Capitol Idea, Good Man (Mike)

[Generalfoley]

Joe stared at what was once the beautiful city of London through his binoculars before he set them down and took another bite of his Beef Brisket MRE. He was sitting on top of the Wrecker's cabin, which they had parked on top of a hill. It had been a few months since the whole debacle in Bristol, with Irish and them. But everything turned out alright. Mike gained a new revolver, Joe had found a few grenades for his launcher, and they had both found some nice bullet resistant glass for the Wrecker.

All in all, life was good. He looked down at Mike, who was sitting down in the bed, eating his own lunch. Joe took another bite of his MRE. "You know," Joe said, his mouth half full. "People say a lot of bad things about MRE's, when," He swallowed the Brisket, stirring around the meal in it's self heating cup. "They're actually pretty good. Self heating, extremely long shelf life, and air sealed," Joe took another bite, and pointed his fork at the contents. "This be space age shit, amigo."

Joe was enjoying the new bite of preserved beef brisket when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He picked up his binoculars, and looked over on the north hillside, seeing something... strange.

"Hey, Mike," Joe said, staring at the strange zombie though the binoculars. He handed the binoculars to Mike. "Take a look at this." Joe took another bite of his meal. "I think I found Zombie Michael Jackson." At least, Joe thought it could be. He had the red jacket and everything.

[God Mike]

Mike hummed to himself as he chowed down on his instant ramen. His makeshift stove, a burning fire in a can under a plate, was giving off a nice heat, and he felt warm and comfortable. Having acquired a shoulder holster, he carried his epic .50 cal revolver in it, although copius amounts of duct tape had been used, since he had to cut it open in order to fit the revolver it in, and he also had to fix a sheath to the holster, because of the wicked looking blade he had welded to the gun.

"You know," Joe said, sitting on the roof of the Wrecker. "People say a lot of bad things about MRE's, when they're actually pretty good. Self heating, extremely long shelf life, and air sealed," Mike swallowed a mouthful of ramen and looked back at Joe, clicking his tongue. There he went again, spouting bullcrap that Mike found extremely hard to believe. "This be space age shit, amigo."

"Shit," Mike repeated, nodding. "You got that right. I mean, come on, that's army food. When has army food ever been tasty? And I'd know, seeing as I've actually been in the army," he said, downing the broth and then throwing the cup over the side of the bed, before wiping his chopsticks and putting them in his backpack again. "Alright, so that's a lie, but it's still disgusting."

He shook his head as he grabbed a can at his side. The can was filled with dirt, and he kicked the stove plate off its supports (two ammo boxes) and dumped the dirt into the burning can. He stood up and stretched, giving off a pleased noise. He truly did love this freedom.

"Hey, Mike," Joe said suddenly, surveying London through his binoculars, which he handed to Mike, who took them. "Take a look at this. I think I found Zombie Michael Jackson." Mike hummed and looked through the binoculars in the general direction that Joe had been looking, immediately seeing what had caught his attention.

A zombie with curly hair, dressed in a red jacket, was moving around in a circle, jerking and dragging his feet. It looked like it was doing some kind of strange, twitchy dance... Mike snorted. Then, he laughed. "Hey, hey, zombie's got the moves!" he said in amusement. "But..." The zombie was far, far away, but... Mike put down the binoculars and quickly pulled his revolver, taking aim and firing. Having believed himself to have aimed at the body of the zombie, it came as a great surprise when its head exploded. "...boy can't shuffle."

Holstering his revolver, Mike shook his head. "Damn, that thing is loud!"

[Generalfoley]

"You got that right. I mean, come on, that's army food. When has army food ever been tasty? And I'd know, seeing as I've actually been in the army." Joe snorted. Mike, an army man? "I call bullshit," Joe said, finishing off his MRE. "Alright, so that's a lie, but it's still disgusting."

He took a drink of his beer, and took out the candy bar the MRE had included. Twix, an old favorite of his. Joe took one of the small candy bars out and offered it to Mike. "Twix?" Joe munched on the other as Mike put out his fire. "Hey, hey, zombie's got the moves!" Joe took another sip of his beer as Mike aimed his fifty-cal. "But..." The loud boom of the revolver sounded, and Joe was somewhat surprised by not being bothered by it, nor the explosion of gray matter Zombie Jackson put out when the bullet hit. "...boy can't shuffle."

"Damn straight." Maybe that's what they should call them. Shufflers. "Damn, that thing is loud!" Joe raised an eyebrow as he stared at his friend before he shook his head and drank his beer. He stared at the Ruins of London, somewhat amazed at how bad it looked. It looked more like a battlefield than a city besieged by the Undead. It wasn't quiet, either. Gun chatter had sounded a few times before, automatic weapons mostly. It was like the city was at war, and not only with the dead. Joe took out a pack of cigarettes and pulled out one, lighting it up. He took a drag as he stared at the city. He put the pack away and patted the cabin loudly as he jumped down the side.

"Come on, Mikey," Joe said, walking around the bed towards the driver's side seat. "Let's go exploring. Kill a zombie or two," Joe smirked as he jumped into the driver's seat.

