Here I was... facing hordes of senior veteran grunts like a lone survivor against an army of zombies... (which, technically and unironically, I was more of a zombie than they were, given that I had actually died once and got revived).
Sweat dripped down my brow as I dodged and countered their relentless assault. How long could I stall them? They showed no signs of slowing down; if anything, their attacks grew fiercer with each passing moment... or was I starting to get tired?
These veteran grunts from the Arena Ring racketing group surged forward, their collective roar deafening to my ears. I ducked under a wild swing, pivoting to land a solid punch on another grunt's jaw. The impact sent him sprawling, but I knew he'd be back on his feet soon. Another lunged at me, and I twisted away, narrowly avoiding his fist.
The Disciplinary Squadron has arrived!
Wondering what would happen to Grunt No. 703?
Stay tuned for more!
HIATUS. Not much to say here other than it's not working out.