[106] Classic zombie slayer

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As I re-emerged into the hallway, the chainsaw in my hands roared like a primal beast, its echo bouncing off the walls. I held the chainsaw like a soldier holding his trusted rifle, its intimidating whir and the palpable vibration against my palms providing me with a strange sense of reassurance.

Bounding down the steps and emerging from the hospital, I saw Cassidy. She was behind a stack of fallen debris, her UZIs spent and in her hand, she clutched a rusty pipe she'd found from the rubble. When her gaze fell upon me, her wide, fear-filled eyes glanced at the chainsaw in my hands, and an expression of surprise crossed her face.

"You've got to be kidding me!" She yelled over the chaos around us, her voice taut with a mixture of disbelief and trepidation. "Where the hell did you find that?"

I held up the chainsaw, its menacing growl drowning out the distant screams and gunfire. "Hazuki's secret stash," I shouted back, grinning despite the severity of our predicament. "Who would have thought, right?"

Cassidy stared at the chainsaw, and then back at me. Her eyes hardened with resolve, and a flicker of a smile tugged at her lips. "Well, Chang," she called out, gripping her pipe tighter, "it looks like we're in for a bloody night."

I nodded, turning back to the advancing horde. "Don't get too close, Cass," I warned, the chainsaw roaring in my hands, "this thing can be pretty messy."

She chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Wouldn't dream of it, boss."

With a deep breath, I revved the chainsaw, its teeth spinning faster and louder. "Alright, Cassidy," I yelled, readying myself for the horde, "let's give them hell!"

As I leaped onto the concrete, the grotesque faces of the horde were upon me instantly. But my presence, strangely, didn't seem to register in their primal brains. My heart pounded in my chest like a tribal drum, adrenaline coursing through my veins like molten fire.

"Let it rip!" I yelled, squeezing the throttle of the chainsaw. The machine roared to life, its predatory growl echoing off the buildings, a savage counterpoint to the guttural groans of the advancing horde. The chainsaw jerked in my hands, hungry for the grisly work ahead.

The first few zombies stumbled past me, oblivious to my presence, their sightless eyes and gnashing teeth focused on the living prey beyond me. Raising the chainsaw, I swung it in a wide arc. It bit into the horde with brutal efficiency, cutting through rotting flesh and brittle bone like a hot knife through butter.

Chunks of putrid meat and splinters of bone flew in every direction, painting the pavement in a grisly tableau of carnage. The sharp metallic stench of blood and the foul odor of decay filled the air, but I forced down the bile rising in my throat and focused on the task at hand.

The chainsaw in my grip moved with a will of its own, cutting a swathe through the horde. The roar of its engine was a monstrous symphony, a grotesque harmony with the screams and gunfire in the background.

Each swing of my arms, each grunt of exertion, each splatter of blood on my face felt surreal, as if I were watching the scene from a distance. Yet, every growl of the chainsaw, every thud of a falling corpse grounded me in the brutal reality of our fight for survival.

Time lost meaning in the chaotic dance of death. I moved mechanically, the chainsaw never stopping, never relenting, cutting, ripping, tearing through the horde like a demonic reaper.

The undying horde, despite its monstrous size, was thinning. The deafening roar of the chainsaw, the splatter of gore, and the falling bodies seemed to deter the other zombies. With each passing moment, I felt a glimmer of hope, a ray of light piercing the shroud of despair.

"Keep going!" Cassidy's voice echoed over the carnage, a beacon in the storm.

And so, I did. I let it rip, again and again, the chainsaw my shield and sword in this unholy battlefield, carving a path to survival for my friends and me, one ghastly zombie at a time.

Q: Would you use a chainsaw during a zombie apocalypse?

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