"Break into a mall or something." Joe turned the ignition, and heard the engine roar.

[God Mike]

"Twix?" Mike looked at the delicious treat, shook his head. Chocolate gave him such creepy-ass dreams... Like, really weird. One time, after chowing down on a boat load of chocolate, he dreamed that he frolicked in a forest with unicorns. Definitely one of the creepier dreams.

Instead, Mike looked over the completely fucked capitol of England. If there was a single country he would have believed to be able to remain civilized even after a zombie apocalypse, he was certain it was England. However, it seemed that the English had gone completely crazy. Mike's kind of place!

"Come on, Mikey," Joe said, having gotten off the car and now getting into it. "Let's go exploring. Kill a zombie or two," Best suggestion yet, in Mike's opinion. Nodding, he jumped off the bed and got into the car, actually using the passenger door for once. "Break into a mall or something."

"Sounds good, my partner in mayhem," Mike said with a grin. "However, if you call me Mikey again, I will have no choice but to break out the You-Know-What name." Mike had been forced to swear to Joe that he would never mention the name 'G.I. Joe.'

He clicked his tongue and looked over the ruins of London once more, shaking his head. "Wow, man, it looks like the populace has declared a vendetta on the city, doesn't it?" he asked in amusement. Well, the amusement came from the word 'vendetta,' because that brought to mind a movie, which took place in the very city they were in. "Verily, these vermin seem very vicious, vanquishing any vexation visiting this city. We must remain vigilant and violent."

He looked to Joe and nodded, looking extremely serious, something of a gift of his: poker face. He could make the most hilarious jokes, yet remain looking completely serious. "Verily."

[Generalfoley]

"Sounds good, my partner in mayhem. However, if you call me Mikey again, I will have no choice but to break out the You-Know-What name." Joe's eye twitched as he munched on the other Twix bar. Sometimes he wished one of the most influential franchises in human history didn't take his name. Ridiculed in school, he broke many a nose for being called 'G.I. Joe'. But that was the past, the old world where he got in trouble for breaking an older kid's nose. Maybe Mike was right. The New World was looking better already.

"Wow, man, it looks like the populace has declared a vendetta on the city, doesn't it?" Joe chuckled. He knew what movie Mike was referencing. "Verily, these vermin seem very vicious, vanquishing any vexation visiting this city. We must remain vigilant and violent." And Mike stared straight at Joe with his poker face, at which he tried not to laugh. He always laughed at a poker face, he never knew why. "Verily."

Joe wore a half grin as he looked over at Mike. "You know, sadly, I can quote the whole 'V' speech from memory." Joe cleared his throat as he spoke, putting the Jeep in gear. "Voilà!" Joe shouted dramatically.

"In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a bygone vexation stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition! The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous." Joe took a breath, then laughed, as V did in the movie. "Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it's my very good honor to meet you and you may call me," Joe put on his own poker face, and looked at Mike. "V."

Joe turned the wheel to the right, driving down the hill towards London with a smile. Average speed, around forty miles an hour, sped them along, down towards the city's edge. Joe looked closer as they approached the city, driving up onto a road. "Well, Mike," Joe said, looking up at the incomplete wall that surrounded London. "Looks like London was the last bastion of civilization before the Outbreak went global," Joe grinned as they drove past the wall. "But that just means it's now a bastion of free stuff." Joe took a drag on his cigarette as he drove before he flicked the remains out of the window.

They drove through the city, seeing the devastation of it. But Joe was confused. "This isn't caused by the undead, Mike," Joe said, driving by a store that had seemed to have been blown up. "This was caused by something with a little more firepower." Joe heard a familiar sound echo between the buildings. Something he hadn't heard for a long, long time.

"You hear that?" A sound he hadn't heard since the Outbreak. "It sounds like..." Joe stopped the Jeep, and looked over at Mike. "A chopper?" A Black Hawk helicopter had flown out from between a pair of buildings, properly motivating Joe to hurriedly put the Jeep in reverse, and hit the pedal.

The helicopter turned to their direction, until a Jumper jumped into the open bay doors. The helicopter engine sounded strained as it twisted and turned until it crashed to the ground, sliding along the pavement. But one problem occurred to Joe, who had stopped the minute he saw the Jumper fly into it.

It was heading right for them.

"Shit shit shit shit," Joe muttered as he turned back and hit the pedal, the Jeep keeping only slightly ahead of the crashing Black Hawk. After a minute of panic, crashing, and shrapnel scratching at the paint, the Black Hawk had finally stopped, and Joe saw the corpse of the Jumper in the Pilot's seat, it's maw fresh with human blood. Joe jumped out of the Jeep, grabbing his M4, and fired five shots into it's head. Just to be safe.

"Well," Joe said, walking to the bed and grabbing a beer out of the cooler. He popped the top with his thumb, and took a sip. "That was unexpected." Joe took another sip, and pulled out a chilled beer-sized bottle of whiskey, and handed it to Mike. "Wanna check it out?"

This was not turning out how he expected it to be.

[God Mike]

Mike listened to the V speech and closed his eyes, smiling brightly at the thought of the epic man known only as V. He truly was an awesome individual. And the best part? He used blades, like Mike did! Totally awesome, definitely.

