<div class="floatleft">(http://i67.photobucket.com/albums/h289/masta_loki/tattoo_thumb1.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Vincent Kincaid<br/><strong>Locations:</strong>Art workshop, CSU campus<br/><strong>Date &amp; Time:</strong>7-8 am, ish<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Angel Torres (Zombie)<br/><br/><hr/><br/>The room felt eerily silent to Vincent after feeling the head of his axe cleave Angel’s skull with a wet meaty crunching sound.  He felt numb all over as the weight of his actions settled firmly on his shoulders making him feel nauseous and dizzy at the same time.<em>I-I killed him.  I killed Angel.</em>Vincent’s mind struggled to wrap itself around that fact, part of him convinced this was all just a very lucid dream that he would surely be waking from at any moment.    He found solace in that notion and ran with it.<br/><br/>It was almost fated that of all the shirts he had in his wardrobe, the one he happened to grab at random was the one that read:<em>I reject your reality and substitute my own.</em><br/><br/>Stepping away from the downed zombie, eagerly going all in on the fantasy that it was irrefutably a zombie rather than a deranged classmate, Vincent began to take in his surroundings.  At this point he was almost giddy with the notion of surviving a zombie uprising; between all the games and movies he had immersed himself in on the very subject, this was like all the other run-and-gun fantasies he’s had.  For a moment, the part of his brain firmly planted in reality attempted a coup on that line of thinking, but Vincent thoroughly stomped out that particular notion.  The shit was hitting the fan and the last thing Vincent needed at the moment was to be distracted by such trivial things as reality in all its brutality.<br/><br/>It wasn’t until Angel stood once more that Vincent snapped out of his reverie to look into the zombie’s glassy gaze.  In true undead fashion, Angel lazily reached out for him in what was a comparatively pleasant turn of events, and one that Vincent responded with a<strong>”Oh, hell no!”</strong>Skirting just outside of reach, he dashed around to Angel’s back and gripped the handle of his axe.  Vincent torqued the weapon with a grunt of effort, forcing the zombie’s balance to the side harshly enough for it to tumble to the floor.  A quick wrenching motion cleared the axe rather savagely from the head wound as the zombie was in mid-fall.  Not feeling particularly inclined to witness the awfulness that might try to spill out of the gaping ravine that was its cloven skull, Vincent instead turned towards his sports bag, tossed the hammer that was initially upon his anvil inside, zipped it closed, flung its strap over his shoulder, and promptly made his way out of the room in search of someplace that might be a good place to lay low for a spell.