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Caitlin hated zombies. H-A-T-E, hate. Passionately.

She lined up the sights of the Browning M2 mounted on the chassis of her Wrecker walker on the
nearest of the shambling undead and opened fire. The machine gun roared as it spat heavy .50 caliber
bullets towards the unliving creature stumbling towards the mercenaries' lines. The first shots missed
low, but succeeding rounds were on target as Caitlin elevated the weapon's barrel. The zombie
staggered as projectiles hit its torso and shoulder, but didn't fall until its head exploded in a shower of
gray matter. Caitlin kept the weapon trained on the fallen monstrosity and fired again, not stopping
until she was sure it worked not rise. Zombies were very hard to kill, and more often then not tended to
get back up after suffering wounds that would be lethal to a normal soldier. Caitlin had seen that
happen first-hand, on several occasions, and had lost friends and family to the mindless killers.

“Damn you! Damn you to hell!” she screamed. She aimed her machine gun at the next zombie and
squeezed the trigger, her screams matching the rhythm of the shots. "Damn!-Damn!-Damn!-Damn!-
Damn!"

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