Okay, been awhile since I had the chance to write something, because of college and stuff. Sure, I write almost every day and all. It's just that it's all writing for a boring class I'd rather not take if I didn't need it to meet general education requirements. Anyway, I don't really know what else to say here, and I don't have anything to rant about for a change. (Crazy, I know!)

I have to say though, I really enjoyed writing this. It was super fun.

So let's just get to it then.

DISCLAIMER: This is a disclaimer. Pretend I bothered to look like I care about saying DF doesn't belong to me.

OUTSKIRTS OF FORT PASTOR – 9:30 PM (Going by Sherwin's last announcement)

Two men stood nearby the only open entrance into the (relative) safety of the outpost. One of them was carrying an unidentifiable assault rifle (Seriously, the thing had the crap modded out of it. I don't even know if you could call it an assault rifle anymore. I mean, last time I checked, assault rifles didn't barf heat-seeking mini rockets. Of course, this particular weapon didn't shoot rockets at all, let alone heat-seeking ones, so I have no idea what the hell I'm talking about. By modded I meant that it was just pink. Hot pink. Tacky hot pink. Why the hell would anyone want a hot pink assault rifle? Not a clue, just roll with it.), while the other seemed to be carrying nothing but a wooden baseball bat. The man with the baseball bat had it slung over his shoulder, while wearing a pair of smudged shades, leaning against a fence, trying to look all cool and bad-ass.

Although he was already a bad-ass. It's just that nobody notices your bad-assery unless you're also cool. Which is something he happened to lack. And no amount of cool-kid leaning on inanimate objects was going to help him any. In fact, in the long run, it would probably just lead to back problems.

But he doesn't need to know that.

Anyway, these two fine fellows were standing guard, doing things guard standing guard do. Like lean on things, call each other names, and pick their noses. Not as in picking each other's noses, because that would just be creepy.

For now on, up until they get a proper introduction with names, we'll just call them Pinky and Cool Kid.

It was a pretty calm night. There hadn't been any major zombie-related issues. Sure there was that one infected that somehow found a skateboard, learned how to ride it somewhat, and then charged at Pinky at full speed while riding it, but that was more of an annoyance, since it hit a loose rock and flung itself head-first into the side of a building and died from brain injury. Not all infected are created equally, and I guess some of them just have skulls that rival a wad of soggy toilet paper.

Then Pinky picked up the sound of shuffling footsteps coming from the muggy darkness that surrounded the outpost (And pretty much every single other place in the world that didn't have some sort of lighting at 9:30 in the night).

"Heey, you hear that?" Pinky said, daring not to look over at his current partner.

"Yeah," said Cool Kid, "Doesn't sound like one of them damn mutants though. Sounds like boots or something."

"But this late at night I doubt there would still be someone dumb enough to stay that far outside. Unless…OH MY GOD! WHAT IF THEY LEARNED HOW TO WEAR SHOES? WE'RE DOOMED! DOOMED I TELL YA!"

Cool Kid slapped his partner across the face. "Get it together man. Bad shit always happens if you don't keep your cool!"

Pinky calmed down just enough to see the outline of a human-shaped figure in the inky darkness.

"Oh Christ! It's here, right in front of us!" Pinky readied his gun, ready to shoot the entity full of metallic death.

"Cool it! Hold up a bit," Cool Kid demanded. He then turned towards the advancing figure. "If you understand, stop right where you are. Come any closer and this guy will reform your body into swiss cheese. "

"God damnit! I finally forgot about that stuff, and you bring it up again! DON'T TALK ABOUT FOOD I'LL NEVER GET TO EAT AGAIN!"

"Uh, whoops. Sorry 'bout that."

The human-shaped figure stopped without a sound.

"Oh. So you do understand, huh? Well I have to make sure you're not some super intelligent deathbringing zombie dude and all, so bear with me here." Cool Kid paused for a moment to think of a suitable task. "Wave for me."

The human-shape waved one of its appendages. More than likely its arm. Well hopefully its arm.

"Right. Uh, roll over."

"Dude, this thing isn't some pet dog or something," mentioned Pinky.

"Oh, right. Uh. I knew that. Erm, do an interpretive dance for me. I think that should verify things."

"What if it's a ballerina zombie or something?"

"Wait, they have those?"

"Hell if I know."

The human-shaped figure just shrugged.

"No idea how to dance? Me either. At least we ruled out you being a ballerina zombie."

"Just say something," declared Pinky.

"Damn. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Can I come in now?" said the mysterious entity.

"There, problem solved." Said Pinky.

Cool Kid turned to look at his partner. "Wait. How do you go from flip-out mode to calm, collected, intelligent mode so fast like that?"

"Oh," Pinky blinked. "I guess you're right. I didn't even notice."

"No really," said the mysterious entity. "Standing in the dark is starting to get annoying."

"Oh! Oh, right!" exclaimed Pinky, who had completely forgotten about the mysterious entity standing in the darkness. "Come on, come on."

Out of the darkness walked a priest, carrying nothing but the battle axe strapped to his back.

"Oh shit," said Cool Kid, "We left a priest waiting in the dark like that. We're so totally going to hell."