"Well, Mike. Looks like London was the last bastion of civilization before the Outbreak went global," Mike nodded as he looked out at the war zone. "But that just means it's now a bastion of free stuff."

Mike felt a grin appear on his face, and he looked at Joe. "I like free stuff," he said cheerily. "It's so much more awesome than pricey stuff. Though, of course, free equals no stealing. I like stealing..." He just didn't know what he liked more, free stuff or stealing...

As they drove through the city, Mike whistled, impressed, as he took in the damage of the city. "This isn't caused by the undead, Mike," Joe said. "This was caused by something with a little more firepower."

"Well, no shit," Mike said, clicking his tongue. "This is the work of man, any idiot could see that. I mean, zombies don't use guns or rockets, and I've never seen a zombie with enough strength to punch a building to shit, so it's obviously done by normal humans like you and... alright, so maybe we're not the best example for 'normal,' but you know what I mean."

That noise had been bugging Mike for a while now. Anyone could tell that it was a chopper, but what bothered Mike was that the sound was a little too close for comfort... "A chopper?" Mike nodded, and just then, a Black Hawk helicopter came soaring into view. He couldn't suppress a sigh as the helicopter turned to them while Joe started backing up.

Their rescue came, however, in the form of a Jumper, which did an epic superhero leap straight into the chopper, which started spinning out of control. Mike put on his poker-face again. "Black Hawk..." he muttered as the chopper headed straight for the ground. "...down..." he finished when the helicopter crashed. He made an addition to his statement, however, when he saw it sliding across the ground, "...and heading straight for us..." He looked to Joe. "You might wanna start backing up... right now!"

"Shit shit shit shit," Joe chanted as they backed up. Mike had to admit, this was a movie moment. An epic movie moment. It was just a shame that he was facing death right now, or Mike would have whooped. Slowly, it slid to a stop, however, and Joe immediately got out of the car to shoot the shit out of the Jumper in the chopper. Mike got out as well, giving a sigh of relief.

"Well," Joe said, heading for their cooler on the bed and taking out a beer. "That was unexpected." Mike nodded in agreement as he took the whiskey bottle handed to him by his friend. "Wanna check it out?"

Mike nodded as he unscrewed the cork on the whiskey bottle. "Sure, why not? I've got nothing better to-" A gunshot rang out, and the bottle in Mike's hand exploded, at the same time as a sharp pain erupted in his leg. Dropping to the ground from the shock, Mike's eyes widened when gunfire was heard from all around them, high up in the surrounding buildings, the bullets tearing up the asphalt around them.

"AAAH!" Mike cried out in pain and rolled, hiding behind a, admittedly, conveniently positioned piece of rubble on the sidewalk, which had fallen from the building it was in front of God knows how long ago. "Black Mike down, Black Mike down!" he yelled, looking down at his leg. It was bleeding pretty bad.

[Generalfoley]

"Sure, why not? I've got nothing better to-" A gunshot rang out, and Joe dropped his beer, lifting his rifle to bear as he looked around for the shooter. Not exactly a friendly gesture, as the asphalt around them was peppered by gunfire. He took cover behind a mangled car, waiting for the gunfire to stop. "AAAH!" Joe looked over to where Mike was, where he had hidden himself behind an admittedly convenient piece of rubble. He saw his leg, and it was pretty bad.

"Black Mike down, Black Mike down!" Joe snorted as he returned fire to the buildings around them. Even now, when he was probably bleeding out, Mike had to make a joke. Pulling out a grenade from his inner coat pocket, he fitted it into his launcher, and fired at a building. The explosion was, all in all, rather marvelous, but Joe had better things to worry about. Firing a burst from his rifle to suppress the enemy fire, Joe ran to the Jeep, bullets peppering the ground he was on.

"Fuck, give a man a break, eh?!" Joe yelled to the buildings as he pulled out a couple of smoke grenades. He pulled the pins and threw them to the ground, shrouding him, the Jeep, and Mike in smoke. Joe ran over to Mike, pulling him to the Jeep, and he put him in the passenger seat. He turned the ignition and closed the driver side door, hitting the pedal with all he had. The Jeep's tires squealed in protest until she shot out of the mist like a bat out of hell, their unknown assailants firing at the ground were the Jeep had occupied. Joe pulled out the first aid kit, and pulled into an alley a few blocks over. He turned to Mike, and grabbed at his leg.

Joe injected the man with ten cc's of morphine, and proceeded to pull out the bullet with a pair of surgical tweezers. He dug the bullet out, and put it on the dash, filling the wound with a disinfectant before he wrapped it with gauze. He sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, and held up the bullet for Mike to see.

"Five point five six millimeter, full metal jacket," Joe remarked. He looked over at Mike, and grinned, patting his shoulder. "Congrats, mate. You've just survived an encounter with the Special Air Service." Joe pulled a beer and another whiskey bottle out of the cooler behind them. He handed the man one as he opened his own and drank some of the contents.

