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Night Of The Mutated
by Tanner


In Los Angeles, California there were two groups. The gang of teenagers who called themselves The Plague, and the Italian mafia family, the Linguinis. One dark night the two affiliates met in a dark alley. The godfather of the mafia, Tony, stood holding a suitcase. The leader of the Plague, Jack, stood, a bag of money in his hands.

Tony snapped and the two exchanged the things. Tony and the rest of the mafia looked up.

"Now you remember the deal, right?"

"Yah, I wait an hour before opening the package."

Tony grinned. He turned around.

"But," began Jack, "We dont like dat idea."

He opened the case. Tony ran. In the case was a bomb. Two LEDs, a number pad on the auxiliary box, two blinking lights, and a green, blue, and red wire. The number pad read 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, an 00. BEEP! BEEP! The bomb blew up.

The bomb tore through most of California. Pillars of smoke rose into the sky, fires danced around on the grounds, people were burned or smashed by falling buildings. Cars were flipped over and crashed into buildings. One man was lying on the street, hot air whipping against his already burnt cheek.

Radiation mutated survivors, twisting limbs and growing extra parts for them. One man named Arnold was crouched in his basement. His house had been disintegrated. He emerged, pushing his way through hot rubble and trash. Arnold rose to see a horde of zombie like survivors, the radiation deforming them. They looked up at Arnold.

"H-help," whimpered a man who had grown six extra fingers and lost nine toes. Every person began moving towards him, arms extended. They were like zombies. Arnold came to a conclusion. They were going to try to kill and maybe eat him.

Arnold retreated from the streets, into a gun shop that hadn't all been destroyed. He wrapped bullet belts around him, wore a layer of different belts with holsters already with guns in them. He snatched up an AK-47 assault rifle. He looked around and then grabbed a shotgun.

That's when he saw the people, their faces pressed to the glass, moaning for food and help. Arnold opened fire, mowing them down one by one. As the glass shattered they moved in more. Soon, they surrounded him. He kept firing his assault rifle until it ran out of ammunition. He grabbed his shotgun. He jumped behind his only cover. The counter. He lifted his shotgun and fired at them until he could not reload in time. He reached under the counter and pulled out an Uzi miniature sub-machinegun. He opened fire. He looked up.

Everyone was dead, their corpses littering the ground.

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