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Killing Floor; A story... Obviously
Topic Started: May 16 2005, 02:27 AM (171 Views)
Neo_uk
Member Avatar
Smellheadface
Ok, heres a lil background information to the story

I started up a mod called Killing Floor for UT2004 a while ago, and now we've released an Singleplayer version of the demo ... if u've got ut2004 check it out! :D

Its won mod of the month for www.moddb.com and is being featured in PC Gamer :D. Anyway

File size : 62mb

Warning : This demo is old and lame compared to the beasty stuff thats going on now...



Anyway background story to killing floor:

Imagine 28 Days later.... then imagine Resident Evil.... Now mush them together and you have killing floor.

Basically an infection has broken out over the land which turns people into "zombies" although they run, and rip u up and stuff... Although they are more like very ugly, very angry and very dangerous humans :P.

ANyway, hundreds of thousands of people have been killed and/or infected, and the police and army have been split up and now their simply small pockets of resistance, and now its just a desperate struggle to stay alive.

The story is set in London, the birthplace of the infection:




STORY **no way near finished**:


John and I finally made it to the stairway. Upon arriving at the bottom of the stairs we took the time to check our equipment, ammo and whatever else that helped us in our slow, tiring and painful journey to death.
I throw all the magazines and boxes of bullets I had horded from our supply run to the city streets, and John continued to do the same.
A small pile of bullets, magazines and a few packets of dried fruits had formed at the bottom of the stairs. It wasn’t long until we realised that we had spent more energy and ammunition GETTING to the streets and the shops than we had retrieved.
It was always times like these when it doesn’t seem worth the energy… John slumped down on to the stairs and curled up into a ball, crying. I felt I couldn’t… There was nothing worse than being caught in a fit of tears and torn apart… I’ve seen that happen too many times…
I pulled the cabinets from the walls and threw them to the ground as a makeshift barricade against the dark and gloomy corridors we had come from.
We decided earlier that morning, that we needed some more supplies. After Tony had fallen sick a few days before and needed all the food we had, we needed to get some more. The only way of getting more food and other equipment was to find a way to the city streets and search the maggot infested bodies and the ransacked buildings and shops.
This “adventure” was a weekly choir, and so far, every trip has resulted in a casualty or one of our teammates going missing, but luckily that didn’t happen this time… I think that if I had lost John, I wouldn’t be able to carry on… Getting dragged into a dark and damp corner to be eaten alive by my neighbours, family and friends was a better alternative. But then I think about Tony… He can barely talk, let alone defend himself. Of all people, he is the most optimistic… I would give my life a thousand times to preserve the flickering happiness he gave in this black cloud of hell.

John had got over his incident and got back to the mission in hand. The doorway above us lead us to the roof tops of a giant Tesco’s store and from there we would have to walk across the bridge to find our way to our safe place.
Unfortunately, the supermarket below always attracted the hungry infected; the stench of the rotting meat downstairs was like curry to a pisshead.

John and I stuffed everything back into our pockets and webbing and got ourselves ready for the possible problems up ahead. I gave John my spare bullpup magazine and started up the stairs.
We could see the various floodlights across the rooftops. Our original groups set out to set up as many of these as we could. These were our only ropes back to hope. Without these flood lights we would see next to nothing. The electricity went out months ago, and the black clouds from the untamed city fires blocked the majority of moonlight we could get.

As we reached the top of the stairs, I slowly opened the door on to the roof… Nothing.
For once there wasn’t a hunched over infected somewhere, feasting on a fallen crow or rat. This gave us clear run to the bridge we had made and up to our outpost.
We hopped onto the bridge and ran across to the other side. I crouched down behind the wall and covered John while he dragged the bridge up and across. Thankfully the infected generally can’t get across this gap, but some manage to grasp on, but a boot to the fingers normally sorts out the problem and the sight of the blood ridden body falling to the dark alleys below was probably the best feeling of the week.
John and I lifted the bridge onto our shoulders and jogged back to our outpost.
I call it an outpost, but it’s more of a big barricade. From debris and random office utilities we had made a “bunker” type shelter. It’s separated into three rooms. There’s the toilet area, which is just a bucket and some papers we find on the desks and in the filing cabinets. The second room is the bedrooms; we discovered that lying on papers and bags of vegetables from downstairs is actually quite comfortable.
Although we don’t get much sleep and what sleep we get is haunted by our thoughts, we find enough energy to do what we do.
We call the third room the supply room, we put all our ammunition, food, water and fuel in there and we also have an oven-like machine.
The floodlight just outside the outpost uses a fuel-powered generator, and at times when light would do nothing but draw attention, we hook it up to the cooker and have some morale boosting hot soup.
At first we thought that we could just light a fire using the flint and steel sets we were given, but its only now that you realise you can’t start a fire, because all the material is soaked in rain or blood.