Joe sped up and drove a few blocks, until he found an open garage, once a mechanic's shop. He pulled into it, quickly getting out and pulling the door down. "Let's get some rest, let the heat die down," Joe looked at his watch. "Give it an hour or so."

[God Mike]

Mike was pretty pissed. Always him. And the worst part was, it was the same fucking leg as in Bristol! It had still been hurting from that encounter, and now he got shot again! Pulling his .50 cal revolver, Mike looked around at the buildings within his sight from behind the rubble.

He heard an explosion, suggesting that Joe had used that handy underslung grenade launcher of his, and he saw a guy pop up in a window behind Joe, taking aim at the Irishman with an assault rifle. Mike raised his revolver and fired, grinning in satisfaction when he saw the man's shoulder explode, separating him from his arm.

As he kept an eye out for other enemies in Joe's blind spot, smoke suddenly clocked his view. Joe had popped a few smokes, apparently. He heard footsteps, and felt Joe grab him, pulling him over to the Jeep and putting him none too gently in the passenger seat. He cursed as he holstered his revolver and clutched at his leg, while Joe drove off.

"Thank Odin that we picked this shit up in Washington," Mike muttered as Joe injected him with morphine, before getting to work on his leg. He was lucky he had found a friend who knew how to patch up a wound. The morphine helped take the edge off. Couldn't shoot well with your brain clouded by searing pain.

"Five point five six millimeter, full metal jacket," Joe commented as he showed Mike the bullet. "Congrats, mate. You've just survived an encounter with the Special Air Service."

Mike just grunted as he took the whiskey bottle handed to him by his friend, taking a swig. "Why is it always me that gets shot?" he asked and clicked his tongue, looking down at his leg. "Man, I won't be able to do any acrobatics for a while... This suuuuucks!" he whined as Joe drove off again.

They found an old mechanic's shop, Mike's little personal slice of heaven, and Joe parked the Wrecker inside the garage, getting out and closing the door. "Let's get some rest, let the heat die down. Give it an hour or so."

"Yeah, that'd be for the best," Mike said as he got out of the car and looked around. Plenty of tools still there. That was a plus. Shit you got in a store couldn't always compare to the tools a mechanic had in his garage. His eyes landed on something, and his jaw dropped. "Hey, is that... a truck?" he asked, pointing at a vehicle parked in the garage, covered by tarp.

[Generalfoley]

"Yeah, that'd be for the best," Joe nodded as he pulled a 'Brite-Glow' glowstick out of his bag and bent it, shaking it so that the fluid got mixed in properly. He attached it to a belt loop as he looked at Mike. "I'm gonna go clear the building. Never know if there's a ghoul around to ruin our day." As he walked up the stairs into the floors above, he heard Mike ask, "Hey, is that... a truck?" "Pull off the tarp and find out." Joe yelled down, pulling out one of his pistols.

He walked up the stairs to see a small apartment complex. When he pulled into the garage, he had seen that it was a two story building, not exactly rare for London but this wasn't a normal flat. He held his gun in front of him, and he moved to the first door, putting his ear against it. No sounds. Gently turning the knob, he slowly opened the door, his pistol aiming at anything that would come out.

Nothing in the room, except for some old clothes, a bed and a TV. He looked in the closets, and nothing was there either. He sighed as he moved out into the hall and moved to another room. He put his ear against this one, but there was no sound here either. He turned the knob, same as last time, but jumped back, his eyes wide, when a blade shot through the door.

"Fuckin' Christ!" Joe exclaimed, falling down from the surprise. The blade withdrew from the door, and it slowly opened. Joe's eyes widened even further when an honest to god Knight in mother fucking shining armor lumbered out of the room. "Halt, knave." The Knight said in a deep, condescending tone. Joe started to scramble back as the Knight readied his sword. "I said," Joe could hear the Knight take in a large breath. "HALT!" Joe's survival instincts kicked in, and he scrambled off the floor, running down the hall.

"Mike!" Joe yelled as he jumped over the stairs. He ran up to him, and had a slightly panicked expression on his face. "Help." The Knight came thundering in, and Joe started running again. "Come," He took a large breath. "Come back, here... knave!" Joe slowed down, a slightly triumphant look on his face. "Whats the matter, Lancelot? Getting tired? Running out of breath?" Joe laughed as the Knight tried to swing his sword at him, only to fall over. Wiping a mock tear from his eye, he walked over to the Knight, and knelt down.

"Here's a deal; I help you up and out of that armor, get you some water, and you don't try and run me through. Got it?" The Knight merely nodded, and Joe pulled the guy up, taking off his helmet. The guy's long, black hair was let loose, soaked with sweat and grime, his face slightly beardy, and gasping for somewhat fresh air.

"What be your name, Sir Idiot in a Can?" The Knight glared at the Grinning Joe, before he sighed. Joe handed him a bottle of water, and he nodded in thanks. "I am Sir Richard, Knight of the Roundtable of New Camelot." Joe looked at Mike with a raised eyebrow before he looked back at the Knight.

"You didn't just say New Camelot, did ya Dick?"

