ran. Sadly he didn't get all that far due to the tranquilizer darts. However before falling he had the small moral victory of seeing his hated enemy carted off on a stretcher.

Which leaves us where we last found him. Grey nothingness speaking to some mystery voice.
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