Vaguely Human Zombies – World Heritage Posts



#dnd #fantasy #funny

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34 thoughts on “Vaguely Human Zombies – World Heritage Posts”

  1. I imagine some dude walking into a store, hoping to find clothes or something, sees a mannequin, freezes and waits for it to move (thinking it's a person). Mannequin doesn't move. Man breathes a sigh of relief, chuckling at himself. Mannequin turns towards him and FUCKING SPRINTS, having been triggered by the sound of his chuckle. Markiplier screams ensue…

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  2. Vaguely human… you realize someone could very likely get a marker and start drawing thousands of thousands of little stick men on post-its and just throw them a window the virus would spread exponentially… and in some areas the would be massive flood like swarms of post-its ebbing and flowing hunting survivors

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  3. The thought of it makes me deeply sad.
    In this hypothetical world, so much of human history would be destroyed, would HAVE to be destroyed for survival.
    Great works of art are burnt, or smashed.
    The ancient Egyptian wall paintings all go the way of Akhenaten.
    Old English illuminated manuscripts. Classic comics.
    Greek statues.
    So much knowledge, art, history, CULTURE, becomes a potential enemy to be scorned & purged. All these beautiful, wonderful things.

    Oh & also all of Brazil is immediately wiped out by Cristo Redentor.

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  4. The thing is, we only identify it as "resembling human" based on our own perceptions, like how we could see faces on objects (face pareidolia).

    The question now is, what constitute as "resembling human", and who (or what) decides that?

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  5. I like the idea that anything human related can be infected, but that doesn't necessarily mean they can infect or harm you.

    So toys and mannequins are dangerous, but that's because they can harm you. They have no means of transmitting the infection themselves.

    Meanwhile, your reflection and your shadow are completely harmless. Just demoralising.

    Say you're holed up in a hotel room, you've just escaped a horde accompanied by a few bloodstained statues. Injured but alive, you step into the bathroom and flick your torch around.

    You're there in the cracked mirror, jaundice face mashed up against the glass and screaming in complete silence. It is pushing hard enough against the barrier that you can see tattered skin and exposed bone come undone under the relentless pressure. All while decomposing hands scratch themselves beyond raw trying to rip past the mirror and into you.

    Meanwhile, your shadow is flailing and reaching next to you. Head thrashing side to side as hands claw ineffectually at your ankles.

    They can't hurt you. They can never hurt you. But you have to live the rest of your life knowing that – even in a private moment like this – something is always trying to kill you.

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