z0mb1el0v3r22

[z0mb1el0v3r22]

Now, hear me out on this crazy idea. HYPOTHETICAL

You can trick the L4d zombies. How? Mimicking them, movements, posture, skin — Most likely covering all of your body so no skin is showing OR making some sort of makeup paste(???) to make your skin look more grey and nasty

Could you in THEORY get past them? I know they have heightened senses but they're still rotting flesh and they aren't the smartest of creatures. So if you mimic them, they'll just think you're another one

Idk man, this thought has been their since I was a kid. I loved the zombie apocalypse and I was like... "this makes sense"

This can literally be your life or death type scenario

[z0mb1el0v3r22]

Lowkey I actually REALLY love Rochelle despite her being so 2D in the game. Her chemistry with the other character is just... so... OHMYHGOS

And so many goddamn scrapped voice lines

ANYWAYS, I love her 2D nature (sometimes) because it means I get to see others' hcs or stories around her. It's so frickin awesome !!

Unless it's like, one character is super detailed and then she's just like... there. Not even like she's just a background character. Main character and she STILL is getting scraps of character development. Feel bad for my girl 😞😞

[z0mb1el0v3r22]

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╰┈➤ The start of left 4 dead 2. A news reporter from Cleveland, Ohio, gets sent to Savannah, Georgia, to document the segments of Evacuation Centers in turn for her co-workers. She could've never expected to be tied in the middle of the apocalypse...

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╰┈➤ P.S Not a finished piece of my story about Rochelles Pov BUT I need to know if this kind of shows her as more of a 3D character... somewhat anyway. Obviously there'll be more things about her past, yada yada. I just didn't want to dump all this information out in the first few paragraphs... 💔💔

The apocalypse was something she never expected to happen. It was just fiction, a story to tell kids on Halloween. It's a scenario where you can imagine yourself being the badass protagonist. It wasn't meant to be real.

Working in news lead Rochelle to being the woman she was today. So many reports of crimes and attacks. She's desensitized to a lot of gorey sights.

The first week of reports. People were starting to get sick, not a huge deal, a few masks and washings hand thoroughly would help. The station she worked in plastered these signs around. Almost every day was it shown time and time again.

The second week of reports. Okay, it was getting worse. It had to be ignorant people, right? People that thought the Green Flu was a joke. Not to mention the people with bad immune systems or the elderly… children. God, she didn't want to think about it. Too many people could easily get sick. Regardless, they were fine... right?

Third week of reports, coworkers started calling in sick. Okay… odd. They were most likely just afraid, that was reasonable. It was a bad thought but thoses calling in sick gave her more work, an unspoken promotion.

Fourth week of reports. The sickness got bad in certain parts of the US. Rochelle got sent to Savannah Georgia to do segments on CEDA evacuation centers. New job, and if she did this it'd be a promotion most definitely. It should've been easy, nothing exactly wrong with that. Doing the news reports were somewhat new but she's knows what to do, not a huge deal.

Fifth week of reports. The world went to shit.

Sirens were alarming as people were ushered to near evac stations to get out the town slowly being over run with zombies. Screams and cries of pleading were heard. Riots and outright panic plagued the city of Savannah. She abandoned everything, her safety mattered more then some stupid news channel.

The ground underneath her caused her body to reverberate with each hard step she took. The boots she wore today weren't helping either.

A tall building, a hotel, labeled 'The Vannah' was her most recent segment she documented for evac. That had to do. Her prayers ran high, hoping she wouldn't be too late or god help her.

Quickening her pace, she ran, shoving people out of her way. Others had the same idea as her, but they headed a different way. She opted for going to the staircase located near the corner of the hotel, less foot traffic and straight up to the roof.

Ascending the eight floors, she met up with some others. The eldest man, heaving and huffing. He wore a shirt with a local highschool logo on it. Another, slighy ahead of her was encouraging them to keep going. He was a country hick, no doubt. The accent gave it away to her. Lastly, a guy with a suit. He was… Something.

Rochelle didn't pay much mind, she just focused on getting to the helicopter and getting out of here.

Her body ached as the four of them made it to the roof. The Southerner opened the door. All they could see was the helicopter preparing to take off. Shit!

Panic immediately sets deep into her body as she rushes forward. Unfortunately, they were all too late. The helicopter left without the body.