Back within the first month of infection, a friend once told me that this situation isn’t so different from our everyday lives. He said,

“From the four weeks of infection, this is what I’ve seen… People killing people. Which is much the same as what I saw in the four weeks before that… and the four weeks before that, and before that, as far back as I care to remember… People killing people. Which, in my mind, puts us in a state of normality right now…”

He was right… But he was wrong. These people killing people… They aren’t people. They’re some sort of hellish creature that could of come from no other place than hell itself…

Religion plays a huge part in our survival. People criticise religion and it’s beliefs when there’s nothing they need it for, but when you living only to die, you spend nights and days thinking, hoping, wishing for there to be something or someone to guide you through your actions and what remains of your life. And it’s that that stops us from taking our lives. It helps us justify what we do, and what has happened. For example, about two weeks ago, we saw Paul, our section commander, being pulled into a shop window and torn into three parts… by his own brother…
It’s times like this, when people need religion. That’s what religion is… a state of mind to feel relaxed and seek security in.
Knowing that your doing this for a better tomorrow is what makes us carry on, and it’s that that brings us courage and determination to do what we need to do.

I feel so strongly connected with John and Tony ever since the incident about a month and a half ago. When we were searching for materials and objects to help us build the outpost. We had got attack when we were carrying beds and cabinets from M.F.Is three blocks away. I had trapped my arm underneath the bed and was left on the floor in front of the infected horde. My team had started to run back to the rooftops and left me to face my almost certain fate, until I heard Paul and John running back towards me. Both of them used all ammo they had and resorted to using the broken bed legs and poles to keep me alive.

Obviously they succeeded or I wouldn’t be here to tell the story.

When we got back Tony was the same as when we left him. In fact, I think he was better. All he did was laugh when he saw us dragging ourselves into our safe place.
I asked him how he was feeling,

”I’m alright now, Tom”, he said huskily,

“Good…”

“Did you get any of the goodies?”

“No… Well… We did, but it’s nothing fantastic… A few boxes of bullets… Dried fruit”,

Tony let out a very disappointed sigh.

”Damn I hate that stuff… Please don’t tell me it’s dried apricots…” he asked

I unleashed the bad news upon him, and he let out another very disappointed sigh and then said

“Ah well…”, and continues with his carving.

We were told by our section commanders to start “personalising” our weapons and equipment. Other than the fact is relieved us from our thoughts and took our mind off of reality, we did it so that if we stumbled across a torn apart carcass, we could identify who the person was, and what “tribe” he was from, by his equipment.
A tribe was a nickname we gave to the different teams that were deployed throughout the cities.
From identifying where one of these tribesmen have fallen, we can come to a conclusion whether they’re running from something (in which case we must get prepared) or are in search for us, in which case there’s something we should know.
…It’s not all good though. It limits us in terms of what we can scavenge and take. We would only take unmarked weapons or weapons and equipment that has only been slightly marked.
We have deep respect for the people who this body once belonged to, but we now live in a world where what you do in death can be just as important as what you do in life. We survivors take it as a compliment that our stuff should be used, and thankful that our bodies haven’t been so torn apart that it would be worthless to attempt scavenging stuff.
Every action we do in life is to reflect upon what happens in death. It’s no longer a single-dimensioned situation. Some things that may be beneficial to us in the short term could be very unbeneficial for others in the long term, and our belief is that the people in the future are more important that us, because we may just be those people in the future or if not, those people have done something worthy to survive for that length of time.
Within the time I have spent talking to you, John had started taking out all the bullets from each half empty magazine, and then refilling them so that the majority of the magazines were full. This saves time from reloading and it also means that we can lay down some real fire support instead of firing off about thirteen rounds, then having to reload.

I laid back against the cabinets and tables and did the same… It’s times like these when I realise that the city is never quiet… It used to always be humming with car engines and people talking, but now it’s haunted by distant screams, windows smashing, the crackling of fires and the knocks and bashes off the infected in the building below us… The thought was terrifying at first.
None of us could sleep because we knew there was only about a foot of concrete between us, and the hungry infected below.
But we gradually grew used to it, in fact, we have grown so used to it, that it helps us fall to sleep listening to how many times a one legged infected fell over in a space of ten minutes.

I suppose this situation wasn’t as bad as I have made it out to be… There are its ups-

“What was that!” John shouted

Tony dropped his knife and loaded up his pistol. We sat there silently waiting for another sound.
It sounded like the door on the Tesco’s building that we had just come through slammed open…
There wasn’t another sound. John lent over to me and whispered

“Shall we take a look?”

After a slight pause I nodded. I knew that the chances that this would be good are extremely small, and as time continued, the chance that this was good was rapidly crawling into a ball and dying slowly in some dark and cold corner.
I helped up Tony and got him into a good defence position before me and John went to investigate.

