For all the unease eating away at his gut, the point of being there was something like bonding over shared experiences, if he understood it right. So he should probably at least try to talk to someone.
"Hi, I'm Eleven." He was always great at making friends in school, so this couldn't be too much harder, right? "Do you really think it's true? Memories of past lives and other worlds."
[Zombies]
[Eleven runs, the growls and rancid breaths of the undead hot on his heels. He's managed to surprise even himself with the effectiveness of the metal poker against one of them, but there's just too many now.
He can't seem to lose them. It's as if there's something about their senses that goes far beyond just visual because he's taken every sharp turn possible in an effort to shake them. ..Or maybe he has lost some of them and just can't tell the difference between the others that might have picked up his trail in the dark.
Eleven emerges from an alley and onto the street, head whipping about for somewhere to go, then sprints in the direction headed by the most light. A pale comfort, but it's better than nothing.
..Or it would be, if not for the other people he's accidentally just led a group of zombies to]
H-hey! Run! They're right behind me- go!
[A smattering of bewildered looks. A few heed his warning and hurry off, but the rest.. It's too late for them. He turns back toward his pursuers and clutches his weapon in both hands.]
Eleven- Dragon Quest XI
What am I going to tell my mom?
[Support Group]
For all the unease eating away at his gut, the point of being there was something like bonding over shared experiences, if he understood it right. So he should probably at least try to talk to someone.
"Hi, I'm Eleven." He was always great at making friends in school, so this couldn't be too much harder, right? "Do you really think it's true? Memories of past lives and other worlds."
[Zombies]
[Eleven runs, the growls and rancid breaths of the undead hot on his heels. He's managed to surprise even himself with the effectiveness of the metal poker against one of them, but there's just too many now.
He can't seem to lose them. It's as if there's something about their senses that goes far beyond just visual because he's taken every sharp turn possible in an effort to shake them. ..Or maybe he has lost some of them and just can't tell the difference between the others that might have picked up his trail in the dark.
Eleven emerges from an alley and onto the street, head whipping about for somewhere to go, then sprints in the direction headed by the most light. A pale comfort, but it's better than nothing.
..Or it would be, if not for the other people he's accidentally just led a group of zombies to]
H-hey! Run! They're right behind me- go!
[A smattering of bewildered looks. A few heed his warning and hurry off, but the rest.. It's too late for them. He turns back toward his pursuers and clutches his weapon in both hands.]
..Sorry, Mom.