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Cyan Kress

He heaved a soft sigh, waiting patiently for the others to finish talking.

0 · 461 views · located in Post-Apocalyptic America

a character in “Bullets and Brains”, originally authored by Scripter, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description




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He heaved a soft sigh, waiting patiently for the others to finish talking.




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ImageFull Name:
Cyan James Kress

Nicknames:
Cy | The Mute

Gender:
Male.

Age:
17.


Ethnicity/Race:
White/Caucasian.

Sexual Orientation:
Heterosexual.

Prior Occupation:
Student.

Current Occupation:
Scavenger.




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Hair Color:
Very Dark Brown.

Eye Color:
Blue-Green.

Height:
5'10"

Weight:
145 lbs.

Tattoos:
None.

Piercings:
None.

Scars:
He has a rather large, thick scar under his Adam's apple, reaching to the sides of his neck from a surgery he had when he was in his freshman year of high school.

Character Color:
#009980

Description:
Cyan is a rather average individual, with a height of 5'10" and weighing about 145 pounds. He is in no way muscular by any stretch of the imagination, since 'active' is not really a word that would describe him, but is rather more of a very thin and lanky in build. He comes across as very pale at times, almost sickly so, after years of being a shut-in, making his eyes and hair look shockingly vibrant in comparison. Cyan's hair is always a mess, dull brown waves sticking out in all directions like he just woke from a fitful sleep, and his eyes could not be more perfectly described than by his name. Cyan can come across as looking a tad awkward, hunching his shoulders, keeping his hands pocketed at most times, and wearing a hoodie (His favorite, now dirty and stained, and never seen without it) three sizes too big.




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Personality:

{Calm, Quiet, Handy, Pacifist, Weak}

Confrontation is not his middle name. Fighting? He wants to be nowhere near it, doesn't want to see it, and certainly doesn't want to get caught up in it. Cyan is in no shape or form close to being athletic, or even active, being one of those kids who spend their Friday nights held up in their room playing League Of Legends and reading comic books. He tires quickly, is slow at running, and has the wielding force of a twelve year old girl. As you can tell, Gym Class was his ultimate downfall, and he often wiggled his way out of it by hiding in the locker room after attendance. However, because of these reasons, he is a fairly good scavenger, moving quietly at a slow pace to pick at the surroundings, not rousing many zombies in his wake with careful footsteps. Though, he is unfortunately extremely clumsy when rushed, often dropping things, bumping into anything within a mile radius, and generally making a loud racket. Cyan is someone who has to work at his own pace, or nothing will get done.

Cyan prefers the quiet, liking to be left alone most of the time. This is not so much because he enjoys it, but more because he feels that his personality type clashes with the other of the more outgoing ones within the group. Though, he does pride himself on being more of a peacemaker, since he does not weigh heavily on his own opinions and is very open to someone else taking lead or making corrections. Cyan can be thought of as a very weak link in the group. His communication skills are nonexistent, for very obvious reasons, and he will opt out of any confrontation that may come his way. However, he is very good with his hands, a true Mr. Fix It, as long as the fixing doesn't involve excessive effort or heavy lifting.


Hobbies:
-Photography
-Video Games
-Reading
-Harassing His Sister's Many Boyfriends

Habits:
-Scratching at the scar on his throat, sometimes to the point where it starts to bleed.
-Chewing on random items he might have in his hands.
-Keeping his head down to help hide his scar.

Oddities:
-Mute.
-He flinches away from loud noises or yelling.

Likes/Loves:
  • Sweets.
  • Children.
  • The Internet.
  • Comic Books.
  • Family.
  • Warm Weather.
  • Video Games.
  • Listening to Others Talk.
  • Books/Art/Theatrics
Dislikes/Hates:
  • Loud Noises.
  • Rude/Nosy/Stubborn People.
  • Sour Things.
  • Blood.
  • Violence.
  • Arguing.
  • The Cold.
  • Misunderstandings.
  • Being Anxious.





