The Zombie Force: Chapter 2

Guess what? That's right! The second chapter is out! Yay! I command you to read!
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2.

STRANGE’S RAGE

Nixion Strange was pissed. It wasn’t surprising though, not even to himself. Not anymore. These days he was almost always pissed. Admittedly even before he had been kidnapped he had a habit of getting pissed at the tiniest things. However, under the brainwashing and the torture and the goddamned bone breaking, Nixion now got pissed and just about everything, even if it was something that he should be quite pleased with. He got pissed at fighting, he got pissed at Mist, he got pissed at punching bags, he got pissed at his machete, he got pissed at Mist, he got pissed at zombies, he got pissed at vampires, he got pissed at elementals, he got pissed at adepts, he got pissed at Mist he got pissed at himself and he got pissed at technology. Mist pissed him off most of the time though. Ever since they met Mist had been pissing Nixion off and Nixion had done his best to piss off Mist too. He did not show it but he quite liked the moments where he succeeded in pissing off Mist, though did not get to savour them often as most of the time he was pissed when Mist was.

Nixion sat on a dirty lounge with a huge gash across the middle of it with stuffing slowly floating out of it each time he shifted his position. He particularly hated this lounge for multiple reasons but mainly because it amused Mist to watch him get pissed at it. Nixion always got pissed at this lounge yet he always sat on it and that lounge only. One day at a time when he was particularly angry, Nixion had put a huge gash through the lounge with his machete. He had thought it looked good on it at the time but the stuffing begun to leak out of it the second he sat back down again. The stuffing floated into the air and annoyed Nixion’s nose and eyes causing him to shift his position multiple times which only made the stuffing worse. Each time it got too much Nixion would hurl a fist into the lounge and settle back down again before repeating the process. The entire thing seemed to amuse Mist to no end and one of the things Nixion got pissed at more than Mist was Mist being amused while he was pissed. That made him even more pissed. And Nixion was always getting steadily more and more pissed every time he was pissed. Either way, he continued to sit on the lounge with his arms crossed and eyes closed, failing the attempt to ignore the stuffing that floated around his head. However, currently he was not being pissed at the lounge; his attention was focused on the zombies. Nixion had always hated zombies, but since two days ago when Mist had had to help Nixion back to their base of operations after the attack, his dislike for them had increased tenfold. Of course, he was angry at Mist as well, but he mainly blamed the zombies. It was their entire fault. The way he saw it was that of they hadn’t suddenly formed an enormous army of increased strength then he and Mist wouldn’t have had to meet and discuss what they were going to do about it. And if they hadn’t met and agreed that they needed a team of people powerful enough to combat the tide of zombies in order to stop the infestation spreading all over Australia, then Nixion wouldn’t have had to go and get the first recruit, Lyra Blue. And if he hadn’t had to go and find Blue then the zombies would never had seen him. And if the zombies had never seen him then he would never have had to fight around a hundred of them with Mist. And if they had never had to take down the zombies two days ago then Nixion would never had accidentally been put on fire by Mist instead of a zombie and if that hadn’t have happened then Mist wouldn’t have had to help him back to their base. So in the end it was really all the zombie’s fault. And that was, really, the only reason Nixion was still helping Mist; he wanted the zombies gone. And he didn’t actually trust Mist and whatever team he was organizing to take down the zombies on their own. So what did he need to do? He needed to kill the zombies.

It was as simple as that.

Nixion opened his eyes, having had enough of simply sitting there, and stood up from the lounge. As though disappointed that they no longer had anyone to annoy, the bits of stuffing floated to the ground and remained there the second Nixion vacated the area. The base of operations they had was large. Mist had found it, he had said, many years ago, abandoned. It was underground and so they had as much room as they needed down here; should they ever need any more extensions then they could simply cave more dirt away from the outsides of the base. The ceiling was high up and even the room Mist liked to call the “Relaxation Room”, the one Nixion was currently in, was huge. It held around two dozen lounges and comfortable looking chairs. Naturally, Nixion’s lounge was the only one actually unclean. The lights cast a gloomy kind of scenery over the place which only added to Nixion’s mood at the moment. Feeling the need to relieve some of his frustration, Nixion strode quickly away from the lounge and towards another door. Mist sat behind a desk in another room Nixion could only see due to the large glass window that allowed him to oversee everything happening in the relaxation room. He wasn’t observing now, of course, he was writing something, probably a debriefing thing for all the recruits to read when they arrived. He could be so stupid at times. Most of the time Nixion reflected. He left the room, passed through a heavy and into the room that served as his “Personal Quarters” as Mist called it. He did not understand why Mist had actually given each room proper names; they were only rooms after all. But then Mist was always deranged. Nixion’s room consisted of a bed, a small table with three machete’s sitting on top of it and a large punching bag hanging in the middle of the room. Nixion leaped for the punching bag at once and hurled a fist into it as hard as he could, causing it to sway slightly. He proceeded with his opposite hand and continued alternating. Soon Nixion begun to sweat, but instead of tiring, this only made him more determined to basically obliterate the punching bag. He didn’t use any techniques, no tactics, just fist after fist after fist after fist. Each time he struck the next attack was more brutal and heavy and a glare soon intensified until he looked as though he was trying to kill the punching bag with a stare. Finally Nixion let out a ferocious roar of anger and his hand absentmindedly blurred to his jacket and then back to the punching back. He withdrew the machete from it as sand spilled from the huge gash across it and Nixion turned around, a glare still on his face, and walked form the room.

The punching back slowly regurgitated all its sand before simply sagging there casting a damp look over the scene. Nixion could fairly confidently say he was feeling better.