[God Mike]

"Pull off the tarp and find out." Mike nodded. Capital idea! He limped over to the truck and pulled off the tarp, his jaw dropping at what he saw. A Mack truck... A freaking Mack truck! A laugh escaped him, then another, and then another. A Mack truck!

"This is mine," Mike said immediately, climbing up and opening the passenger door. The keys were in the ignition. Of course, this was a British truck, so the passenger side wasn't the passenger side at all. Getting into the driver's seat, Mike turned the key.

He had to work the ignition for a few moments before the truck started up, and Mike couldn't suppress a cackle. "Awesome!" he yelled to himself, revving the engine a few times, before killing the engine, looking pleased with himself. "You're coming with me," he told the truck. "You're definitely coming with me."

With a bit of an effort, Mike got out of the truck, setting down his injured leg too hard and almost falling.

"Mike!" he heard, and looked toward the stairs to see Joe charging toward him. "Help." Mike's jaw dropped when he saw the knight. A fucking knight?! Mike just shook his head, stunned into silence, a rare occurence. The knight collapsed, and seemed to be unable to get back up. Slowly, Mike made his way over as Joe asked the knight his name. "I am Sir Richard, Knight of the Roundtable of New Camelot."

Mike twitched, and Joe looked over to him, before looking back down at the knight. "You didn't just say New Camelot, did ya Dick?" At that name, something clicked in Mike's head, and he overcame his shock of seeing a knight because of the sheer hilarity of his name. He snickered to himself, then burst out laughing loudly.

"Look!" Mike yelled to Joe, pointing at the knight. "Look, Joe! A Dick in a Can!"

[Generalfoley]

"Look, Joe! A Dick in a Can!" Dick growled at Mike, but Joe snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Oi, Dick in a Can, ignore him, pay attention to me," Joe said this in a very serious, very dark manner. He wanted answers. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he wiped it off of his brow. "Did you, or did you not, say New Camelot?" The knight glared at him, sweat beading off of his brow as well. "I do not answer to you, boy; I answer only to King Aurthur, King of New Camelot. Beside the point, how do I know you're not some SAS spy?" Joe sighed as he stood up and took off his jacket. He threw it into the back, then turned to Dick, a confused look on his face.

"Why would we be spies for the SAS? They're a military SpecOps division, not a clandestine organization." "They took over when the British Government fell to the dead. They are now the ruling body in England. And, quite frankly, not many took kindly to being ordered around by the military, while the SAS say they're just taking over temporarily, and fighting the undead 'For Queen And Country'". "Joe ."[/i]

"So there was a civil war." Joe said conclusively. Dick got up and helped himself to a stool, taking a drink of water. "There still is, young one. The Resistance, as they call themselves, stole from the SAS armory, taking their assault rifles and their full metal jacket rounds. It's the only way to know if a place has been hit by either the Resistance or the SAS." Joe looked over to Mike, chuckling. "So we didn't encounter them at the Blackhawk crash." Joe snapped his fingers. "I knew it was too easy."

Joe walked to the bed of the Jeep, pulling out a bottle of water. As he closed the cooler full of melted ice water, Joe saw a memoir from their visit to New Phoenix when they were looking for Mozzie's daughter and sister.

"Hey, Mike," Joe grinned as he pulled out a tan ballistic vest, with the word 'POLICE' stamped on the front. "Look what I found." Joe had misplaced it somehow. He didn't know how, he stepped into the shower back at the Bunker for five minutes, at least, and then poof, it was gone. He strapped the vest on and grabbed his rifle.

"I'm going to go clear the rest of the apartments. Try to get-." Joe trailed off, too busy staring at the Mack truck. Why, oh why was it a Mack truck? Joe shook his head and walked up the stairs, and readying his rifle. He wasn't going with the subtle approach anymore, shown by him kicking open the door the door next to the one Dick came out of. He went through each room in the apartment, then went on to the next one. This occurred for the next few apartments until he got to the last two. Joe decided to be cautious about these two, and he tried to twist the door knob on one. Locked. Taking in a deep breath, Joe kicked the door open, shining his light inside.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" An American voice rang out. Joe was confused, as he went inside, and saw a small group of living, breathing, non-violent humans cowering in the corner. "How many?" Joe asked, curious. What were civilians doing in the apartment? And why was it an American voice that shouted? "Five! Two adults, three kids!" The woman, obviously British from the accent, shouted. "Jeez, calm down, you don't need to shout. Go down stairs, there'll be two guys there, one in normal clothing and the other in a suit of armor. Wait for me." They nodded, and rushed down the hall. "Mike!" Joe shouted. "Civvies coming down!" Joe moved to the other apartment and kicked open the door. He was a bit impatient.

A familiar, bone-chilling shriek came out of the throat of the ghoul in front of him. Joe pulled the trigger, emptying half a clip into the former businessman's head. The zombie dropped to the floor, and Joe emptied the rest of his clip into the remains of the head of the Screamer.

After that, he headed down the hall, before his eyes caught a glimpse of a gray button up shirt. He snatched the shirt, and headed downstairs.

"Hey, what are you guys; Military?" The American man asked as Joe jumped down the rest of the steps. "Better question, why is an American in England?" "I moved here because of my job. Are you guys military or not?" Joe shook his head, then snorted.

