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Snippet #2415938

located in America, a part of Touch, one of the many universes on RPG.

America

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Character Portrait: Charlie Redmond Character Portrait: Tech
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Charlie had never liked nose bleeds. Not that he fully remembered, of course, but even without his memory having his blood gush out of his nose made him feel queasy. He ripped off a piece of his white haz-mat suit and stuffed it up his nostrils, even though it didn't seem to be working.

Although he didn't care to examine himself, he could almost feel his infection raging through his body, yet was determined not to let it slow him down. He had basically inhaled half of the cheese flavored popcorn and for once he felt a bit full. The feeling didn't last very long.

Charlie pulled his rabbit's foot necklace out from under his suit and studied it, turning it with his fingers. He remembered the old man had given it to him, saying that one day he would need it, but he didn't understand how it was helping him. He could remember that he had been touched. Luck had abandoned him. What good what it do for him if he would just die in the end?

Dropping the rabbit's foot and stuffing it into his suit, he stood up. He made a grab for his popcorn and stuffed it in his pack. His gun was still tightly gripped in his hand, but he figured waiting would only make him bored and anxious. The fire had died down and it looked safe to explore. How in the world could a building just implode?

Charlie pressed his foot down on the first of the few steps. The ashes seemed to crunch under his weight, but so far it was sturdy enough to hold him. So, he marched into the building and slammed his shoulder into the door. Unfortunately it was unlocked so he tumbled in and crashed into a table with a collection of colorful, dead butterflied in a case. The glass shattered when he landed on it, most of it scattering across his brown hair, but he shook most of it off and stood up. He looked around, finally realizing that the place was some sort of museum. Bones hung on the walls next to artwork. A poisoned tipped sword sat in a case and Charlie debated on breaking it out and using it, but he figured he'd end up hurting himself.

It didn't take long for him to find the staircase. It wasn't too far from the reception desk. The stairs didn't look super sturdy, so he raced up as fast as he could. The wood didn't crumple underneath him- maybe the lucky rabbit foot was finally working right. It still seemed more like rotten luck to Charlie, but he didn't have the heart to throw it away.

The upstairs didn't seem like much of a museum, more like a small, cluttered collection. A few wax figures stood, giving Charlie an evil looking glare, but he put a bullet through both of them, even if they weren't real. You can never be too safe. He figured the museum had been robbed a lot after the touch. Maybe they had been the pinnacle of all history before the apocalypse, but now it looked like a trashy yard sale.

Charlie quickly found bathrooms. He didn't even know if they worked, since the toilets were probably burnt into a pile of ashes, but at least he could... unload... somewhere better than the side of the road. The boy's room wouldn't budge so he used the ladies' restroom. He walked past the mirrors, getting a glimpse of himself. He looked horrible: he was so skinny his small suit seemed like it might fall off any second, his brown locks a wild mess, and he was covered in blood and dirt, a nasty, sticky mixture. Charlie shook it off. He had more important things to do than worry about his looks. So, he took a step toward the stalls, but his rabbit foot must have not been working because he fell straight through the floor, through the one on the first floor too, and landed in the basement.

As he landed, he heard his bones crunch and crack under him, all the air shoved out of him. How he survived the fall, he didn't know. All he knew was that he was in the cold, dark, basement, and was possibly dead. But, on a positive note, he didn't have to use the toilet anymore- he had already taken care of that as he fell down.