Ghouls'n Guns

by Jared Mandani

  He did not need the greatest long-range skills, not for the way he operated and not when Ezekiel would have it covered. Instead, he focused on giving himself some much more relevant moves.

  He set himself as a moderate hand-to-hand fighter. As he accumulated XP throughout the game, he would be able to afford more and more abilities, but for the moment he was allowed to pick two. From the long list, he settled on the two most suited to his play style: Knife Fighter (allowing him extra reach and damage when using short blades) and Ambidextrous (giving him equal skill and accuracy with both hands, so that he would be able to either use two knives at once, or a knife and a pistol, without suffering any kind of penalty with his off-hand.)

  Then he moved on to set his stats, portioning them out to give himself medium strength and resistance alongside decent agility. He would not have the same kind of devastating strikes as Ezekiel would give himself, nor would he have the same monster HP. But he would be fast and lithe in a fight, a proper ninja or a hardened brawler, whatever was needed of him.

  Finally, he came to the equipment menu. He saw that he had $250 to spend on his initial gear. No doubt he would be able to pick up more money on the way with which to purchase better kit, and no doubt he would find plenty of loot as he completed his missions. But for the moment, what he picked would be how he was armed in the first few fights he would go into.

  There was a semi-automatic pistol available for $120 that he liked the look of. It came complete with five reloads. Generous, he thought, this game must be a real bloodbath if that’s how we’re starting out. The gun itself was small, like an old Luger or Walther, easy enough to conceal and quite stylish. It had an effective firing range of fifty yards, with reliable accuracy and a mid-range damage of 50-70 within twenty yards—perfect for a close range fighter like Davie.

  Next, he browsed through a selection of knives, some for hunting, some for use on the street or in the military. He picked one combat knife with a serrated edge and knuckle dusters built into the grip, alongside a kukri with a super sharp edge, both coming it at $30 apiece, leaving him with $70.

  There was a field medical kit for $25, enough to patch up minor wounds and replenish his HP by a few points in a pinch. He bought it and kept the remaining $45, hoping to put it towards some more ammo in the near future.

  Everything done, he looked at his stats with satisfaction:

  Agility

  61

  Melee Weapon Skill

  43

  Ballistic Accuracy

  27

  Damage

  44

  Resistance

  32

  Initiative

  48

  Morale

  78

  HP

  420

  XP

  0

  Skills

  Ambidextrous, Knife Fighter

  He had no idea yet whether these were particularly good or bad, though he assumed that they were not the best. But, as with every other RPG, as he added skills and XP, he would be able to upgrade his base stats. Soon enough, I will be a formidable fighter, he thought.

  And besides, the game was brand new, just out today. Therefore, everyone he met going forwards would be starting from the same point, with the same allowances for stat building.

  He had heard that there were no character levels in this game. You did not progress by leveling up, but rather by adding to your stats and abilities in piecemeal stages. So you would not come across a level thirty titan, but rather you would read some bumper, epic stats and visibly see what they were about. It was an interesting take on the RPG system and Davie was keen to get to know it a bit better.

  With this in mind, he clicked on save. A message appeared asking him to name his character and he typed it in, giving himself the same name he always used:

  Davidoff Maximoff, the Destroyer.

  Named, saved, he returned, smiling, to the world of Apocalypse to find Ezekiel and begin their campaign of destruction.

  ***

  Ezekiel, as ever, had named himself ‘Heavy Zeke’, and had built himself a hulking monster of a man. Ezekiel himself was five-six and around a hundred pounds, so whenever he built himself an avatar he made it six-four and as heavy as he was able to get away with.

  Davidoff landed in their meeting place in the town and saw Zeke waiting for him, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with arms bigger than most peoples’ legs.

  Walking towards his buddy, Davidoff read off his stats and characteristics. Of course, he was nearly three hundred pounds and built like an Olympic weightlifter. He was a heavy munitions specialist engineer, one of Ezekiel’s favorite player types, and he had a large, hefty bolt rifle slung over his shoulder, two grenades at his hips and a simple hatchet looped through his belt. Obviously, no med-kit.

  However, he would be able to pack a serious punch. All weapons specialists could repair broken guns and equipment, use any weapon they found and add 10% accuracy to any shot they fired. Moreover, heavy weapons specialists could add 15% extra damage to any weapons they worked on, so that the bolt rifle slung over his shoulder was an absolute monster of a killing machine in Zeke’s hands.

  His own stats reflected his choice of character, too:

  Agility

  32

  Melee Weapon Skill

  28

  Ballistic Accuracy

  57

  Damage

  54

  Resistance

  52

  Initiative

  67

  Morale

  62

  HP

  455

  XP

  0

  Skills

  Engineer, Heavy Weapons Specialist

  “Davidoff arises!” Zeke said as Davidoff approached, roaring aloud with a hearty cry far removed from Ezekiel’s usual, mild mannerisms. He threw his burly arms wide open and showed off his new avatar.

