Post by Jazen on Mar 8, 2011 0:58:01 GMT -5
When the green flu had hit, most the people afflicted by it had simply caved to the symptoms, falling "dead" within days of being infected only to rise again as the undead moments after. The majority of these people, the average, every day man, woman and child, had simply turned into mindless masses of flesh and violence. They were slow at first, as if the world around them no longer mattered and that they were perfectly fine simply starring blankly at some far away nirvana that only their undead eyes could see. To anyone who saw them from a distance, they were dumb, staggering and couldn't possibly be any kind of threat should one just hustle their bustle around them. All the holo vids about that kind of thing always portrayed them as such right?
Well the holo vids were wrong. Sure, they were slow and dumb but when riled, those "common" infected would suddenly gain speed akin to Olympic runners, rushing towards the living with a new found sense and purpose. Tooth, nail, fist and flesh would swarm around those who were not infected, overwhelming numbers making up for their weak bodies and simple brain functions. They would fall easily enough, their approach often heralded by loud shrills, ultimately giving any wandering survivors warning to ready their weapons.
But these "common" infected were not the only creatures standing in the survivors path. Some individuals, whether by some strange form of twisted luck or by unique abilities they had before succumbing to the flu had created the "special" infected. These infected had a slightly higher level of brain function in some cases, the ability to take advantage of the mindless commons to strike down survivors when they were at their most vulnerable. One such creature was known simply as the "Jockey". Small, hunched, with a back that looked like it had suddenly been snapped to force the creature to hunch, the "Jockey" was quicker then its common brothers. And it had a rather unique way of handling those pesky survivors, a role that it and its special brothers instinctively were aware of.
This particular "Jockey" had once been a young boy, a young Jedi by the name of Jazen. Funny that even the great Jedi had fallen to the mysterious green flu, not a good sign of the galaxy as a whole. But it had happened and for many of the young Jedi who had fallen to the flu, this had been their fate. Jazen had fought, fought long and hard against the flu, but when he realized his time was nearing its end, he had vanished to silently let himself fade. And thus this is what he had become; a slightly smarter then your average infected but really just a different kind of simple minded infected. His Jedi body had allowed him to change into the midget he was now, with a jump and grip far stronger then the brainless lumps of flesh that littered the halls. And in those long dark hollows of the Kuat Drive Yards, he had hidden and waited, cackling mindlessly for a reason that his degraded brain would never know.
But now Jockey Jazen had a purpose. Those not like him, not like his brothers, not like his lesser infected, had appeared. Survivors...warm, breathing, speaking survivors, had suddenly been seen on the station. And like a moth drawn to a flame, the infected around them had converged on their prey, keeping them on edge. Jockey Jazen had been cuddled amongst several of the long dead when he heard the sounds of their voices, his evil giggle suddenly echoing down the long dark corridors to reach their ears. Not the smartest move, but the hunched midget no longer cared for grand plans and schemes. It lifted its head from the masses around it, dark faded blue eyes seeing the incoming lights down the hallway that constantly sparked light and darkness as the power came on and off.
A twisted grin slid across that horrifying face as the voices got closer. It didn't understand what the voices were saying; had it been able to, it would have known that they knew he was there. But the creature wasn't that brainless...it knew how to use its speed to get the best advantage possible. Heck, anyone watching it would wonder how something that's brain should have been rotted to the point of mush remembered that strafing was a wise plan...and yet Jockey Jazen knew. Light fell upon the twisted hunchbacks face and an almost plotting grin spread across its face, its eyes almost glowing in the bright light of the survivors flashlights. Before any form of pain could be launched its way, the little figure suddenly darted around a neighboring corner, its twisted laugh echoing as it vanished. It could still be heard, but Jockey Jazen had gotten a form of luck in its own right in what happened next.
That evil laugh was suddenly replaced by a loud, horrifying shrill from a mass from all around them. From the corner Jockey Jazen ran came his brainless brothers, madly rushing towards the warm bodies in a light grouping in the body littered hall. Others rushed out from all around them, the mass of adjourning corridors allowing them to swarm from all sides around the small circle. And within that mass of bodies, Jockey Jazen ran. Through the legs of its fellows, hugging the wall as it made a mad dash towards the four, the darkness and the horde protecting it, Jockey Jazen ran. Despite its hunched body, the Jockey indeed moved like no other of its brothers, quickly darting around its fellows to spy its prize. Its target. The large one wielding the shotgun.
Like a small rocket, the midget jumped. Clear over its fellows it leapt, landing firmly on the the woman's shoulders and back, his legs hunching down as it clamped her head between its knees and its hands wrapped around her face, obscuring her view. Despite its frail looking body, Jockey Jazen had a vice like hold on her; only a heavy hit to its back or a fatal shot would remove him from his prize. An evil laughter hissed from its mouth and it quickly eyed the direction it planned to go. And that's when he started bucking. Back and forth Jockey Jazen rocked, the weight of its body on the woman's shoulders effectively allowing it to guide her towards the trap. This time, it was a dark patch on the floor...a dark patch that was really a hole in the grating that would put the woman down on a level where his common brothers would have no problem stomping the life out of her.