We could only see about 4 foot in front of us, so we needed to transfer power from the cooker to the flood lights, and quickly. John kept an eye out while I did some of the fiddly work.
After a few seconds of getting to know where everything was, I set up the floodlight…
The easy part was over… The hard part is when you suddenly clap eyes on the foul beast…

John and I got into a good firing position and got ready to flick the switch…

Our hearts were both thumping, as if trying to break out of our chests. No matter how much we do this, I don’t think it will ever get easier.

Flick…

The loud humming sound thumped up and the lights quickly powered up, blinding us for a few seconds. When the white haze left our eyes all we could see was the door down to the stairs, swinging on it’s hinges… The anxiety had left but the fear was still there. Although we realise that this incident is quite harmless and we must of left the door loose, we still weren’t entirely sure. John ran back inside and dragged the bridge part of the way to me.
I didn’t want to go over there, but I didn’t want to leave it how it is. That door is an indicator, an early warning sign. Usually, when this happens, it’s because one of the infected had smelt us from in the corridors, and followed our scent.

We pulled the bridge up to the ledge, and stopped to analyse the situation when

– BANG BANG… BANG….

We both swung round and saw one of these infected drop to it’s knees and saw the puddle of blood suddenly build up at it’s base.

It’s throat contracted and started to choke as the blood trickled down from the burning tunnel through the roof of its mouth.

Finally it fell to the ground and slowly stopped breathing, and revealed three bleeding bullet holes, in its spine, head and somewhere around the liver.

Our focus was then on Tony who had a slight smile on his face as he unloaded the magazine and started to fill it up again from one of his spares.

I couldn’t help smiling either… It’s moment like these when you release how important you are to everyone and how important everyone is to you.
John wasn’t smiling though. He was still in shock… In the same position with the same face…

I suppose I don’t blame him… The problem with infected sometimes… Is they get up again… Very rarely, but sometimes they do…

John then reached for his knife, and I did the same. There wasn’t anything worse than a returning infected so we had learnt the quickest and most deadly ways of opening the doors of death and kicking him head first into it.

The first place to cut was the throat, a straight cut through the windpipe and artery, the next was under the left armpit to get the heart, and secondly (if need be) a good, strong kick to the base of the neck.
It was vital that we cleaned up after operations like this, and that’s where the main problem of this situation comes from… We can get the virus through the same ways as we AIDs. Fluid transfer… The possible ways of becoming infected are the following. Blood transfer, if blood is somehow introduce into the system, so for example swallowing the blood, or getting the blood into a cut or through major orifices. The second is saliva transfer; obviously this is if the saliva from an infected being is transferred into the human system. The third way of infection is through a sexual act, having sex or anything sexually related is likely to turn you into one of these… But I don’t think that’s likely to happen…
Luckily though, the infection isn’t equally spread through the system. Although there are traces of the virus clung onto one in every three blood cells, there are some areas more infected than others.
A majority of the infection is located in the cerebral vicinity. The infected cells clot in many places throughout the brain, some places are more likely infected than others. The sections of the brain that are likely to clot are:

Almost all sensory areas are partially clotted; the visual cortex is generally slightly clotted resulting in what is known as rage-sight. Unfortunately, I can’t remember all the areas of the brain that are partially clotted, but there are few.

This is where the name, clot, for the basic infected comes from…

It is thought that the collagen from flesh help fuel the Infected cells. The more fuelled the infected cells are, the more they clot and the worse the infection gets. As the clots get bigger and consume more of the brain, the skin discolours, toughens and causes a carapace effect. The bone structures and muscles also grow, resulting in tall, dark beasts capable of pretty much anything, and can with stand a lot more.
These ferocious but rare beasts are nicknamed “Fleshpounds”.

We understand the basics, but there’s one hell of a lot we don’t know about the infection. It is thought that the infected cells work in the same way as the HIV virus does.
It is also thought that the virus affects everyone/thing differently, in the way that some areas of the brain are affected more in one person, but not in the other…

Anyway, away from the technical stuff, all we need to know is keep the fluids away. This leads us to a problem, because our equipments needs washing a lot... Luckily it also rains a lot nowadays, and with a bit of perseverance, we managed to make a basic tap using collected rainwater.
We would only use the water from the taps as a source of drink in the most extreme worse cases.
Usually we use what is called a dew catcher, which is a separate plastic sheet that collects dew and leads it down to a jug. We then boil up the water and drink it in that way.

After we carried out the final measures, we dragged the body to the ledge and threw it off. We then dropped the bridge and closed the door on the other buildings as quickly as we could. We didn’t want to touch too much as we have infected blood all over our hands s we quickly did it, took up the bridge and washed ourselves.