She waved her arms in the air, looking utterly stupid, but all the same she was desperate to get them to turn around, “Hey! Come back!”

None of her pleas got answered as the helicopter was moving away from the hotel. What was she meant to do now?

The southerner, with his hands on his knees as he was breathing in and out heavily, “Shit, whirlybirds left without us!”

That seemed to tick off fancy suit. All he let out was a scoff.

The young'un moved the cap on his head before scratching his head. He then nudged his head up before looking at the rest of the group, "Looks like that whirlybirds headin' to the mall."

Fancy suit seemsd to have enough with the southener as he spat out, "It is a helicopter. If you call it that one more time I'm gonna—"

"I'll call it what I like, fancy suit," The hick replied. He wasn't very happy with this guy.

"Will you two shut up?" She butted in, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. She wanted to get out of her as fast as possible, maybe, y'know, get to safety instead of bickering.

In a moments notice, the man in the white suit was right in front her, most staring mockingly, "What? You got somethin' to say, sweetheart?"

"You three, shut up!" Coach, she had associated him as due to the fact he looked like a coach. He shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were looking through the chain link fence, watching the helicopter,* "Looks like it's headin' towards the mall. I live around here and it ain't that far."

Silence went through the four of them. What other choice did they really have?

“C'mon, let's get moving, I don't like being in buildings that are actively on fire.” Fancy suit said. It seemed he was in considerably in a better mood.

However, this information set some unease in her gut. The building was on fire? Since when? She shook off those thoughts. Her eyes landed on a weapon pile nearby. That was good. It seemed they made passengers for the evac center to throw them off to the side. The surprise part was that they were still here.

“Should probably get some weapons. I work in news and well… the news says we should get weapons,” She said, heading over to the weapons left behind from those who hopefully managed to escape with their lives.

Crouching down she went to grab a pistol, the cold metal against her fingers felt so abnormal. She touched msny metal things but these things were going to kill. A shiver ran down her spine. She couldn't even shoot a gun, so what was the point in having one?

Shaking off the thoughts in her head as she put it to the side. Her fingers collided with something less cold, it was more wooden. Instinctly, grabbing it out the pile she found an axe, battered and barely attached to the handle, but at least it was something she could actually use. Holding the handle was just a simple reminder of the life before, a life she alresdy missed.

The polished surface was smooth against her palm, a reminder of a time that felt so long ago. The tension through her felt like a spring that was ready to be released. Her fingertips were going a bit pale in comparison to the rest of her body.

[z0mb1el0v3r22]

Perhaps going to share some drafts of writing I'm making about l4d2... perhaps about Rochelle's pov... *Twiddling my thumbs mischievously*

I just wish I had people in my life I could share it with. The only reason I can't is because I feel like I'm stealing my friends shine. I'm an artist (mainly) and a (hopefully) semi-decent writer, but she only writes, and I DO NOT want to be that guy being like "Hey look what I did" then steal her spotlight with writing.

RAHHH I wanna end it all rn. /j

#innerconflictissoamazing

[z0mb1el0v3r22]

He was a bit surprised to see you up so late. Normally, he was the only one waking up at odd hours of the night. Maybe the others did, he wasn't sure. Shaking off these thoughts, he focuses on the present. Flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette, he asked, "Why are you out here?"

You stood there, hand cupping over your mouth as you lit your own. Thankfully, it wasn't windy out, but your lighter was thriving to give you trouble.

"Needed a cigarette," You replied, flicking the lighter a few more times. The occasional orange ember flickered the lower side of your face. However, it quickly died out.

"You? Smoke?" Nick asked, his brow raised. He scoffed and then leaned back in the crappy lawn chair, "Guess there's a first time for everything."

His eyes watched out of peripheral, watching you struggle. It caused the corners of his mouth to perk up. He leaned to the side slight, digging through his pocket before offering his own lighter.

"Here. Might wanna get a new one," He said sarcastically. He couldn't help but be a dick, he always was, even after everything they went through.

Snatching the lighter out of his hands you couldn't help but retort, "Fuck you, Nick."

"Go fall off a cliff for all I care," The guy retorted, leaning back in his seat. He enjoyed the banter. It just reminded him that they lived.

They fucking lived. The odds played in their favour, and he could only thank whatever God was up there protecting them. Despite everything that's happened in the last few weeks, none of it mattered. They came up on top.