"Well, depends on what type of zombies are chasing me. In case of runners (btw in not a bad ass guy what will get machinegun in outbreak unless ill find it somewhere in military outpost or gunshop, its just funny when people write about crazu badass…"
"And you would obtain the acid how? And put it in the Super Soaker how? And keep it from eating through the Super Soaker how? And die how? I know the answer to the last: Get burned by the acid, then get eaten by zombies as you were writhing around in…"
"This is the NSA! Open up or we'll break down the door!" a muffled voice came from behind the door. Of course, no one answered. The warehouse has been abandoned for years. Not even the homeless guy with the Irish accent lives there anymore.
"We're coming in!"
There was a loud BOOM! and the door got blasted away in a shower of splinters. There was wood and dust everywhere.
"Alright, boys, sweep the building!" that was my boss, Special Agent Rivers.
So we were all over the warehouse like clockwork. Just like always. Ten seconds later...
"I was clear fifteen minutes ago." I am so witty. Gets me in trouble a lot.
Now I'm sure we all realized what we were seeing, but it just needed some time to sink in. I mean, c'mon. Even the most hardened war veteran would be surprised at something like this.
"Jesus. Mother. Fucking. Christ...Who the hell lived here again?"
I take the wood and dust part back, there were GUNS everywhere. Barrett M82A1s, AK-47s, Ster AUG A3s, FN FILs, Colt .45s, P90s, Desert Eagles, .22s, even homemade guns. There were IEDs, plastic explosives, riot armors, suppressors, Dragonskin vests, Kevlar, tear gas and smoke grenades, crowbars, combat knives, machetes, ammo crates the size of Ayers Rock...hell, there was enough firepower here to invade North Korea, Fort Knox, and Mount Olympus.
Oh, and my favorite part, the RPGs. Just hanging on the wall.
"No one answered my question. Who the hell lived here?"
"Either Rambo, Bin Laden, or Hitler's grandson. Damn, I've never seen a weapons stockpile bigger than the one in the FBI headquarters in DC."
Let's rewind back a bit, just to fill you in on what happened.
"...either Rambo, Bin La..."
Heh, nice one.
"Jesus. Mother. Fu..."
I love that one, but no. A little bit more.
"...own the door!"
Alrighty then...A lot more.
"There's been a 911 ca..."
This one's it. Let's start from the beginning.
"Alright you guys. There's been a 911 call regarding a suspicious man walking around a nearby warehouse holding an AK-47 and a rocket propelled grenade slinged on his back."
"What is it this time, Agent Marks?"
"You rarely get RPGs in the States anymore."
"That's why it's so suspicious, and that's why were going there right now. Get your guns and let's go."
We were already on our way when I decided to go get my personal anti-tank missile from my car. Hey, they had a freakin' RPG. No use taking any chances.
Shit, I watch Futureweapons too much.
Anyway, I stuffed it in the spare tire compartment of the SUV, making sure no one saw it, of course, and we drove off.
And then here we are. In a warehouse filled with nothing but raw firepower.
"Hey, sir, take a look at this."
Have you ever seen those big screens in a war room, maybe in NORAD? Well, this is nothing like it. There was a laptop there connected to five car batteries that had a Playboy slideshow screensaver on.
"Well, well. What's this?" I mumbled, staring at a Playboy bunny on the screen.
"If they're still powered on, then that means someone's been here recently. In fact, they might still be here, hiding."
"Well then, everybody thoroughly search the warehouse. If you see anyone, secure them and call someone."
They all left the laptop room and continued their search, but I stayed. I got curious about what the laptops contained. Besides, I wanted to stare at the screensaver a bit more. I reluctantly pressed the space button twice to get out the of screensaver, and what I saw surprised me. This guy didn't have a wallpaper, and he didn't need one. It wouldn't have been seen anyway. Except for a Notepad icon on the top left side, the whole screen was covered with Notepad Documents, from Introduction to Journal # something. Hasn't this guy ever heard of folders?