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Strengths and Weaknesses

Character Skills/Talents:
  • Is a Peacemaker, and is good for comforting.
  • Has excellent hearing.
  • He is very good with repairing and tinkering.
  • He's hardworking.
  • Good at following others because he doesn't have the drive to be a leader.
Character Flaws/Weaknesses:
  • He is extremely clumsy when rushed.
  • He is, in fact, Mute, therefore his communicating is lacking at best and is known for causing some misunderstandings.
  • Refuses Confrontation.
  • Generally unable to do any labor-intensive work because of lacking body mass.

Secrets:
-He is prone to Panic Attacks, but can hide them fairly well.
-He thinks its pretty cool, the whole apocalyptic thing. It's just like in the video games! But just doesn't like that its happening to him personally.
-He has his little sister's teddy bear tucked into the bottom of his backpack.

Fears/Phobias:
Acousticophobia - Fear of loud noises.
Algophobia - Fear of pain.
Necrophobia - Fear of death.





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Biography

Place Of Origin:
Georgia, USA.

Birth Date:
October 5th, 2001.

History:
Cyan lived a very normal life, he would like to think. He got average grades, had a small group of friends, and had a serious addiction to raising havoc on his sister's many boyfriends. You know, just regular old normal stuff. A small town in Georgia was where most of his youth resided, one of those places where everyone knows everyone else, and you can't do jack without someone blabbing it to your parents. It was quiet there, a real Halmark Moment kind of place.

Later on, his mother, a young Miss Anna Kress who had been raising both her children on her own, obtained a job up in New York that paid well. Not wanting to miss this opportunity, they packed up and headed up there for a new life without missing a beat. Things fell back into their flow not long after, the kids went to school and Anna worked to support them all. Everything was peachy-keen until Cyan started to complain about an aching in his throat. At first, it wasn't really thought of as a big deal. These kind of things tend to be brushed off with a handful of Tylenol and a short nap, so nothing was done. That is, until the pain grew and grew until it became crippling, and Cyan had begun to have trouble speaking or swallowing. Seeking medical attention, Cyan was told that he had a rare tissue-eating disease that was currently feasting upon his vocal cords and inner throat, causing massive damage and internal bleeding. It was most likely caused by a kind of bacteria that had made its way into his blood from an open wound, but was just now appearing.

Surgery was ensued quickly, since this disease was already breaking holes in his voice box, causing some internal bleeding. Cyan was patched up easily, everything fixed, leaving only a long scar on his lower throat. But, his vocal cords had been ruined, trashed beyond what natural healing abilities could mend, and, if he didn't want to go around sounding like a cyborg for the rest of his life, Cyan was to be categorized as a mute. Any attempt at talking causes him extreme pain and only producing awful squeaks.

After such, Cyan started to shut himself away from the world. In his mind, not being able to speak was the same as becoming a completely different person. He began to spend most of his time in his room, moving all his life from hanging with friends from school to video games and the internet, since that was much easier than dealing with real people. People assumed, that since he wasn't speaking to them, that he disliked them and was being rude. At such a crucial age in his young life, Cyan became rather depressed, not bothering to interact with people at all. It was from the internet when he first started hearing all the rumors and jokes of what the government was cooking up in their basements late at night. Of course, there was jokes and memes, and these became the new trend of Tumblr around that time.

Cyan enjoyed these as much as everyone else, not one to miss a trend of Government Monsters that was spreading fast. Everything was so funny at the time, until weird stuff started to happen. The news announcing a strange string of flu that was proving itself fatal, a neighbor coming down with it, passing away, but then later mauling his own wife to death. Things went totally bat-shit in a matter of days. As soon a corpses started getting up and walking around, Cyan was on par. He'd seen the movies, and he was certainly not going to be that one guy who died in the intro credits. He grabbed his sister, Winter, packed both of them a bag, and was dragging her out of the house to the nearest bus station as she called him every name in the book that was even close to 'Crazy'.

There mother had been out that day, gone a business trip to who knows where, leaving Cyan to take care of Winter. And, by god, he was not going to face the wrath of telling his own mother that Winter had become Premium Zomb-Chow. That was a conversation he would not walk away from unscathed. The bus' loop only ran as far as the outer parts of the packed cities, though there wasn't as many buildings and the population was less dense.

