Welcome to Gaia! ::

((Didn't shoot zombie, didn't shoot human, shot zombie, didn't shoot zombie, didn't shoot human, shot human (modifying to didn't shoot)

3 points earned))

Of all the things Rufus was not looking forward to when it came to living in a zombie apocalypse - shooting zombies was quite high on his list. He held the gun that they'd given him with a sort of uncomfortable air. They wanted him to shoot the cardboard, which wasn't as disgusting as shooting an actual zombie. But what mattered most was that he didn't shoot humans, except wow these cardboard cut outs all looked alike. Was that Marlboro guy not supposed to look like a zombie? Rufus failed to shoot him, and then winced when he realized - oh. Oh he was.

Who the hell was the artist of these things! He couldn't tell the difference between a zombie and a human!

He held the gun up, but he was gun shy once more as a woman in a bikini popped up for just a moment. I mean, even if she was a zombie, how the hell was anyone supposed to shoot that?

An entirely green mess of hair and teeth popped up - FINALLY, an obvious choice! He shot it right in the chest, which made him fail to notice the one behind it that had popped up as well. That did not bode well for his survival chances out in the wilderness, did it..

At least the rest were humans, even if he was a little sketchy about the last one. Old people tended to throw him off, sometimes..

Once the cardboard cut outs ceased to pop up, Rufus put down the gun, and looked around for some kind of evaluation. "Well?" He asked the air, and the members milling around who paid no attention to him. "Isn't anyone going to tell me how I could have done better? What kind of space camp is this, anyway? Yeesh. I want my money back."

When the paintball 'game' started up, the cranking sounded furious. Was this mechanism getting old already? It had only been up a month or so! No one was treating it that badly, as far as he knew. And yet, there it went, groaning and hissing and clicking in ways that no healthy device should do. Rufus took a step back, to make sure that no cardboard or metal came flying out of the device and into his face. His precious, precious face.

Once he was sure the device was working smoothly enough to be safe, he twirled his paintball gun around with what he thought were expert moves, except they made him miss the first shot - which he would have done, because he was sure that woman was definitely undead. She wasn't - she was just supermodel thin.

"Yeesh."

He smacked down the first zombie that actually popped up - it had been a middle aged woman who'd once been advertising for anxiety medication, but now advertised for nothing but a foaming mouth and red eyes. He was too slow for the second, and he'd almost missed seeing the witch costumed lady turned into a zombie. That, at least, was creative. She'd already had green skin in the advertisement!

And then. Ohhh, then the Bubblemint Twins came up together, and Rufus' gun stayed down as he gawked for a good, solid moment. It was a good thing he'd kept the gun down, he wouldn't have wanted for it to go off prematurely.

A zombie made it's appearance in the end, but really, Rufus was far too busy mourning the loss of the Bubblemint Twins. They had been running on the beach together... he sniffed sadly and put his gun away.

The machine made a rather nasty sound as it ground to a halt, and Rufus briefly considered mentioning the state of it to someone. Then he thought of the Doublemint Twins again, and forgot what else he'd been thinking about.

When he stood up again, he could tell all he'd done was worry himself. This wasn't prison, anymore. This was a community of people - many of whom hadn't even been criminals - who were all far too busy thinking about the end of the world and the end of life as they knew it, to wonder if he was bending over as an invitation. Still, he definitely wasn't about to do any cardio that involved bending over.

He wasn't that stupid.

Rufus decided that the best thing to get his heart pumping would be some good old-fashioned jumping jacks. And he was right! He started counting them in his head as he jumped, over and over, and he felt the shortness of breath already starting. Man, was he this out of shape already? He was going to have to get his workout in more often.

A couple dozen jumping jacks later, he called out an impressive "One hundred!" (He'd done thirty) and collapsed on the ground to catch his breath.

Was it really so important to figure out whether or not to shoot a human over an undying? Rufus was getting mighty tired of this particular game. He pulled out both of the paintball guns that were left behind, and began a series of haphazard shootings. He completely missed the first one, despite actually attempting to nail it in the face. It turned out to be a zombie, or at least a crude representation of it. He fired off three much more solid rounds, hitting at the next three targets when they popped up one by one violently fast. There was enough of a pause for him to check his handiwork, and let out a hoarse laugh at the two human faces that tried to smile through the slap of colored paint he'd just shot at them. The third one, a green creature that looked more alien than zombie, was a fair hit - but he was a little too amused at the first two to really care. Another zombie popped up and he missed it, so he tried to pay attention and held back when a thin, busty model appeared.

No shooting that pretty lady, he told himself, winking at the lifeless cardboard figure. She did not wink back, and her vacant, unseeing expression stared off into the distance an inch above his head. He put away the guns, and pondered for a moment if the woman in the photo had survived the apocalypse. She looked like a runner, but the fake breasts might have slowed her down. He tried to imagine her emaciated and undying, and found it was quite easy for him to do so. She could have been one of the hundreds, thousands just outside of the prison gates, fumbling around waiting for entry.

The test was over, so it wouldn't count - but he pulled out the gun, and knocked a shot off at her feathered hair, just for the hell of it.