"Us? Military? Mike wouldn't last two days in training!" Joe looked at Mike. "You know, authority issues." Joe looked back at the American. "And he steals things. Shiny things."

[God Mike]

"There still is, young one. The Resistance, as they call themselves, stole from the SAS armory, taking their assault rifles and their full metal jacket rounds. It's the only way to know if a place has been hit by either the Resistance or the SAS." Mike growled at the mention of that, and he put a hand on the bandages around his leg. So that 'Resistance' was the reason why he was shot, eh?

"Alright," Mike said, nodding. "I never forget a name. I'm putting this Resistance on my mental list of enemies. Shit, it's really getting long..." he muttered as he went over the list in his mind, putting 'Resistance' right under 'Screamers.'

"Hey, Mike. Look what I found." Mike glanced over at Joe, who was strapping on a ballistic vest. Mike didn't see the point of that, however. After all, Zombies didn't got for the body, and judging by Mike's wound, neither did the Resistance. The only ones he could protect himself from were those SAS punks. "I'm going to go clear the rest of the apartments. Try to get-." Mike grinned when Joe's eyes landed on the truck. Oh yeah, a Mack truck.

"Oh, sure, leave me to guard the Dick-In-A-Can..." Mike muttered as he watched Joe walking off. He looked down at the knight, who was sitting on a stool, sipping water. "So... A knight, huh?" Mike asked, trying to strike up a conversation. "How's that working out for you?"

The knight just glared at him, before going back to sipping his water. Mike nodded. "Yeah, I use swords as well," he continued, as if the knight had answered him. He unsheathed his ninja-to with a grin. "They're awesome. They slice and dice, and you know that while people are generally scared of people with guns, they will never forget a maniac who swings his swords around, screaming bloody murder."

"What part of my body language could possibly suggest that I have any wish to speak to you, boy?" the knight asked, obviously frustrated by Mike's talking.

"Oh, this and that. Your body says 'no, no,' but your soul says 'yes, yes,'" Mike explained, grinning. "I can see souls, you know. Could be hallucinations or just plain imagination, but I'm pretty sure that they're really souls."

"I believe you are quite honestly insane."

"Possibly," Mike admitted, nodding. "And that puts your life in all the more danger, doesn't it?" The knight barely had time to go wide-eyed, before Mike slashed his swords at him. "BLOODY MURDER!" The knight closed his eyes, waiting for death to come. However, when he opened his eyes, he saw that Mike's swords had stopped just an inch away from his neck.

Mike grinned widely. "See that? I bet you anything that this moment will be burned into your mind forever and ever and ever..." Sir Dick breathed a sigh of relief when Mike sheathed his swords.

"Mike!" came Joe's voice from upstairs. "Civvies coming down!" Oho! Civilians! Finally, some company! Mike looked up to see the family entering the garage, but then... he heard it... A bone-chilling scream echoed through the garage, and Mike couldn't help but yelp in fright and unsheathe his swords again, gripping them tightly. Screamer... Luckily, however, Joe apparently made quick work of the Screamer, putting many more bullets than necessary in it.

As Joe came back downstairs, Mike sighed in relief and sheathed his swords. "Man, I hate those things..." he muttered.

"Hey, what are you guys; Military?" the American in the family asked. Joe ignored him, however. "Better question, why is an American in England?" he asked, and the dude shrugged. "I moved here because of my job. Are you guys military or not?"

"Us? Military? Mike wouldn't last two days in training!" Mike took great offense to that statement, and he was about to speak up, but Joe beat him to it. "You know, authority issues." Oh, right... Mike grinned and nodded. "And he steals things. Shiny things."

"Shiny things rock," Mike admitted happily. He must've been quite a sight as he took off his jacket, showing that his wife beater, while covering up his chest, did little to cover up the multitude of scars on his shoulders and arms. His blood-soaked bandages on his left arm must've looked pretty intimidating, too, judging by the reactions of the kids.

Mike threw his jacket into the bed of the Wrecker and then climbed up on the roof of the Jeep, laying down. "Man, are we going to have to stay here long? I don't do well in tight spaces. Especially among people."

[Generalfoley]

"Shiny things rock," One of the kids, the boy - who seemed to be around, what, twelve, thirteen maybe - nodded his head. At that, Joe sighed. Great, a future Mike in the works. Oh, how he wept for the future. Joe put his new gray overshirt on the side of the bed, and put his rifle down. Taking off his bandolier and his vest, Joe slipped off his mostly sweat soaked shirt, showing his bare, equally sweat soaked athletic body. While he didn't have many scars like Mike, he had some nasty ones. There were three long gash scars along his back, along with what looked to be a slash wound on his right shoulder, and the small circular scar from the bullet he took in New York was still fresh. A large tattoo was on his right pectoral, a skull painted in the colors of Ireland, and another, smaller one was on his right shoulder, a motto that said 'Kill don Glóir, Die do go leor, Beo do na mórán', something he believed in when he was younger.

Maybe he still kinda did.

"Man, are we going to have to stay here long? I don't do well in tight spaces. Especially among people." Joe sighed. "Not much longer, mate."