The days after that were a strange blur. It seemed like everyone was dropping like flies around them, and Kress siblings had nothing more to defend themselves than a swiped metal bat that he had 'borrowed' from someone's lawn. Somewhere along the way, Winter disappeared. Cyan had told her to stay where she was while he scouted ahead, but, being the rebellious younger sibling she was, Winter was not there when he returned. He searched for her for days, and later, he wished he hadn't. Cyan found her in the middle of the road, walking with the tell-tale shamble and a dead look in her baby blues. She barreled toward him, and Cyan panicked, swinging his bat right into the side of Winter's skull with a sickening crunch. Blinded by the shock and grief of it all, the next thing Cyan could remember was sitting among a small tented community, members of the group milling around and doing their jobs.


Family Tree
Mother | Anna Kress | 37 | Whereabouts Unknown
Sister | Winter Kress | 16 | Deceased



Happiest Memory:
Once, when his sister was fourteen, she had brought home a boy who didn't seem like he was interested in anything other than getting into her pants. So Cyan, being the great big brother he was, decided to harass the boy. It had been mid-winter and had been snowing for days at the time, and so Cyan filled a bucket full of ice water and positioned himself up on the roof above the front doorway. When said boy exited the house, Cyan proceeded in unceremoniously dumping the entire contents of the bucket of icy water on the kid's head. Long story short, that boy never did talk to Cyan's sister again, she didn't speak to Cyan for a month, and Cyan laid on the roof laughing for two hours straight at the look of utter horror that had been on that punk's face.

Saddest Memory:
Cyan had become really depressed when he first had been told he would never speak properly again. He had been one of those people who loved to laugh and shout, telling loud jokes and yelling hellos to his friends. In his mind, being mute meant the end of who he was, his whole personality taking a 360 degree turn and becoming very within himself. He rarely interacted with anyone after that, his sister being the only one he truly liked being in the presence of. During these times, he would often sit on her bed, listening to her blather on to her friends over the phone about whatever teenage girls talked about and messing around with her favorite teddy bear to cure boredom.



So begins...

Cyan Kress's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nathan Durand Character Portrait: Aspen Bates Character Portrait: Adam Dawson Character Portrait: Kat Savchenko Character Portrait: Annabelle Marie Richards Character Portrait: James Milo
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The quiet was eerie. Without realizing it, one grows very used to the sounds of the hustle and bustle that is bound to be produced by cities during everyday monotony. The sounds of cars, engines revving and horns honking, and the presence of others. Distant laughing, shouts, or talking just gets tuned out after so long of just living life, just white noise that no one really notices. But, now, when it's completely absent, one starts to miss it. Even nature seemed to have lulled itself into a quiet state from the shift of the norm, the trees no longer sounding as loud as swift breezes blew through their branches and the birds didn't sing their songs with the same vigor as before. At least, that was how it felt to Cyan. Like the world was slowly walling itself away, receding into a dormant state. The only sound he could hear now was sneaker soles scraping against the pavement.

Cyan kept himself near the front of the group's small herd. Tucking himself in the interior, just behind their temporary leader, Nathan, and little Milo, but in front of the good doctor and Kat. With his shoulders hunched up to his ears, the hood's drawstrings pulled taunt, and his arms pulled inside his hoodie's bulk, Cyan looked a bit odd as he kept pace with the rest. The mute looked odd most of the time, both lanky and pale, without much substance to his body at all, and generally looking like a bully's prime target, but he had a real reason as of now.

He hated the cold with a -- Ahem -- fiery passion. If the weather so far as dipped anywhere below 70 degrees, he was absolutely miserable. The teen cursed himself for not staying back at 'Home' with their true, yet unofficial, leader and the others, where he could of at least cocooned himself in blankets as he worked. But, alas, he guessed he was a tad more useful out here than back at base, more eyes to look for supplies and more hands to carry it. His own miserable state was no excuse for being lazy.

With his head in the clouds, Cyan heard nothing of the orders barked at them from Nathan, nor the witty but rather unnecessary comment about cute flip flops. He had just continued walking along at his same pace looking at the scenery, unaware that the group was splitting itself up and going it's separate ways until reality started to seep back in, and he realized he was alone. Pausing his walk, a small burst of panic seizing in his chest, he took a moment to free his arms from his jacket, turning in slow circles to try and find a familiar face.

