Left 4 Dead – Tank – No Mercy

I lumber my way though the wreckage, not really sure what I am meant to do any more. I used to have a family, be a famous body builder, and have an amazing life. Then the disease hit the eastern coast of the United States. It spread like wild fire, hitting city after city, town after town, insignificant person to insignificant person, until only those immune to this terrible… zombify-ing disease were left completely human. I cannot speak as eloquently as I think, because the disease also effected my vocal chords, and my capacity to do anything aside from crush, rip, smash, and yell “rawr.”
And then the instinct hits.
I smell humans. Four of them. Three male, one female. A relatively small pack, when taking into consideration the numbers that my kind travel in. Hordes, they call them. Numbering by the hundreds, maybe even thousands, these mindless peons wander about as aimlessly as I do. But they have already begun the hunt, long before I had even noticed.
Perhaps my senses are dulling.
At any rate, I step outside a building, possibly an old habituation used by the humans – us – a long time ago. Time moves at a strange pace for my fellow “infected,” as the immune humans refer to us. It is as if we are stuck in a limbo of time, waiting to either have our heads blown off by the immunes, thinking we are mindless zombies and they are the ones who have all the right to do so; or to have a cure for this infection created by those aforethought humans. Perhaps not all of them are as bad as they seem.
But my instinct is too strong to overcome.
Unwillingly, I break into a dead sprint at the smell of humans. I burst out, ripping the tar from the earth and throwing it as if it were a small pebble. Possibly one of the only good things from this illness, that some of us, some of the relatively lucky, had superior mutations when we succumbed to this … this… this thing. I gained even more strength and body mass then I could have ever dreamed of having when I was a human. When I was normal.
And then the pain hits.
“Holy shit! A Tank!” One of the males screams, one with many drawings on his tan, human skin. And he starts unloading a clip of shredding bullets into my muscular, inhuman skin.
“RAAAAWR” I scream, a cry filled to the brim with blood-curling pain and killer instinct. The long-dried tar I had thrown had hit another one of the humans in the head, this time the female.
“Oh fu-“ was all she managed to say. She was lying unconscious, as the horde was clustering around her, all clawing into her with their nails and teeth. I punch the many-pictured one, and he slams with a sickening crunch into the wall.
“Dammit! Not Francis!” Screams another one of the males, this one wearing a red… tie, I believe it was called.
No time to think, the next action continued to overpower me.
I charge again, this time into one that was staying behind, blowing the heads off of my brethren. This one was the last of the males, and he seemed the frailest of all, and yet he gave off a certain air of power. Almost as if he were the leader of the small pack. Like a father figure.
And my arm almost raised itself to strike.
This one was unconscious before he hit the ground, or possibly before he even left the ground. All that was left was the one wearing the red tie. And he was already being taken care of by one of the ones they called “Smokers.” The rest of the horde closed in, and began their terrifying feast.

What do you think? I thought it was pretty good for about 10 minute's effort.

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