Joe zipped open his duffel bag and pulled out a white t-shirt, putting it on so that the sweat didn't transfer to his new clothes. "So how did you two come across the firepower that you have? Ireland? Scotland?" The American asked. Joe looked at him, then at the M2 before he grabbed his shirt and put his arms through the sleeves. "America." Joe answered simply, buttoning up his shirt up to the second button down. He wanted some breathing room, after all. The American was somewhat speechless.

"America? As in USA America? How'd you get that thing across the Atlantic? And for that matter, why are you over here? Isn't the US still running?" Joe snorted before he rolled up his sleeves to the elbow. He looked back at the American. "America's gone, man. Well, not completely gone. There are a few large, working and independent settlements standing in the States. Nothing organized like we had back before the Outbreak, but nothing really is." Joe pulled out a pair of clean jeans that he had yet to wear, looted from a clothing shop in a town somewhere back in America.

"And we flew. Of course, our plane was taken by a weasel, but that's beside the point." Joe chuckled as he motioned at Mike. "He's still bummed out that he wouldn't be able to crash it into some historical landmark, like the Eiffel Tower, or the Leaning Tower of Piza." Joe thought for a moment, taking the jeans around the truck. It wouldn't do any good to scar the children, now would it? "You know, Mike, why didn't we think of crashing it into one of the Pyramids?" Joe took off his holsters, then threw the pants onto the side. He thew on the jeans, putting everything back in it's place. Joe took his knife from his jacket and put it in the sheath he had on the back of his belt, which went laterally across his back.

Walking back around, he picked up his vest, looking back at the two holes in it. Well, at least the guy who had worn it last broke it in for him. He put the vest on, then slipped his bandolier over his body. Taking off his gas mask, he looked inside. Then he smelled it. Bad move.

Joe held the mask away at arms length, blinking the tears out of his eyes. "My god, my breath smells." Joe remarked, pulling off his goggles. He looked at the family.

"Hey, you guys know if this place has running water or not?" The American nodded. "Yeah, the entire city has it, water and electricity anyway. We found that out when we got here from Manchester." Joe whistled before grabbing his toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste out of his duffel. "Manchester, eh? That's pretty far away, man." But, thinking through, he grabbed his bottle of water, and wet his toothbrush with the water inside. Joe looked at the kids, then the adults; then he sighed. He went back and pulled out a few MRE's, and handed them to the family. "Here, you guys look starved. Just read the instructions, and they'll be done to eat." Damn his charitable nature. Joe looked up at Mike and shrugged apologetically, before putting the toothpaste on the brush.

He looked back up at Mike, a strange look on his face. "Hey, Mike, why don't you go take a shower? You kinda stink, and those bandages have to be replaced anyway. I'll stay here and keep watch." Joe started brushing his teeth as he looked at the Knight, studying his armor. It must've been made by a great blacksmith, judging from the engravings on the plates. His sword, which he recognized as a claymore, was somewhat engraved as well, namely several "runes" near the base of the blade, before regular decorative carvings took hold. Joe noted that the "runes" and the engravings melded into each other where they met. Interesting. Finishing his brushing, Joe gurgled before he spat into a nearby trash bin. He took some cleaning solution out of his duffel - after putting away his other things - and started to clean out his gas mask. After a few minutes, he had finished, smelling the cleanliness of the mask now. He picked up his goggles and started cleaning those two, when the American spoke up.

"Hey, uh... can you here to help us?" Joe looked up at the man before he went back to cleaning his goggles. "Depends on what you need to be helped with." The American was about to speak before Joe beat him to it. "What's your name, man."

"Uh, Dan. Dan Rodriguez." "Well, Danny boy, what do you need help with?" Dan gulped, then asked, "Could you help me and my family get to the center of London? I heard that's where the SAS were located, and I heard they were taking in civilians for protection." Joe looked at the man with a raised eyebrow. Well, civilians were probably a priority now, but he wasn't so sure. "Please, man, I just want to keep my family safe." Joe stared at the man, then sighed.

"I'll have to talk to Mike about it." The Knight was strangely silent as all of this was going on.

[God Mike]

"Not much longer, mate."

Mike hummed thoughtfully as he stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't wait to take his Mack for a spin. "Hey, mister?" Mike blinked and looked down to see a little girl staring up at him. How old could she have been? Ten?

"Whatcha need, little miss?" Mike asked, grinning. He'd always been better with kids. Though he did scare them sometimes, most kids had the same sense of humor as he did. That's why he liked them. Not babies, though. Babies creeped him out with their unblinking eyes...

"How can you be like that?" the girl asked, obviously believing that Mike would know what she meant, not that he did. Probably talking about him scars. "Laughing... Aren't you scared?" Oh, she meant his carefree attitude. Mike smiled proudly. Yeah, that usually did freak people out, that he could laugh and be playful in these bloody times.

"Well, you need a bit of laughter in order to get through life," Mike said as he got off the Wrecker, slipping down to the floor and kneeling in front of the girl. "Just preserving your life isn't enough. Life isn't worth living if you don't know your alive. Preserving your life and enjoying it, however, now that's what you need to aim for. So I always just look at the bright side!" he said happily, then added under his breath, "Plus, raging insanity helps, too..."