Being alone was dangerous for the mute. He couldn't cry out if he needed help, and he wasn't fit enough to fight off any unpleasantness that might come his way. Cyan didn't carry a gun like the rest, either. He was a terrible shot, wouldn't even be able to hit a target at point-blank range, and would do more harm than help if one was placed in his possession. So, to stop any friendly fire and avoid casualties, he steered away from firearms. The only means of protection he carried on his person was a crude bat, the head of it being a mess of two-inch nails for 'effectiveness', clipped to his belt.

Seeing a wisp of a jacket disappear into a doorway, Cyan broke into a light jog toward a large supermarket building. They must have went inside when he wasn't looking. Thank the heavens that they hadn't up and left him while he daydreamed, because then he would be in some serious trouble.

Stepping carefully over a rotting pumpkin that held the sliding doors ajar, he nearly knocked into Adam as the doctor recoiled. Pursing his lips in dismay, Cyan moved out from behind the other man, not wanting to get pushed back into the moldy holiday decor. The room was dark, and the teen found himself squinting to try and make anything out.. There were only a few (And rather weak) light sources. One being the door Cyan had just entered from, and the other being the flashlight crudely duct-taped to Nathan's rifle. Following the beam of light with his eyes, and the tense muttering of his group mates, he, too, spotted the horde. The teen sucked in a breath through his teeth, eyes blown wide in fear. Cyan's hand dropped down to his belt, fumbling blindly to unhook his bat, not being able to tear his gaze away. Whatever may happen next was most likely not going to be pretty.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nathan Durand Character Portrait: Aspen Bates Character Portrait: Layton Bates Character Portrait: Adam Dawson Character Portrait: Kat Savchenko Character Portrait: Annabelle Marie Richards
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#, as written by Felilla
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There was something about the silence that Layton Bates found disturbing. He had lived in the city his entire life, so he was accustomed to the bustle of everyday life. It felt strange to be in a world where everything was an eerie silence. Well, not completely silent. He could hear the scuff of people's shoes against the pavement and if he tried hard enough, he could hear the breathing of the others. Layton adjusted his brown coat, wishing for something a bit warmer. He could remember better days, when all of this was some delusional theory he had thought up. He never imagined he'd be living it. Aspen let out a silent sigh next to him. She had changed drastically in the past month, but then again everyone had. When things were simpler, Layton would tease his sister for wearing so much makeup. It was odd seeing her without anything but the occasional dirt smudge on her pale face. Layton could feel a stubble on his chin. The other males in the group had long since given up shaving, but it was a small comfort for the teenager.

He hiked his old backpack up, the one he had kept since the beginning of this entire thing. It was almost empty, save for a granola bar or two ad his dad's wrench, so he knew he'd have to fill it up to the brim. He only had to hope that wherever Aspen decided they were going would still have food and medicine, as well as some gum. It was his sister's routine to go to simple places like gas stations and small, family owned stores before hitting the houses. She, unlike the others in the group, would avoid grocery stores (or any large store for that matter). She had told him about her theory, and he was kind of starting to believe her. He ran a hand through his brown hair as Nathan barked out orders. Layton was kind of glad he decided to not join the military. He hated being told what to do.

Aspen glanced over at him and he nodded back. It was not unlike the two of them to have some unspoken communication. They were closer than most siblings, even before the outbreak. The past month had bonded them closer together than Layton thought possible. He figured if they could live through escaping New York City, they could live through this winter. Secretly, he wished they could've brought a car. It would be so much easier to carry things, stuff as much as possible into the vehicle then drive away. That way, they could get warmer clothes, blankets, sleeping bags, whatever was needed to survive a harsh winter without the comfort of indoor heating. However, he also knew that cars were too loud. They would attract zombies left and right if they brought one.

The Bates siblings separated from the rest of the group. They had survived two weeks on their own, they knew what to look for. Aspen swung her rifle onto her shoulder. In the past month, layton had also noticed that she was getting very comfortable with weapons. She was a hunter, but she had always seemed reluctant about holding a gun. "Look for ammunition, too. We'll check the gas station first. Zombies seem to avoid them."