Later that night, we still heard the bangs and crashes from down below, but the clouds subsided and the long-missed moonlight shone down on our faces for a first time about a week and a half.

I woke up at around 7:30am, only to find Tony happily humming a song and doing some more carving on his shotgun stock.
We all had bullpups, but Tony had managed to scavenge an unmarked shotgun. He never used it… He said that it was too valuable to waste. I suppose he has got a point, because that sort of weapon is hard to find and an unmarked one is even harder. The untouched and large piles of shotgun shells were reassuring. It’s always good to know that you have something to fall back on.
John had found himself a Desert Eagle, nicknamed the “handcannon”. We found it on top of a chest of draws in some old lady’s house… It’s not surprising, because she was well known through the streets from when I was living back at home. There was always a problem, when she’d walk into Tesco’s, brandishing a machete… The sweet old lady didn’t realise what a nasty piece of work that is (we still haven’t been able to find it… we’ve looked everywhere in her house).

I was stuck with the same old. I hadn’t been able to get my hands on anything beasty enough, although I did find a broken hunting rifle… But that’s not something to be particularly happy about. It was just my luck for it to be broken.

John woke soon after I did and we started to talk about what we had planned for the day.
Tony put down his knife and John got into a comfortable position.

“So what we gonna do today?” I asked cheerfully

”I don’t know… I’m not well enough to join you on one of our pleasant adventures but I think that I can help out around this place”, Tony replied

”That’s alright, Tone.” John said “But Tom… I think that we should go back down to the streets and find some more ammunition… I’m down to one mag…”

I hesitated for a while… I hated going down to the city streets, because it generally means me having to see something I don’t want to. But I continued.

”Hmm… I suppose we should… I only got one magazine too”…

“Plus it’s daylight, and early daylight so we got plenty of time”

Oh yeah, that… The other thing with these infected creatures is they aren’t too keen of the day. I’m not saying that they’re vampires and burn up in the sun, but they use this time to, what we can only describe as, sleep.
They don’t lie down and sleep; instead they hide in ridiculously hard to reach places and stop… They’re still breathing, and still conscious of what’s happening, for example, they will follow you with their eyes if you walk past them… But they just don’t do anything.
The doctor once told me that it’s because the body fighting back to get control… The daylight and the warm helps our natural defence system relieves the pressure the clot puts on the infected brain.

But…

This is doesn’t by any shadow of the imagination mean that they’re safe… If you get to close they will still attack.
Some of the infected that have been under the virus for along time have got to the stage where they are no longer affected by this procedure caused by our bodies…

I grabbed my bullpup and John grabbed his. Tony threw us both, a magazine from his collection. I knew that one day I had to repay him with one of mine, but I couldn’t spend time thinking about it. We both thanked him, and stepped into the relaxing light.

It was so good to feel the sun on your face and on your equipment. It’s an early morning morale boost. As if nature was on our side… After all we had done to the world, it was still there to help us.

We told Tony to try and rearrange some of the stuff that made our outpost, so that there was a bigger room for supplies, and for him to empty the toilet.

We pulled up the bridge and set it down over the two buildings and hopped across.
We noticed the bloody handprints on the door and decided to not go through the dingy corridors and looked for another way down.

On the other side of the building was an elevator. We weren’t sure if it was in a good enough condition to use, but we thought we’d try it. We shouted over to Tony what we were doing and started calling up the lift.
At first it didn’t sound promising… John pressed the button and nothing happened… He tried it again… And again, and again and again… But nothing happened.
John took a look at the button to see if there was anything wrong with it until I suddenly remembered from my Saturday job at a supermarket.
The lift doesn’t activate unless both doors on both the top end and bottom end are properly closed.
I pulled the door open and slammed it back into place.
John pushed the button and the lift started its journey upwards to us.

We were quite worried about the deep, rumbling sound the lift was making… John and I both discussed the possibilities of it awakening the sleeping infected.

The lift slammed to a halt as it locked into place at the very top of the building.

John casually opened the lift door…

There wasn’t anything in the lift other than a dodgy light that flickered and distorted our view.

We hesitated, but decided to go inside.

We slammed the doors shut, and once again we were plunged into darkness. The thump from the doors must of finally broken the light…

Next plan of action was to find which button led us to bottom floor and onto the streets.
John lit a match and I went to press the button that was labelled ‘Floor’.

The lift made it’s way back down to the bottom floor. The thick metal rope was creaking against the elevator, and some of the twisted edges scraped along the dark cement walls.

The lift slammed to a halt… The doors opened and it felt like the gateway to hell…
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Rubberhead
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Fatscat Kittycat
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Not bout time to go to bed Neo? ;)

That's a very good story for the mod, clearly sets the right mood.
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