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Operation Journal, Entry #01: I Dream of Zombies

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Dawn.

Armed with my weapon of choice, the plastic staff my toy Shredder once cherished, I wait impatiently behind our commander.

Our enemy, an army of zombies of unknown era, mosey their way to the gigantic stone doors that separate us. I’m a lead knight, but also the team medic. Fresh out of a 1980s Viking flick, our crew is clad with shoulder pads of stone and spikes and our vehicles of choice are none other than tanks and motorcycles armed with a similar decor.

As I mount my motorcycle, staff garnered to one arm, I strap the supply of red magic cureall, an elixir capable of healing the most gruesome wounds, to my inner thigh. Terror slowly creeps through my veins. I contemplate an escape through the nearest window and into the river that surrounds the fortress.

No time for a second thought. Our enemy is ferociously pushing through to our chambers.

I’m ready to win for all mankind.

Photo by country_boy_shane

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