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Four infected break into my house. I shouted, "What the devil?"
I grab my powdered wig and Kentucky rifle, and blow a golf ball sized hole through the spitter, he's dead on the spot. Draw my pistol on the hunter, miss him entirely because it's smoothbore and nails the neighbors cola supply.
I have to resort to the cannon mounted at the top of the stairs loaded with grape shot, "Tally ho lads". The grape shot shreds two chargers in the blast, the sound and extra shrapnel set off car alarms.
Fix chainsaw and charge the last terrified rapscallion. He bleeds out waiting on the police to arrive since cut off arms are impossible to stitch up.
Ah yes,
Just as Gabe Newell intended.