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SF Fight Skill 1: Running Away from your Problems

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So... I may or may not have bought Reid a dog?? ... and another weapon FFFFFFFFFF *hides* I know I have hardly drawn him, but take a look at his Activity Tracker if you wanna see him and friends, because he has indeed been quite the busy man :XD: Also, crappy story is crappy. BUT I need to get my bad boy to max level on fight! My one goal!


:iconshattered-frontier:

Maj. Bennet Reid | Fight Skill: Running Away from your Problems

Skill and Level: Level 1 Fight Skill
Scenario: It doesn't solve anything UNLESS you’re running away from zombies. Plus it’s a nice cardio workout.


“I dunno about you, but I made it through boot camp,” Reid wheezed between heaving breaths, “Dude, this isn’t even close to Hell Week in high school… But that was over a decade ago…” He gasped in almost a whisper.

The creamy dog bolting in front of his boots made no acknowledgement of his comments, and instead pinned her ears further as though ignoring him.

Legs pumping harder than they ever had in Afghanistan, Reid simply shook his head. “Not even feeling a burn yet –“ He frowned, “Not sure if that’s good or bad, though…"

The crash and confusion of churning leaves and rotting flesh was close on their heels, and it was taking all of his training just to keep up with the lightning fast Doberman that was dodging through the trees in front of him. All that was missing was the drill sergeant breathing down his neck… instead there were about 3 dozen walkers coming up fast.

Taking one leap too many, a large fallen evergreen tripped up his gazelle-like gracefulness that had kept up for the past half mile, causing him to jerk forward and slide on his backside down the rather steep hill just on the other side. Great, now he was going to have to clean that off before Mal came home. He hit the bottom of the ledge running, enduring the scathing glare the large dog cast over her shoulder. 

“Yeah, okay, I GET IT. It’s my fault. Get over it.” He snapped. His head was starting to pound and a searing pain behind his left eyeball was exponentially increasing by the minute.

And that’s what had really started all of this, right? Those damn headaches. He knew Mallory was watching him like a hawk almost every minute of every day, somehow able to always accurately gauge just how bad he was feeling that particular day. That kind of transparency bothered him, and recently he’d been desperately trying to avoid her… because as much as he tried to deny it, he knew he was steadily getting worse. It had only been a few days since the incident with the not-so-controlled explosion gone wrong, and already he could tell his brain couldn’t take much more of this without some sort of drug. And without something that impaired his nerve endings, there was no way he’d be able to make it back to Houston in one piece.

Well, there had to be some drugs around here, right? Advil, some weed, maybe horse tranquilizers, anything. He just needed to get this damn thing under control. Had he ridden Roy out here, this whole thing probably wouldn’t have happened. But he didn’t take the dragon out today (since he really didn’t want to get scorched – or bitten. Or kicked.) and thus he was in the predicament he was in now. And were Mal here at this moment, she’d probably be lecturing him about how he can’t just always Rambo his way through things. Alright, so maybe just this once, she was right. One 1911 wasn’t going to take down a horde of walkers, and his brute strength was better suited for an enemy that couldn’t infect him with its own blood.

The dog was an accident. She had been holed up in some sort of underground breeding kennel and had almost killed him in his search for drugs. But her fear of zombies outweighing her fear of the massive Marine, she chose to stick with him. So long as he kept his distance.

Unfortunately, one misstep (caused by a near blackout from that bump on his head) caused such a ruckus he was certain the entirety of the city’s zombie population was right on their asses. And of course, his new companion obviously blamed him.

 Now the trick was making it home in one piece, wiping all traces of him ever having left the house, and thinking up a plausible story as to how he came across a mistrustful Doberman. He looked down at his dirty, torn-up cargo pants. Yeah, this should be fun.


XP Points: +62 pts?
Art: +50 pts
Story: +12 pts




Reference: 073 Jason Aaron Baca Promo2 by Jason Aaron Baca and Christiane Posl
Image size
5000x4343px 11.97 MB
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TheWondrousCorvus's avatar
omfg. I just noticed that USMC tat on his arm...:love:

Dobermans + Marines= BEST COMBINATIONS EVER