Introduction
“Good morning, I'm Rod Chase, reporting live at NYMNC News. We interrupt this program to bring you this important news bulletin: We are currently receiving widespread reports of random acts of violence and murder all over the city, and happenings of mass hysteria. Details are a bit sketchy right now, and there has been no official statement from the police about the situation, but we will continue to bring you coverage of the story as it unfolds. This has been Rod Chase, with NYMNC News; keeping you up-to-date, and informed.”
“Good evening, I'm Rod Chase, reporting live at NYMNC News. For those of you just joining us, we will be remaining live on the air for the remainder of what has evolved into a nationwide crisis. As reported earlier, there have been widespread attacks all over the city by what citizens are describing as bloody corpses in a trance-like state, and the situation has only escalated further since this morning. We still have no confirmed reports as to why this may be happening, however speculations range from a bacteria or virus with a mind-altering effect, to some sort of chemical spill or behaviour disorder inducing mass hysteria. All roads and freeways are jammed with citizens trying to evacuate the city, and the governor has issued the following statement:
"All citizens are encouraged to remain in their homes until the crisis is contained. Lock your doors, lock your windows, and draw your curtains. Do not; for any reason, answer your door. Remain in your homes, and remain vigilant. CDC and law-enforcement officials are doing everything they can to safely escort and evacuate civilians to a secure location."
“Widespread panic has swept the city. Most communities are without telephones, many without power, and some without water. Scientists at the CDC released the following statement concerning the incident in an interview not more than an hour ago:
"The bodies of the recently deceased are returning to life, driven by an unknown force that enables the brain to function. Whatever it is, the condition is highly contagious, and characterized by a sudden onset of flu-like symptoms; including, but not limited to:
Headaches; fever; vomiting; chills; myalgia; convulsions, and eventually, expiration.
If you or a loved one is suspected of infection, it is absolutely imperative to segregate and contain the individual until evacuation personnel arrive."
"For citizens that are trapped or otherwise unable to evacuate the city on their own, we are providing a list of rescue stations displayed on the screen below. If possible, citizens are encouraged to make their way to the closest collection point, and await assistance. Military personnel have been deployed to aid in rescue and evacuation operations, but because the violence is so widespread, it is impossible for evacuation personnel to respond to every situation in a timely manner. Listed with the rescue points below are points of priority, displayed in red. If possible, make your way to these safehouses, and await evacuation. Barricade the doors, block the windows, and turn out the lights. If possible, mark the roof, or side of the building with a S.O.S. signal so that responders may accurately identify it and expedite your rescue. Again, it is advised to remain indoors."
“There are still pandemic reports that the recently dead and deceased are returning to life and attacking the living. Any unburied corpse with its brain intact will still function. The dead body must be deactivated by either destroying the brain, or separating the brain from the rest of the body. Every dead body that is not properly exterminated will kill; every person that dead body kills will get up, and kill, no matter how damaged or mutilated the body is. We will stay on the air for as long as possible, but with power grids failing all across the nation, there is no guarantee. This has been Rod Chase, with NYMNC News. Stay safe, and God help us all.”
THE INFECTED
Walkers:
Slow-moving shamblers; your typical zombie. With limited neural function, they are generally clumsy and awkward, and relatively speaking: fragile - but because of their tendency to interact with objects with a resemblance of memory, it is speculated over the actual intelligence of the creatures. Nevertheless, they are outwardly easy to avoid and kill in sparse quantities, but in large groups, they can become extremely problematic, often bogging down and overwhelming their victims. Drawn primarily by motion and sound, they are driven only by the basic need to feed.
Weak Point: The brain.
Runners:
Much like their shambling counterparts, Runners are identical to Walkers in every way aside from their tendency to pursue supposed prey in large, sprinting packs.
Weak Point: The brain.
Screamers/Gargoyles:
Easily one of the most disturbing types of Infected, this form of infection seems to primarily affect Avian species, to a very precise degree. Primarily identified by their molting feathers, skinless faces, and often rot-pocked bodies, their most defining feature is their voice. With supposed prey in their sights, they will emit a high-pitched, warbling shriek that at close ranges can rupture ear-drums and cause loss of consciousness, leaving their victims virtually helpless against their predator.
Weak Point: This particular strain of Infected has developed a hardiness against typical forms of extermination, making them harder to kill than the average Walker. Vulnerability is primarily expressed through the pink, bulbous fleshy nodules or splotches that develop in seemingly random areas of the body, but one solid hit will invariably result in death. However, enough damage to the brain will generally have the same effect, and if not, at least silence its voice.
Hunters/Stalkers:
How this strain of Infected is chosen by the virus itself is open to speculation, but the result is almost always the same. Sometimes referred to as 'Stalkers' because of their documented tendency to prowl around on all fours like a feral animal, this type of Infected has proven particularly dangerous not only because of its incredible mobility and the distance it can cover with a single leap, but also because of its cunning and hunting tactics. Alone and singular, a Hunter will stalk its victim like a predator to its prey; sticking to shadows and dark areas or lofty spaces where visibility is limited and detection is minimal - but in large crowds, the Hunter has been observed mimicking Walkers and Runners, if only to better close the distance and strike viciously when there is absolutely no chance of escape or evasion, attacking with sharp fang-like teeth, and long cruel talons to rip its prey to pieces. Hunters have been known to stalk victims for days and miles and more, if for nothing but for the closure of the kill.
