Four warriors brave the castle of Dr. Jamison Junkenstein in order to end his experiments once and for all.
Four warriors sat around a slowly dying fire, one man more alert than the others. No one slept, but watched each other’s backs. Closing your eyes meant reliving the horrors in the dream world, waking up to those same horrors staring you in the face. The forest was still, silent, but the darkness was the scariest part, and could hold anything. No one wanted to risk leaving the dim light the fire provided.
Their next destination beyond the forest would be their last. Winning came at a cost; too many lives had been lost at this point. Losing meant that they’d also succumb to being changed…
The Gunslinger sighed, checking his pockets once again and grimacing. He had to be careful with his bullets. He had five rounds left, not counting the one already loaded, but he couldn’t risk using all of them before they got to the castle. All his shots had to hit their mark, else he’d die.
Next to him, the Archer sorted through his bows, wiping down the blood and muck from the tips. He barely had time to gather all of them, most left in the bodies he had slain. There was no time to run back and get them, so he also had to make do with what he had. Thirty arrows left. He’d also have to be precise.
The Soldier had his gun trained on a target no one could see. His visor scanned the forest slowly, looking out for threats. Having lost the most during this expedition, he wasn’t taking any chances. The three with him were all he had left. He’d rather lose his life than lose the last of human contact he’d ever have. If that mad doctor wanted them, he’d have to get through the soldier first.
The Monk sat quietly, in a trancelike state. The only calm one, there was little he could do to ease his companions minds. He technically wasn’t alive; anything the doctor did to him wouldn’t force him to lose his humanity. He could be turned into a zombic, but he’d always keep a part of him. But he if lost the others, he’d truly be alone.
So far, they’d already lost their alchemist, their viking, their sniper, and the Archer’s brother. What had once been a might party had been reduced to these four. It was easy to trust someone when they stopped the undead from ripping out your throat or clawing out your back, and the group had been close. They were the only things left of humanity this far out.
“…I thought the doctor was dead,” the Gunslinger muttered. “We got reports that he was dead.”
“His monster might’ve been inhumane, but it was smart. It could’ve learned how to revive him,” the Archer pointed out.
“Or it was faked,” the Soldier said. “What if he faked the whole thing to kidnap more victims and turn them into monsters? We know his army has grown, too large for what he started. Perhaps he was never dead, only made it seem that way so that he could expand.”
It was grim, but closest to the truth.
A rustling from the trees had them all in action. The Soldier cocked his gun, the Gunslinger took aim, the Archer lifted his bow, and the Monk raised his hands for attack. They couldn’t lose one another. Not when they were so close to putting down the doctor.