  Aside from the sheer, brutal size of the character, Davidoff was struck by Zeke’s clothing. He had a mesh armor vest over his chest, a football helmet on his head, alongside a pair of jeans and some low grade work-boots. This guy is all business, Davidoff thought. No frills, no messing, just pure, explosive, destructive intent.

  “Let’s get started, then.” Davidoff smiled.

  They both began to scroll through the options for their first mission, growing excited as the new world called to them.

  Chapter Two

  “Is your suit a bit tight?” Davidoff asked Zeke, talking about the immersion suit that they were both wearing in the real world.

  “Yeah, a little, why?” Zeke replied.

  “Just seems a bit much.” Davidoff shrugged. “I can feel it more than usual.”

  “Maybe it’s the new game. They might’ve tightened up the coding, made sure we could feel everything a bit more, you know?” Zeke whispered. “Make it seem more real. I think I read something like that in the manual.”

  “Yeah, I s’pose.” Davidoff nodded. “It’s definitely working.”

  They sneaked through a deserted compound… or at least it had looked deserted when they arrived. They had taken on a Level One mission: to infiltrate a chemical manufacturing plant on the edge of the desolate city. They were to investigate what had happened here since a distress call went out twelve hours ago, and to rescue any survivors they might find. The brief promised them extra XP and cash if they were able to locate some Dr. Finkelstein—the chief chemist who, it claimed, could have valuable knowledge about the unquiet dead.

  Davidoff and Zeke managed the first part of the mission well enough. They located the plant and walked around to the back of the chain-link fence encircling its perimeter. There, they discovered a loose part where some of the wire had rusted away. It broke easily enough, espe
cially as Zeke lent his brutal strength to the task, pulling apart a space big enough even for him to get through.

  Now, they crept through the shadows, rushing first to find shelter behind some abandoned crates, next to a low wall, then finally to an upended delivery van close to the building’s side entrance. All the while, Davidoff could feel the immersion suit holding his real self, the man Davie, a little too firmly, insisting this world upon him so that everything became almost obnoxiously hyper realistic.

  However, he could not dwell on that now. All around, human shapes shuffled and meandered; they were zombies, the unquiet dead, created by whatever bio-sorcery had infected the world. Some of them showed hideous wounds: great gashes to their faces, broken or rotten bones, missing eyes and caved in skulls. A couple even had whole limbs missing, and one had an axe sticking out of its back. Individually, they were relatively harmless. Davidoff looked at their stats and saw that they all averaged around Initiative 10, Damage 30 and HP 100. They would take forever to cause any harm to either Davidoff or Zeke, and one straight shot from either of their guns would finish them. However, as a horde they must have numbered forty or so. It would be a tough fight to keep them all at bay, and in the meantime, anything awaiting them inside the factory would be alerted by the sounds of battle.

  Best to avoid detection if they could, they both agreed, and they managed this easily enough.

  As a couple of zombies shuffled on past their hiding place, their backs to Davidoff and Zeke, Zeke nodded towards the building’s side door and they both ran towards it—as light and silent as possible. There was an alcove around the door and they sheltered inside as they discussed their next step.

  “It’s locked,” Zeke whispered, pushing at the door. “I can barge it open, I think, but… Wait, look,” he said, nodding at a control panel.

  “You think you can hotwire it?” Davidoff asked. “It looks complex.”

  “That’s why I always choose an engineer character,” Zeke replied, pushing Davidoff out of the way so he could check the mechanism. “While you go around throwing punches, I can get the real work done… fix up what needs fixing, keeping it quiet.”

  “Yeah, you’re really subtle,” Davidoff said sarcastically, watching his giant friend working.

  Zeke bent down and unscrewed a small section beneath the control panel. He took a couple of tools from his belt and fiddled, frowning hard in concentration. However, he had an Initiative stat of 67, far above average which, alongside his special skill Engineer, meant that his character would always make short work of such basic mechanical tasks. For such a big man, he was surprisingly deft with his hands.

  It paid off. Within half a minute, there was a dull thud from the door’s lock as it deactivated. Davidoff pushed it and it swung inwards, permitting them to pass through to the mission’s next level.

  ***

  The next level was as deathly quiet as the first. They sneaked through, avoiding detection, though Davidoff’s nerves were on edge. He wanted to fight, he wanted to sink his tension into the heat of the moment, but this game was too well designed. It is playing me, he realized. It will wind me up until I am busting, and only then will it let me blow off steam.

  He was right, entirely. Both he and Zeke were fearful for the first time in a long while as they darted from hiding place to hiding place. The world was too tangible, too much like reality. Every bump, every whisper rang out in them. Every far off, sucking groan from a zombie filled them with dread.

  I feel more like Davie the gamer and less like Davidoff the Destroyer with each passing moment, he mused. It is stripping us down with its realism, with the tension of the moment.

  Finally, as they passed through to the fourth and penultimate level, fully engaged yet as tense as they could remember ever having been before, the promise of some action loomed. They came up to the factory’s highest story, scaling a fire escape from the floor beneath and breaking in through the locked fire door (this time using force, as the lock was too old school for Zeke to work his magic on.) They found themselves in a high-vaulted, long room which seemed to take up the whole story. It was dusty and dark and open, with bare metal struts holding up the ceiling and the barest scattering of packaging and crates lying disordered about the floor.

