The Shonen Otaku Corner: Shonen Otaku's Diary of Frank West: Night 2 Part 1

The answer cometh… Finally I am beginning to understand just what the hell is going on in this city, and I am finally starting to get the hang of rescuing other survivors through the art of killing.

I managed to kill the crazed yuppies driving around the park, first by sniping them with my new 30-bullet magazine-armed sniper rifle, then getting up close and personal with my new shotgun, and finishing off the driver with my brilliant guitar playing the only way I know how. Guitars were just made for smashing and making funny noises, and I’ll never let anyone tell me otherwise! As a reward, I helped myself to their mounted machine gun, which helped me mow down many a zombie.

Busy Otis!

But…

Even though I filled their skulls with shotgun shells, sniper bullets and guitar strings, as well as saw their limp, dead bodies in the car and checked their pulse, the next time I went outside, they were good as new, riding around in their jeep with a brand new machine gun, blaring their awful music. What the flying fu-

These were no ordinary drug addicts, and they weren’t taking ordinary drugs. They must’ve taken a drug that resurrects them after death! The same one used by that Wesker guy! This could revolutionize medicine! It’s the scoop of the century! Too bad they’re annoying poopheads who need to die, otherwise I’d take them in for questioning.

Anyway, even after killing the punks the first time I had time before I had to meet with Isabella. I got a notification from Otis that there were two survivors back at the entrance plaza, so I loaded up on orange juice shakes in the food court and got ready.

It’s a good thing I did, because as soon as I came in, some inconsiderate man and his two kids tried to snipe me! There was a wimpy one, a jerk one, and the older one that must be related to the machete man because I swear they sound exactly the same.

There was some fatso hiding out in the cosmetics shop nearby, but try as I might, I couldn’t get him to leave because he was afraid of getting shot by the snipers.

I gave it to him straight: “Well boo freakin-hoo fatass! The least you could do is help me out and block the bullets with your blubber, but apparently that would require too much effort!”

I was in it alone.

The wimpy sniper went down first. I showed him who the man was by countering his tiny little sniper rifle with my giant phallic uber-gun from the jeep! I almost feel bad for gunning him into paste, because, of the three, he seemed the most hesitant. On the other hand, he shot at me. As Ghandi once said, “An eye for an eye leaves everyone equal.”

To protect myself from the other two snipers, I took cover in the nearby antique shop, where the other stubborn survivor was hiding out. We stood there for a good long while, going back and forth while I tried to get him to come with me without slapping him across the face, but he just! Wouldn’t! Come! And while I was yammering with him, I got shot. Shot, but not sniped.

I turned around and saw that the oldest of the snipers came right into the shop for a close-up shot. He seemed to have forgotten that sniper rifles were made for sniping, a mistake that cost him his life. I quickly picked up a battle axe from a nearby stand, and rather than run away, the sniper ran around the store like a scared chicken while I chopped him into itty bitty pieces. If he sucked so much at close range, why did he come into the shop? I can only assume he wanted a close-up view of the beautiful antiques too. That axe got him as close as he could get, so at least he died happy. To remember this man’s humiliating defeat, I took a picture of his corpse. I call it “The dumbass.”

Right after brutally murdering his dad, I spotted the last kid watching through the shop’s window just outside.

You want a turn?

He ran, but didn’t get far. Unlike him, I’ve really been getting my cardio in the last few days. He got the axe too. This place had better have a damn good janitor, because I made a huge mess in the shoe store.

With our assaulters dead, I spent another 5 minutes getting the old fart to come with me and got the fatass out of the cosmetics shop. I barely managed to get them back to the HQ, partly because the entrance plaza is pretty close to HQ, but they were some of the most pathetic life forms I’ve ever seen! The old man had to stop to take a breather every 5 seconds and fatass couldn’t outrun a crawling baby with no legs! I had to carry the old jerk halfway there! They’re lucky we need them or I’d just leave them for dead! I don’t even know how they survived before I got there considering the first rule of zombie survival!

While dropping the morons off I got an update from Jesse and Brad. Finally, FINALLY I learned just what happened to Santa’s cabeza and what it had to do with all this.

The drug lords were using Santa’s cabeza as a stronghold for their drugs, and Dr. Barn Tree believes that the drugs created the zombies, and they spread it around the city to try and kill the doc, who was researching them.

At first I thought that someone just spread a bunch of zombie drugs around Willamette, but now I’ve figured it out.

The drug lords shoved their drugs into Santa’s ears and nose while he was sleeping to store them in his cabeza. Then they set it up so that some of the zombie-making drugs dropped out of his cabeza and into Willamette while he was traveling the world to deal with his toy business! And if those drugs turned Santa into a zombie that means he is the zombie Santa voiced by Gilbert Gottfreid!

Aye aye Dr. Charmy the Bee!

But if it was the drug lords that did it, and Isabela said I created the zombies, does that mean I’m a drug lord?! Have I been searching for myself all this time?! How did I lose my memories? I needed the truth. In the meantime I’ll just blame this whole thing on my WEF and leave it at that.

I left to meet Isabela around midnight, but contrary to what she promised, she did not bring Carlito. I was waiting at the meeting place, but the only thing she brought in with her was a zombie attacking her. I didn’t want no zombie! I wanted Carlito!

They both laid there on the ground while the zombie munched on her, but I didn't help. She did not bring me what I wanted. She had to pay.

Then I realized if she died, I’d never find Carlito, so I gave the zombie a bonk on the head and saved her, at least from the zombie.

In addition to the many many teeth marks she had just gotten, Isabella had a huge wound on her arm. I jokingly asked if she was bitten, but she didn’t laugh. Apparently Carlito shot her because now he doesn’t trust anyone. She insisted he didn’t mean to though. Just like how I didn’t mean to shoot that wimpy sniper kid with my H.U.G.E.

I tried pouring some of my orange juice on the wound to see if it would heal, but like with Brad, the blessed food and drinks didn’t have any effect on them, and all she did was scream and kick. It’s as if they all only work for me, but why?

I'm going to have to carry her, aren't I.

Somehow getting shot in the arm gave Isabella a horrible limp in her leg, so unless I wanted to stay up all night waiting for her, I was left with no choice but to carry her all the way back to HQ on piggy back! She weighed a ton too! What the hell does this bitch eat? Cement instead of mashed potatoes and bricks instead of brownies?!

And of course that meant I had to carry her through all the zombies, angry Scream fanboys, and the rescurrected convicts, one of whom I swear was taunting me. I also heard Carlito on the intercom telling Isabella to come back and help him. I hope I find where he sent that from so I can use it to announce that “Carlito eats shit!”

Miraculously I was able to completely avoid everything trying to kill me for almost the entire trip, because I am just too damn good. I turned the bitch over to Jesse and Brad, explained the situation and now she’s in DHS custody. I don’t think Brad really cared until I mentioned that the person who shot her was the same one who shot him.