Zombie Game: Sunday Evening Edition

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Zombie Encounter

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Normal Zombies:
Zombie A

Special Zombies:
Charger A
Charger B
Hunter A
Hunter B
Smoker A
Smoker B
Spitter A
Spitter B

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Z O M B I E S This cookie cutter Zombie needs no introduction, but they get one anyway. Grey skinned with chunks of flesh missing from what would have been their mortal wounds, these low intelligence creatures groan for brains as they shamble towards you. Easily deterred by closed doors and closer targets, the danger lies in their quantity than quality. Hopefully you're able to keep the horde thinned before they overwhelm you.

C H A R G E R Here comes the zombeef, and at ~20mph you better get the hell out of the way, unless, of course, you’re interested in becoming a painted smear on the wall. The ‘Charger’ is one of the special infected, having mutated into what’s essentially a brick shithouse on legs. Its bulky appearance can be a bit misleading… but this infected neither stumbles nor bumbles, instead spearheading the charge into unsuspecting groups of survivors to lay down a smackdown.

H U N T E R Clad in a ripped hoodie and looking like high school hooligan, the Hunter lurks in the shadows. It’s not like its infected brethren and is, instead, an opportunistic huntsman, letting other zombies draw first blood and leaving them to distract idols as it creeps and crawls among the horde. However, it’ll eventually make a predatory leap at a breakneck speed, ensuring it gets to its unfortunate ( and unsuspecting ) target – you!!! - to RIP and TEAR© before you can realize and retaliate.

S M O K E R Something lingers at the corner of your vision. Watching. Waiting. Its heavy raspy breathing giving its position away more than anything else. Through the unnatural hazy smoke, you glimpse a tall lanky figure with four writhing tentacles in place of a mouth. Though just as you squint to get a closer look -- it's gone again. ... Or is it?

S P I T T E R The Spitter is a gangly young lady whose proportions have been stretched out and stretched thin, leaving her body literally split at its seams. Bloody sinews of discolored flesh actively drip and drop off of her as she dawdles around, dead-eyed and slack-jawed. The Spitter might look brain-dead, but looks can be deceiving, and like a sharpshooter she can easily hauk the infection festering in her gut in your direction to burn away any hope you still have.