  At one end, cowering, a group of five factory workers was clustered against the wall. Before them, grimacing and groaning, a group of zombies shambled onwards, closing in on them. They were just in time, Davidoff thought. A couple more minutes and the zombies would have torn the unarmed, terrified workers to shreds.

  “Get over there, find cover,” Davidoff whispered to Zeke, pointing to a corner at which one of the metal struts met the floor behind a couple of larger crates. “Cover me. I’m going in.”

  With that, they both jumped into action, the strain of the last few levels releasing itself as they ran to their positions.

  Davidoff pulled out his luger, holding it in his left hand, while he equipped his right hand with his kukri, perfect for chopping down into anything that came too close. He raced over to the rear of the group of zombies, making sure to be loud enough to attract their attention, slamming his booted feet into the boards.

  It worked. A few turned to face him as he ran in. He scanned each, quickly, seeing that they were like all the others; they all had a low damage output, but were unafraid and far too numerous.

  Five of them peeled off and staggered towards him, lurching unevenly and incredibly slowly. Davidoff raised his luger and shot two of them, each in the head, from ten feet away. He scored critical hits which did far more damage than his pistol would usually do, evaporating their HP and felling them in an instant.

  However, the sound of the recoil rocked the roof, shivering dust from the ceiling and pulling all the other zombies around to face him. En masse, they fell forwards, coming for him, pawing the empty air and gnashing their teeth.

  Damn it, he thought. This is too much.

  He fired three more shots, hitting two more in the skull and catching one in the chest. The first two died instantly, but the third merely dropped to the ground, a great hole carved in its breastbone. It looked up at him, continuing to snarl, and began to crawl as its comrades all staggered around it. Davidoff managed two more shots, stunning one and nearly killing the other, effectively taking it out of action with a mere HP 5 left on its profile.

  He danced in their midst, swift and ready for melee. The zombies crowded around him as he backed off, getting away from the workers at the far end. They formed a semi-circle and a couple came close enough for him to swipe at. With a Damage characteristic of 44 and a bonus from his kukri, he managed about Damage 65 or so with each swing. It isn’t enough, he thought, but he smiled as he shot another in the abdomen, firing his luger from the hip.

  He had pulled them back far enough and, as one of the zombies lunged in to grab him, its whole body exploded as a roaring recoil smashed against every surface in the place. The zombie next to the first went down as well, its HP down to 10 and its body flying back against its comrades’. There was another roar and another. With each one, a zombie died outright, blowing up where it stood, and another couple were gravely injured from the fallout.

  The zombies all looked around for the source of the fire. They spotted Zeke at the far end of the hall with his overpowered bolt rifle smoking from the barrel. Zeke fired one more shot, sniping through the zombies in such a way as to do the most impact.

  Trusting his friend to keep the worst at bay, to keep him safe, Davidoff jumped through the remaining crowd of zombies, all mostly injured now. He made it to the outside of the semi-circle easily enough. He moved around them, too fast on his feet for them to keep up with, more reliant on his kukri than his pistol now as, with every step, he slashed and hacked, scoring a couple of critical hits as he now had the luxury of time to aim and to coordinate his strikes.

  He slashed one in the neck, so deep that its head barely held on. It was the last one, Davidoff realized,
as two more went down to Zeke’s rifle. They had finished them off entirely. Body parts and groaning, half-conscious undead heaps lay everywhere. Davidoff raised his luger, pulling his knife out of the zombie’s neck with a wrench and a squelch. It had HP 45 left after Davidoff’s attack and he took this away, now, shooting the creature full in the face from point blank range as Zeke hollered and laughed in the corner.

  Turning around, Davidoff saw the workers pale with terror, still in place against the far wall. “You’re safe,” he told them.

  “Now,” Zeke said, walking over and slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. “Where’s your boss?” he asked the workers.

  The exultation after the previous tension was glorious, and both friends felt more immersed in the terror and the action than any game had made them feel for a long, very long time.

  ***

  They left the workers, promising to return this way when their mission was complete. The workers told them that Dr. Finkelstein was in another part of the factory complex, though they had no idea if he was still alive. They said that there was another building right next to this one and that it could be accessed via a long, metal walkway which served as a bridge.

  “Well, then,” Davidoff said, nodding to Zeke. “Let’s get moving.”

  They bade the workers goodbye for the moment and carried on through the loft space’s far door, where the workers pointed them. It was locked, so Davidoff lowered his pistol and shot through the mortise, causing the door to swing open wildly as everybody else flinched from the noise. Vaguely, he registered that he had earned some XP from the fight, though he was too busy at the moment to really pay it any attention.

  Beyond the door was a small balcony. The metal walkway the workers told them about was attached to this, with railing and mesh sides, clearly an access route of some kind for maintenance staff. “You first,” Zeke growled, unslinging his rifle. “Something’s not right. I’ll cover you if you need it.”