Was having a really decent run with Mr Sabastian Stewart, former chainsmoker who was finding the apocalypse quit agreeable, having boarded up his shelter and reinforced his doors, with an 8-panel upgraded solar rig that powered his cooking and crafting gear, fridge full of food, Humvee in mint condition parked outside, fully suited in neat survivor gear and wielding a katana he crafted himself, and a nice stack of skill books still to go through. His body was also finely augmented with combat and utility bionics.
Unfortunately, Mr Stewart had to travel a road through the woods to get to certain locations of interest and hidden in the woods was a shimmering portal with a floating eye meandering around it. Mr Stewart thought he’d be safe if he kept his distance. He was wrong.
After returning from one such sortie he was sitting down to dinner when he was suddenly overcome by stomach cramps. Thinking that the ant meat in the fridge must be going bad, Mr Stewart made a nice cup of mint tea and decided to go to bed early. He was woken up in the middle of the night by an immense pain coming form his arm, which were sprouting fungal growths. In a daze, he dropped everything he had on him and made a mad dash for his medicine cabinet which was, fortunately, well stocked with antifungal drugs.
With the infection taken care of, Mr Stewart took as much Oxycodone as he dared, wrapped himself up in a sleeping bag and waited for the morning light in a drugged stupor.
The next day he used his mouth and feet to craft two splints for his now useless arms. After what seemed like hours, he finally managed to set them. With both arms in a splint going outside was a big no-no so Mr Stewart settled for a long, long wait. Fortunately, the pantry was well stocked, there were plenty of logs to keep the fire going and it was snowing and miserable outside anyway.
After five days of reading various books, Mr Stewart’s arms were nearly healed. Unfortunately, there were no books left to read, and nothing else left for him to do to pass another day or two it would take for his arms to heal completely. Mr Stewart paced from one end of his shelter to the next, waiting for nightfall. Finally, he leaned against the wall and just stood there, numb from boredom and waiting for dusk.
He didn’t notice he was standing right next to a boarded up window until it was broken down by a zombear. All Mr Stewart had on him was a sleeping bad and dual arm cast. He made a desperate dash for the door but never stood a chance.