With a final, long twisted cackle, Jockey Jazen bucked hard one last time...and the hole waited to swallow the woman hole as the common nearest rushed towards their prey.
Well the holo vids were wrong. Sure, they were slow and dumb but when riled, those "common" infected would suddenly gain speed akin to Olympic runners, rushing towards the living with a new found sense and purpose. Tooth, nail, fist and flesh would swarm around those who were not infected, overwhelming numbers making up for their weak bodies and simple brain functions. They would fall easily enough, their approach often heralded by loud shrills, ultimately giving any wandering survivors warning to ready their weapons.
But these "common" infected were not the only creatures standing in the survivors path. Some individuals, whether by some strange form of twisted luck or by unique abilities they had before succumbing to the flu had created the "special" infected. These infected had a slightly higher level of brain function in some cases, the ability to take advantage of the mindless commons to strike down survivors when they were at their most vulnerable. One such creature was known simply as the "Jockey". Small, hunched, with a back that looked like it had suddenly been snapped to force the creature to hunch, the "Jockey" was quicker then its common brothers. And it had a rather unique way of handling those pesky survivors, a role that it and its special brothers instinctively were aware of.
This particular "Jockey" had once been a young boy, a young Jedi by the name of Jazen. Funny that even the great Jedi had fallen to the mysterious green flu, not a good sign of the galaxy as a whole. But it had happened and for many of the young Jedi who had fallen to the flu, this had been their fate. Jazen had fought, fought long and hard against the flu, but when he realized his time was nearing its end, he had vanished to silently let himself fade. And thus this is what he had become; a slightly smarter then your average infected but really just a different kind of simple minded infected. His Jedi body had allowed him to change into the midget he was now, with a jump and grip far stronger then the brainless lumps of flesh that littered the halls. And in those long dark hollows of the Kuat Drive Yards, he had hidden and waited, cackling mindlessly for a reason that his degraded brain would never know.
But now Jockey Jazen had a purpose. Those not like him, not like his brothers, not like his lesser infected, had appeared. Survivors...warm, breathing, speaking survivors, had suddenly been seen on the station. And like a moth drawn to a flame, the infected around them had converged on their prey, keeping them on edge. Jockey Jazen had been cuddled amongst several of the long dead when he heard the sounds of their voices, his evil giggle suddenly echoing down the long dark corridors to reach their ears. Not the smartest move, but the hunched midget no longer cared for grand plans and schemes. It lifted its head from the masses around it, dark faded blue eyes seeing the incoming lights down the hallway that constantly sparked light and darkness as the power came on and off.
A twisted grin slid across that horrifying face as the voices got closer. It didn't understand what the voices were saying; had it been able to, it would have known that they knew he was there. But the creature wasn't that brainless...it knew how to use its speed to get the best advantage possible. Heck, anyone watching it would wonder how something that's brain should have been rotted to the point of mush remembered that strafing was a wise plan...and yet Jockey Jazen knew. Light fell upon the twisted hunchbacks face and an almost plotting grin spread across its face, its eyes almost glowing in the bright light of the survivors flashlights. Before any form of pain could be launched its way, the little figure suddenly darted around a neighboring corner, its twisted laugh echoing as it vanished. It could still be heard, but Jockey Jazen had gotten a form of luck in its own right in what happened next.
That evil laugh was suddenly replaced by a loud, horrifying shrill from a mass from all around them. From the corner Jockey Jazen ran came his brainless brothers, madly rushing towards the warm bodies in a light grouping in the body littered hall. Others rushed out from all around them, the mass of adjourning corridors allowing them to swarm from all sides around the small circle. And within that mass of bodies, Jockey Jazen ran. Through the legs of its fellows, hugging the wall as it made a mad dash towards the four, the darkness and the horde protecting it, Jockey Jazen ran. Despite its hunched body, the Jockey indeed moved like no other of its brothers, quickly darting around its fellows to spy its prize. Its target. The large one wielding the shotgun.
Like a small rocket, the midget jumped. Clear over its fellows it leapt, landing firmly on the the woman's shoulders and back, his legs hunching down as it clamped her head between its knees and its hands wrapped around her face, obscuring her view. Despite its frail looking body, Jockey Jazen had a vice like hold on her; only a heavy hit to its back or a fatal shot would remove him from his prize. An evil laughter hissed from its mouth and it quickly eyed the direction it planned to go. And that's when he started bucking. Back and forth Jockey Jazen rocked, the weight of its body on the woman's shoulders effectively allowing it to guide her towards the trap. This time, it was a dark patch on the floor...a dark patch that was really a hole in the grating that would put the woman down on a level where his common brothers would have no problem stomping the life out of her.
With a final, long twisted cackle, Jockey Jazen bucked hard one last time...and the hole waited to swallow the woman hole as the common nearest rushed towards their prey.
