What the heck? This granola bar is frickin' messed up!
Heavily armed men run through alleys, duck into war-torn basement labyrinths. Blood spatters.
And no training, okay? That's stupid. Training is a really retarded idea when it comes to this math. I'm just sayin'. Except when it comes to No Man's Land. That's an exception, shall we say?
Holy crap, I just got socked by these frickin' zombies. Holy crap!
Yeah, we're doin' that again.
The screen goes black. Scores appear. Excavation Site 64. Northern France, 1918.
A small voice speaks inaudibly.
And you can't say that M-14 is a bad gun, because it's actually a good gun. It's just a fun weapon, that's my opinion. My excuse is that it's fun to use.
Granola bar wrappers accumulate on a coffee table.
Hail and bullets rain on Northern France, 1918. There appear to be clouds of blood.
Don't start it yet, oh my God! Aye! Ferociousness!
Guys, when you use the ballista, always try to get head shots.
Why'd you take my zombie blood? What the hell? Dude! Dude! Why'd you take my zombie blood?
Hail no longer--a dry snow falls in fluffy flakes. Below ground, scrambling and violence in a gray basement environment. Blue and green phosphorescent accent colors. Relentless zombies.
Metal vacuum tubes evoke some sort of primitive subterranean banking system.
Dude! The pans are gonna' come soon, and then what are we gonna' have? Freakin' nuthin'. Open the freakin' door! Dude, you have so much stuff!
What the freak? What the freak? What the freak?
I know, I thought you were gonna' open the wrong door. That was the door I was going through.
This time, dude, open the door earlier.
The screen goes black. Scores appear. The party leader is ready. Excavation Site 64. Game starting in 3 seconds.