It was like Aspen to notice things that others seemed to disregard. She probably had some theory about why zombies avoided gas stations too, but she never really talked about her theories unless she was sure they were true. Layton walked backwards as his sister walked normally. The two of them had become comfortable with doing things like this. A zombie could easily sneak up on you, so could a trigger happy human. Their boxer pup Lila Belle walked between them, treading almost silently. When they approached the gas station, Layton swung his flashlight around. He didn't see anything, so he nodded to Aspen. The two of them entered the abandoned building as their dog waited outside. Aspen ducked behind the counter to looked for medicine while Layton started moving through the aisles.

He started by finding some toilet paper before getting any canned foods. The gas station must not have been very popular when the world was normal, because most of the stuff was still in place. He left the refrigerated aisles alone, knowing that anything in them would've already gone bad. Honestly, he would kill a man for a bowl of ice cream. When his bag was almost full, he made his way over to Aspen, meaning to ask if they were checking out the houses next. He bent over the counter, nearly giving her a heart attack. "Don't do that! Find anything good?" she stood up, grabbing baby wipes and hand sanitizer off the counter.

"Course I did. Do expect me to not find anything?"

Aspen rolled her eyes as she did a look over. "Let's move."

"Where we going next?"

The older Bates sibling looked at her watch, "It's already been fifteen minutes. We should probably head back."

Layton nodded and the two of them left the gas station.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nathan Durand Character Portrait: Adam Dawson Character Portrait: Kat Savchenko Character Portrait: Art Character Portrait: James Milo Character Portrait: Cyan Kress
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Nathan pulls himself downward into a crouch while his eyes remain fixated on the zombies before him. A few walk right into the shelves beside them as if not fully grasping the concept of a shelf. Others drag themselves along the length of the section, moaning softly as if greeting their fellow members of the undead army. Of course they aren't greeted each other, for Nate knows they are nothing more than lifeless corpses, revived by the disease.

He looks to the side as he hears a soft voice inquiring about alcohol. Next to him, Milo pulls out a pistol. At first, Nate flushes, assuming for just a split second that the boy is asking rhetorically and hinting toward his past alcoholism. Then, of course, he realizes that he has yet to disclose this secret. Nate gives a quick shake of his head and looks to the boy, standing beside him with a gun in his hand. Again, he reminds him of his own son had Wendy allowed him to teach the boy how to hunt. She was quite adamant about making sure the kids didn't even know they owned guns. "Not on me, kid," he says softly in his accent that somehow mixes the South with New York. Slowly, he shines his flashlight up at the signs hanging above the aisles, proclaiming what would have been found within them. "Adult drinks" is only three aisles away. "Give me a second..." He pivots and rises, coming face to face with Kat. "Fight. I'm not letting those fuckers keep us from supplies. Hold your fire." His voice is little more than a deep whisper, and he shoots looks over his shoulder occasionally. Nate misses the doctor's comment completely, and that is probably for the best, for he would have definitely replied with a retort.

The first sergeant flicks off the flashlight and begins to circle around the cash registers to make his way toward the drinks. His boots, though he moves slowly, still make a soft thump on the ground with each step. His eyes take a while to adjust to the lack of light, but by the time he moves past the liquor, he can see a few dim shapes up ahead. They should have cleared the place out first, but Nate wouldn't vocally admit this. His hands graze along the labels of a few bottles as he moves along, squinting at the labels. As his fingers close around a bottle of vodka, he thanks the most-likely dead owners for carrying high proof alcohol. Nate lays his gun down and shoves two bottles into his backpack, side by side. He stops and looks up, a pack of Miller High Life before him. It couldn't hurt to celebrate if they got the hell out of here. Nathan jams a knife into the thin cardboard and removes a few cans. Wendy's no longer here to scream at him, thank God. He's out of the aisle almost as quickly as he entered.

