Playing Zombicide really shows you who your true friends are. Yes, it may be easy to hobble someone or smash yourself in the face enough times with a frying pan to return as an undead minion intent on one thing: brains. However, [I assume] the vast majority of people just want to survive.
Then there’s me.
Dual-wielding machetes and rushing into the encroaching horde. All. Day. Long. (All night, too.) It might be the pre-Halloween candy sale sugar rush, it might be the unadulterated pleasure of killing zombies, or perhaps its a nihilistic attempt to hasten the inevitable.
Death comes for us all (sometimes it’s a runner, sometimes, it’s a fatty; usually, though, it’s an abomination). I prefer to meet it with a grin…and a slice into its gnashing teeth.
Whether quick or slow, as long as I take more of them than 1, I did my job.
Of course, some people prefer a slow, cautious living. Eking out an existence on the fringe of danger, scavenging where there are no walkers nearby, and letting their friends rush headlong into death.
I suppose, it’s my own fault really. I can’t blame them. After all, who really would chase after someone so determined to slay zombies they race into a pack without thinking? A few people, actually.
Also, snipers help. A lot.