MILITARY-ONE (3rd entry)

Current Survivors (Left to right): 

Casual Jim

Captain Fuck-You

Doc Runts

Gingerine

Fag-Boy

REPORT: 100206

It seems our couple of rescuees have settled in nicely. I say rescued. Rescued from what to which I have no idea. We do have a moat-type defence. I feel this trumps all and hasn't been mentioned enough, I must make a mental note to slip it repeatedly into conversation. Otherwise things are very much the same. We are safe here, hidden away (behind a moat). Doc Runts is keen on broadcasting our location on a short wave frequency in an attempt to potentially draw in other survivors. We have plenty of bed space and food to maintain a small group until this thing blows over, but I have refused. New survivors are unknown variables and I’m not keen on the unknown. The current situation dictates the priority of my own personal survival and the survival of the rest of my team. This may sound cold, but I have no interest in rescuing anyone else at this current time. I do not feel dutifully inclined either, as the Doc keeps trying to push on me. I haven’t told him yet, but there are several broadcasts on the airwaves promising secure societies nearby. I am unsure how he will react to this news. 

On another note, I have decided to tell fag-boy and gingerine about our involvements in the military responses to the zombie threat. This includes the Romford massacre. There was a lot of despise for the military, well, in the short time between events and the majority of people being eaten alive. They are welcome to stay, or leave if they wish. If the decide to stay it will be on one condition. This condition is vital, not only for my own well-being, but for the continued survival of the human race as a species: I cut fag-boys hair. I will not be swayed. I will not be bargained with. Begging is useless. I have no mercy for that irritating bundle of cells insulating that boy’s head. I will not spend another day while it watches me from a distance, ever gloating, almost gleefully. If I see one more shimmer from a grease ridden hair particle I fear I may go mad. I will lay all of this on the table before them and see how they react. Time will tell.

Signing off,

Captain Fuck-You

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