When he returns, he makes sure that the cans of beer remain under the sweatshirt he shoved in the pack before leaving. Nate lays the bottle before the boy and cuts the bottoms of his shirt's sleeves off to use as wicks. The makeshift Molotovs are easily assembled, and once they are done, Nate pulls out the Zippo in his pants pocket and places it in Milo's hand. "Throw them one at a time as close to the middle as you can, or go for something flammable. I don't want the fire to die quickly." He looks back at Kat and Cyan. "We'll go in and through as many as we can. Avoid gunshots. Blunt force or stabs." Nate lifts his gun again and turns the light on, causing the undead to look toward them again. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. He prepares to rush into the fray when he hears Art from the door. "You're late," he muses, left corner of his mouth turning upward in a grin. "You know we can't run. We need the stuff in here."

As the first Molotov is thrown, Nate pushes himself upright and moves toward the flames along with the zombies who were startled by the sound of glass breaking. Knife clutched in his left hand, he moved and jammed it into the base of a zombie's skull. The flashlight that remains turned on moves crazily as he moves in between the zombies, weaving between their bodies. Finally, he merely drops the gun and double-hands the knife so he has more driving force as he slams the blade into the eye ball of a zombie. A month of this has trained him well, and the knife slides through with ease before he jerks it sharply. More filter in from the adjacent aisles, moaning softly as they wobble over. In moments like these, he loses himself in the thoughts that pester him all day. His regrets, his poor choices (though he would never describe them as "poor"). His knife flies through another's temporal lobe, cutting through the rotting skull with remarkable ease.

Nate's face turns into a very visible grimace as blood spurts on to him, joining the stains that are there from the others. As the first Molotov dies, he looks back toward the cash register and prays to God that Milo waited to light the next one and didn't follow him. As the crowd of zombies thins, he begins to move back to his gun and backpack. Nate slings the latter over his shoulder and begins to move down the aisles, limping quite quickly down them as he searches for non-perishables.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nathan Durand Character Portrait: Adam Dawson Character Portrait: Kat Savchenko Character Portrait: Art Character Portrait: James Milo Character Portrait: Cyan Kress
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Milo:

Milo checked an adjacent aisle and saw five zombies shuffling down towards them. The smell of old meat was masking their smell, but the zombies were starting to take notice of them. It seemed like the meat in the store had attracted every zombie in the town here.

When Nathan handed him a Molotov, Milo climbed up onto the shelves to get a better look. That is when he saw something bad. There were zombies coming down the halls, and would soon surround the others. He took out his flashlight and flashed it in someone's face, he couldn't see who, before turning it off and waving to them. As the fire of Nate's Molotov raged, other zombies instead of walking through the fire went around, while some of the zombies who went through the fire survived and charged towards the group while being on fire. As Nate's started to die, he threw his Molotov to help seal up that attack route.

The group was now getting surrounded, as the zombies were coming in through the doors behind him. The store was filled with supplies though, because contrary to popular belief and what the movies showed stores didn't deplete of supplies so quickly. This store still had plenty of food. Not counting the food that had gone bad. The smell of the rotted food was atrocious though, because the power had gone out. No refrigeration, no computers, no cell phone recharging.

He tried to look for other ways to help. Then he got an idea. He pushed a bunch of heavy boxes into the next aisle (and onto some zombies, which slowed them down and actually killed one of them). As the zombies were now all grouped together. He then pushed that aisle, causing it to fall down and smash them all. He jumped to another aisle, and looked in some boxes. Toilet paper, soda bottles, beer bottles. He took some of the beer bottles out, but he lacked cloth or a lighter. So instead, he threw the bottles at the zombie heads, hoping the glass would break and do enough damage. He threw the first bottle, which missed entirely. The second bottle hit it straight in the head but didn't break. It did break it's decayed neck through.

