Rise of the Undead Legion

Which were a ’degenerate bunch of wanna-be undead and necromancers that wishes to bring the end of the world’. Or so the priest said.

"I will log out now," Perfect Shot said to his friends.

"Are you sure, We can still have more fun, I believe that the eastern borders where we are, have a lot of good dungeons spread around here somewhere." Human Fortress looked not the least bit fatigued by their continuous grind and wished for more.

"Nah, the Desolate Temple is the only low-level dungeon near Moria. Anything else is high level, too high level for even the strongest guilds to challenge right now. I should also Log out, am invited to a party this evening," Pussy Flanker added his bit.

"Tch, leave you, and your high-class parties, just make sure to save some food for me." Human Fortress logged out.

Perfect Shot pressed the Log Out option and found himself laying on a bed sized Game capsule.

Opening it, he took a breath of fresh air and headed toward his room’s door.

"Hey, Pops!" shouted Perfect Shot as he rushed down the mahogany made staircases.

Perfect Shot’s family had a good business, and they led a good life. Where his father was the CEO of a major TV company he could hardly find any difficulties with the necessities of life.

A far cry from Dave’s apartment, Perfect Shot’s House was an extravagant lodge with expensive furniture and decorations all around it.

"Tom, what is the rush?" a mildly old female voice called the rushing youngster.

The youth turned and looked at the wrinkled face of this person who was currently wiping a dish with a dry towel

"Hey Mum, you’ve seen my dad anywhere?" asked Perfect Shot, or Tom.

"He must be downstairs, fixing that old car, I tell you, he spends most of his free time with that tin-can, he should be spending more time with his family at least that way you won’t be losing your mind over that game..."

Tom knew that if he lets his mother continue on with those thoughts he would be stuck for hours to come so he rushed downstairs looking for his father.

Once he was downstairs he went through the garage door and found his dad under an old 1990 red Mustang.

"Hey pops, I have great news!" said Tom.

The father in question bumped his head on the car having been scared by the abrupt shout.

"Would it kill’ya if ya could just knock?" an old man of about fifty emerged from under the car. Face blemished with oil sludge, the old man took an overused rag and wiped his hands as he slowly stood up.

"You are still working on this car pops? You could just send it to a professional garage and they can fix it up for you." Said Tom

"Nah, this thing is a gift from yr granpa, and I haf ta fix it miself. So Whatcha got for me?" said the old man.

"I landed an amazing business...it goes like this!"