When the clock struck five, JT gave up on dentistry as he so often does. TB and AN were lost in vancouver, and Mr. Netmann had to spend the night washing his hair.

There were still two TVs set up, side by side — each with its very own xbox — and so together we played.

Full of misplaced confidence, we began as experts. This was a horrible mistake. To get through the first two safe rooms was difficult, but possible. I can’t even begin to guess how many times we played those chapters over, before finally admitting our inferiority. We reverted to advanced.

As the zombie horde raced toward us, we stood in the stairwell ready to defend it with each others lives. As I prepared to shoot a teammate and run, the horde subsided. And then the tank came, and showed us who was boss.

I made the worst decision of my life as I lead it around a building along a narrow ledge where my teammates could neither see nor assist me. Thankfully it succumbed to the flames which rode it before doing to me irreparable damage.

All of us together escaped aboard the brave, if not punctual helicopter.

And then there was Death Toll. JT and I hid like the cowards I am in the ground-floor bathroom. Bill and Frances stood bravely in the hallway and out on the deck. They died with such alarming speed.

Somehow, we survived the first tank and stumbled back to the relative safety of the washroom; beating back the horde and shooting wildly.

I was almost out of ammo when a second tank came, and I felt in my heart a cold dread accompanied by an unfamiliar hopelessness. As JT began to scout around, I hid. But something magical had happened. The tank had never learned to properly use the stairs.

As he sat there stuck, my greed overcame me and I rounded the house to gather fresh ammunition. And at the sight of my tender flesh, his anger surpassed his stupidity. I found myself cornered as he began to attack me with uneducated fury.

And all of a sudden the house was on fire.

It was a mistake that should have cost me my life, but somehow I survived, and as JT helped me to my fire-singed feet we heard the boat approach. Out of the house and into the flood of oncoming zombies, we ran for the dock.

We were almost there when JT got snagged by a smoker. I turned to save him, as he struggled, wrapped in its tongue, but imagined him saying that I should save myself. And so I left him to die, shoved a few screaming zombies out of my way and ran.

As I ran down the dock, I turned and behind me I threw a molotov. With fire I cut JT off from any chance of survival, however slim.

I boarded the boat, the only survivor of our ill advised trip to Riverside.

Something like 10,000 zombies died that night. And we spent eight hours making the world a better place.

It is basically a job, and I am a bad human being.