Milo continued to look in more boxes, as a few zombies took notice of him and began climbing. He found plastic knives, bleach, baking soda, flour, beads, hand lotion, napkins, more beer, dog food, and bugspray. He saw some lighters in the aisle, but two zombies were there. He threw a number of bottles at them, then quickly grabbed some toilet paper, beer bottles, and bugspray. He through the improvised molotovs right at the zombies, and finished them off with a flamethrower to the face. He then kept to his high ground and looked at what the others were doing.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nathan Durand Character Portrait: Aspen Bates Character Portrait: Adam Dawson Character Portrait: Kat Savchenko Character Portrait: Art Character Portrait: James Milo
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#, as written by mich22
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Fight. Alright—well
the mild doctor didn’t even bother to check his pockets. He did not carry a gun, of any sort. Believe him, dear reader, when you’re with someone who has eyesight like Adam Dawson, you’d be downright glad that the nearsighted man chose not to carry deadly weapons. Nathan returned to them once again, but Adam couldn’t help quirk an eyebrow at what he had brought back. Alcohol? He was sure a zombie outbreak would make anyone crave a good strong drink but really now wasn’t the time to be worr—oh. Nathan began unceremoniously stuffing his makeshift wicks into the necks of the bottles. If anyone or anything was ever thirsty for a Molotov cocktail, it’d certainly be the undead. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards during his quiet observation. The closest the man’s been to a smile in ages.

Lights flickered with the monotonous drone of florescent lights. Was someone tampering in the breaker room? Hazel eyes quickly adjusted, grateful for the extra light and scanned the aisle headings. Target locked. Pharmacy. Once those bottles were lit, there would be very little time to spend scavenging the store, and he didn’t plan on squandering a second of it. On the positive side, it seemed that their small party had grown. Art had joined in at Nathan’s side, already successful with her own ventures. That shock of red hair could only be none other than Aspen. As Nathan drew back his arm with his newfound weapon, the faintest whisper had notified Adam to look towards the doorway. A reclusive girl stood there, bloodied cricket bat in hand. She was battered up something awful. He’d have to patch her up later, no doubt. Uncertain on whether she was keen on letting her presence known to the others, he gave her the minutest acknowledging nod, before the shattering of glass and flame sprung their operation forwards.

You know, sometimes, it’s hard to believe how fast things melt into chaos.

“Sorry.” Adam ducked down around them, feeling the heat of the flames lick his skin. Nathan would probably do more than scold him for splitting off from the group later. The others, Nathan, Kat, Cyan, they were the fighters. He was--well, he didn't really know what he was. He wouldn't be of any use to them there, but he did know what he could do. Gathering medication was his priority. Should someone choose to come with him, then all the better, but he would not ask someone purposely to carry him as a burden. With the zombies, momentarily confused by the sudden noise, smoke and flame, he hurried his way over to the correct aisle. Though he sacrificed one hand to hold his blazer to his mouth and nose as a prevention of smoke inhalation, the other hand readily grabbed packages of bandages, bottles of rubbing alcohol—he’d really love to hop behind the counter for access to the stronger medications—but Tylenol and the like, even a few Unisom sleeping aids, should do for now. He hastily added whatever was left of those to his supply. But the call of more effective supplies was too strong. One flicker of his eyes towards the counter, a pause, and anyone who saw would know what he was about to do.

He made a dash for it, clumsily sliding under the flip-open partitioning door. The bottom shelf contained mainly opioids, but he could work with that. Wonderful. Tramadol, buprenorphine, methadone, were all gratefully added to his sack. The doctor went busily to work, but so immersed he was--

--that he did not notice the zombie lurking on the opposite side of his shelf.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Nathan Durand Character Portrait: Aspen Bates Character Portrait: Adam Dawson Character Portrait: Kat Savchenko Character Portrait: Art Character Portrait: James Milo
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”Bloody He--” The man jumped, his hands reflexively twitching towards his head to protect it, as two gunshots rang through the air at an uncomfortably close proximity. He looked back to see Kat with a smoking gun in her hand. A zombie corpse lay not too far from him or the girl—it only took a moment more for him to put the pieces together. Yes, he was startled
but better startled than dead. It took a few moments more to wipe the shock from his face. He was lucky that she had followed him here. With a simple nod, he briskly jammed a few more items into his shoulder bag and tightened the clasps.

He jogged after Kateryna, in time to hear her musings about their scavenging job. “Ah, but it also could have gone worse.” He said, forcing his lips into a smile. It was rare to hear him speak without being prompted to. But he was trying to be optimistic about it, at least. Admittedly, the thought wasn’t very uplifting. His pep talks were about as good as his jokes were funny. In essence, not funny at all.