"He's still bummed out that he wouldn't be able to crash it into some historical landmark, like the Eiffel Tower, or the Leaning Tower of Piza." Mike heard Joe say, and he rose again, the girl walking back to her mom as Joe looked at Mike. "You know, Mike, why didn't we think of crashing it into one of the Pyramids?"

Mike laughed. "Yeah, right! Crashing a plane into a pyramid in the middle of the desert! Hell, if the rest of the world has gotten this hot after the Outbreak, imagine what Giza is like. It should be a fucking oven." Mike shuddered. While he preferred heat over cold, he wasn't keen on self-barbeque...

Mike pretty much blocked out most of the conversation, although he did pick up on the American saying that they had electricity and running water. "Here, you guys look starved. Just read the instructions, and they'll be done to eat," Joe said as he handed over some MRE's to the family, before looking apologetically at Mike, who shrugged.

"Hey, I don't mind if you give away that army garbage," he said, then grinned. "It's if you decided to give away my ramen that we'll have a problem."

"Hey, Mike, why don't you go take a shower? You kinda stink, and those bandages have to be replaced anyway. I'll stay here and keep watch."

"Oho!" Mike said, his eyes widening. "Bluntness to the extreme, eh? I get it. Alright, I'll take a shower," he said and walked over to the bed of the Wrecker, pulling out a change in clothes, which consisted of a pair of fresh boxers (his sweat had probably burned through the ones he wore by now), a new wife beater, a pair of black cargo pants, and a cool jacket he'd seen Jason Statham wear in that movie, Crank High Voltage.

"Alright, then, I'm off," Mike said, only barely remembering to grab a soap and a towel as well. "Make sure no one touches the Zombie Mack," he ordered Joe, before skipping off upstairs. Bursting into the first best apartment he found, he headed straight for the bathroom and stripped, placing a revolver and a ninja-to within reach, before getting into the shower and turning it on.

"I believe I can fly~!" Mike sang as he washed up. "I believe I can touch the sky~! Na-na na-na-na-na blah blah-blah! I believe I can soar!"

Once he was washed up, toweled off and dressed, Mike pulled a couple of rolls of bandages out of his dirty pile of clothes and wrapped his wounds, before making his way down to the garage again. He decided to make a memorable entrance. Ignoring the fact that this would hurt like a bitch, Mike jumped down the stairs and dropped to an action roll as soon as he landed, ignoring the pain in his leg, and ended up in a kneeling position in front of Joe and the rest, his arms stretchs out to his sides as if to embrace them all.

"I BELIEVE I CAN FLY~~!"

[Generalfoley]

"Alright, then, I'm off. Make sure no one touches the Zombie Mack," With that, Mike disappeared up the stairs. Joe groaned, and Dan looked at the Irishman curiously.

"What's the groan for?" Joe looked up at Dan, then he motioned to the Mack truck with his hand. "He gave it a pet name. Now I know he'll never let it go."

"I believe I can fly~! I believe I can touch the sky~! Na-na na-na-na-na blah blah-blah! I believe I can soar!" Joe sighed as he screwed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. The children laughed at the singing, the adults smiled, but Joe sighed. Why? He had heard Mike singing in the shower every time he took one back at the Bunker. At first it was just amusing, but after a while it got old. He had forgotten about it, but now the ever-so familiar headache was back. Then he saw Mike walk down the stairs, and saw the mischief twinkle in his eye. This couldn't be good.

It turned out that Joe was right. Mike had jumped the last set of steps and went into a roll, before ending up in a kneeling stance with his arms as far out as a gay Broadway stage actor. "I BELIEVE I CAN FLY~~!" Joe internally groaned as the children and adults laughed, clapping, and the Knight bellowed out laughter like he was fucking Santa Claus or something.

"Alright, I'm next up for the shower," Joe said, pulling out a pair of clean boxers, socks, a bar of soap and a towel, seeing as he already had on the clothes he was going to wear. Besides, feeling old sweat meld with the new wasn't a pleasant sensation during a fight. "Be back in a minute." Joe walked up the stairs, then walked back down. "And Dan, tell Mike what you told me." Joe walked back up the stairs as he went into a random, non-zombie inhabited apartment, and set up his stuff. He hummed to himself as he took his shower, thinking of what Mike would say to Dan's plea. After a few minutes, Joe had turned off the shower, toweled himself off, and dressed.

Joe walked down the stairs, hearing Dan finish the end of his plea. Joe looked at Mike, and raised an eyebrow.

"What do you think, Mike? You take your," Joe sighed. "Zombie Mack, I take the Wrecker, and we head to the center of London to drop them off before we go our way." Joe walked over to the pants he had set on the side of the Wrecker's bed, and unstrapped the knee pads from them, putting them on his current pair of pants. He zipped everything up, and put his rifle in the cabin of the Wrecker.

Joe looked at Mike, and shrugged. "It's your call, man. I know you hate 'assignments', but my vote's with we help them."