Adam noted though that she had new limp in her walk. “Here--” He couldn’t help but feel responsible for her injury, “Put your arm over my shoulder.” He offered gently. He had a manner of speaking that exuded his own sort of quiet authority. They were steadily making their way back to the group. The light cast from the propped open door put his mind at ease a little. Thank goodness, the faster they got out of here, the better. As per habit, he began to run a headcount and check of everyone in their small group. Nathan may be the leader, but Adam still watched over every one of them, just in a more subtle manner. Not everyone had come out unscathed, but that was to be expected. He could see that as Nathan collected materials off of the shelves, he as well, had a limp. The rest, including himself, were battered and bruised. Not to mention the untold damage to the lungs that smoke inhalation had caused to all of them. Obviously, he wouldn't be able to patch them all up now--you know, with the zombie infestation in this town and all that, so the least he could do was give her a little support to keep the weight off of her weakened foot. Running would not come easily to her for the next few days, or even weeks, depending on how bad the sprain was.

On the bright side, his medical sack was now heavy with good supplies. He felt better equipped than usual, more confident to make this great journey south, they'd been planning. He knew that their group would go through it all quicker than hungry children with candy, but it was better than having them starve, if you knew his meaning.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Shanti Nayar Character Portrait: Nathan Durand Character Portrait: Robyn Dempsey Character Portrait: Aspen Bates Character Portrait: Adam Dawson Character Portrait: Kat Savchenko
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Adam exited the building with a rough cough to clear his lungs. The only regret, perhaps, would be the waste of supplies they had caused with their little light show. They hadn’t even taken a small fraction of what that store contained, and now anyone else that came would only be disappointed by ashes and dust. It may not be their problem in the future, but it may cause trouble for others in the future.

He noted that the group was already abuzz with chatter and seemed to be in good spirits. He gazed softened admiringly. The fight for survival, as much as you’d think would tear people apart, had actually brought them all closer together. Though, he couldn’t quite say he’d compare them to family just yet, they were dear to him, in some way. One would never be able to tell that they just came out of a burning building. Robyn and Shanti had even come to join the party. It was so rare to see the founder of their group stray so far from the children back at camp. Art and Nathan were up to their usual dramatics again. Sometimes he really wondered if they were--he quirked an eyebrow at Art’s announcement to Robyn. Oh good for them. The obvious fluster and confusion on Nathan’s face almost brought a smile to his lips. He did hope they’d invite him to the wedding.

His head snapped up at the call of his name. Oh goodness, he’d been completely lost in his thoughts again. He hoped Kat hadn’t noticed. Had she been speaking to him? A little blonde was jogging over to them—ah Annabelle. A flood of questions came soon after. ”Our plans went a little awry.” The cause of that seemed obvious enough, ”Yes, we’re all more or less in one piece, not to worry.” He shot Anna a quizzical look however, when she informed them that her scavenging had resulted not in clothing, or food, but another survivor! She turned around and the strange froze like a deer in headlights. Even disregarding the torn lip, the poor girl looked scared out of her wits. Adam looked down at his other companion. ”You should be alright for now, please let me look at that ankle when we’re back at camp.” Even so, he apologized again to Kateryna for dividing his attention from her so often.

The brunet took a gentle step forward to greet the stranger. Whatever terror she was feeling it certainly showed on her face. ”Hey--it’s alright. He spoke softly, “It's alright to be frightened...we all were at one point, but I promise you, you’re safe now.” Admittedly, shy, frightened, and sick children had given Adam a lot of experience speaking to the timid. He was an unassuming man in daily life, but as soon as you were his patient, he always gazed at you with a rare, irresistible prejudice in your favor. As if you were understood as much as you wanted to be understood. As if you he regarded you with the impression of you, at your best, that you hoped to convey. “We were just about to return to our camp. There's food, a warm fire, and a safe place to sleep. You’re welcome to join us. I can patch you up there as well.” Practiced fingers reached into his sack, pulling out a cotton pad. He held it at the level of her broken lip, to allow her to see what he was holding. “May I?”