Weak Point: The brain.
Brutes:
Like the Hunter, basis of viral selection in this strain of Infected is only speculated. Once reanimated, the physical structure of the Infected begins to alter significantly, ultimately leaving them literal giants among the rest of the horde. Because the virus distends and grows the musculature of a would-be Brute, they are invariably some heads taller than a regular person, and despite their often lanky appearance, develop incredible strength. While this alone makes them easily discernible from the rest of the horde, they are notorious for their crazed, bloodthirsty smile, and the extreme and often excessive violence that comes with it, with most cases documenting Brutes using the heaviest thing they can lift to beat, batter, and otherwise pulverize their victim whether or not they actually intend to feed on them. Because of their hardened musculature, they are considerably more durable than the average Walker, and duly, should be avoided at all costs.
Weak Point: The brain.
Brains:
Perfectly identical to Walkers and Runners, the defining characteristic of the Brain is its capacity to learn, often mimicking the living down to a tee through gestures and habitual patterns. It is speculated that the existence of Brains might eventually spark the development of logical thinking in the rest of the horde, potentially making them that much more dangerous. However, because of their extremely restricted speech (limited mostly to grunts and groans and even sobs), and often mutilated bodies, the suspected chance of them successfully infiltrating the living is practically non-existent.
Weak Point: The brain.
Sleepers:
Much like Walkers, Sleepers will move around in a slow, trudging shamble. However, Sleepers have been separated into a different class due to their arguably more strategic tendencies, often moving around and lying back down again in places frequented by survivors to in essence, play possum. When an unwary survivor happens by, the Sleeper will promptly ambush, latching onto ankles and feet and legs in order to bite and cripple their victim so that they can appropriately feed. Survivors should watch for seemingly conveniently placed corpses, or otherwise inanimate corpses that move from one prostrate location to the next.
Weak Point: The brain.
RULES
The prescribed starting location for the initial group of players will be in a barricaded safehouse. This is the most ideal beginning to the roleplay, but honestly, your character can begin anywhere in the city. Of course, the idea is to eventually come together and stick together in order to increase chances of survival, which players will sustain for as long as possible. Survivors can be any anthropomorphic species or human ethnicity or gender, within reason (Leave your futa/herm fetishist and supernatural fantasy characters at home, please). Water still runs in most buildings, but electricity is hit-or-miss. Supplies are running low, as well as ammunition. Most local shops are empty due to looting and theft, leaving little scraps for straggling survivors, and because of their dwindling resources, players will inevitably be forced from the safety of their barricaded building and out onto the street. If this isn't taken up pro-actively, then the barricades will disappear, and they'll be forced to move anyway - because fuck idleness, that's why.
This is an open-form roleplay. Therefore, players are expected to be pro-active, and not just aimlessly follow one player's lead. The infection has become global, and thus, 'safety' is really just a relative thing, and Infected movement, behavior, and encounters absolutely will not be the duty of one person - everyone is expected to take part. You're a small group against an endless horde, after all.
No starter katana, chainsaws, rocket-launchers, or otherwise overpowered weapons; ammunition is extremely limited, so conserve it, or do without. In that, keep track of how many rounds your character expends, and make notes of it. No unlimited ammo, here. Players are expected to develop characters within realistic levels of badassness (military/law-enforcement, ex-military/law-enforcement, etc - make them believable), and duly, realistic levels of danger relative to the story. In that, we're not looking for heroes; death is, in fact, encouraged. This is not anime. The intent of this roleplay is for the lives of the Survivors to be put in a situation of calamity, even during periods of relative safety. Things like hunger, dehydration, and sleep-deprivation will be taken into account, and should be expressed accordingly. Thus, players will be expected to keep track of these things. If your character hasn't slept in two days, they're gonna be suckin'. If they haven't eaten or drank anything in two days, they're going to be weaker - and if they're bitten, or otherwise infected, then the player in question is expected to play out the symptoms until expiration and reanimation - unless they are properly dealt with. A player will be considered infected if they are bitten, scratched, or come into mucus membrane contact with infected blood, saliva or vomit. Some exceptions in cases of oral contact may apply. Roll the dice, and we'll decide on it. There is a bright side, however: the virus takes a little time to flood the bloodstream, so if a Survivor is bitten on an extremity, for example, amputation is an option - so long as it is done immediately, if not soon after contact. Otherwise, get used to the idea of shuffling around until someone puts you down.
Progression of infection:
Headaches
Fever and chills
Vomiting and myalgia
Tremors and/or convulsions
Death and reanimation
If your character dies, make another. There is no lockout. Not yet.
CHARACTER TEMPLATE
Name
Age
Species or Ethnicity
Sex
Biometric details and/or a brief bio to preferably include background, specialties and prior experience.
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The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 12 authors
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She looked up at him and smiled. "You know my hair used to be pink?" she said as she looked down. "I dyed it a lot just to piss my foster parents off." She said frowning. "When I killed her, my foster mom, I tried convincing myself she got what she deserved. But she didn't deserve it. She was the last thing I actually had left. Nyx was gone, because of me my foster father was leaving us. And... I'm glad I met you. Or I would really be alone." She said looking down.
She stayed quiet for a few minutes and then looked back up at him and kissed him softly.
She stayed quiet for a few minutes and then looked back up at him and kissed him softly.
"Towels should be in the closet; first door on the right, down the hall," He replied quietly in her (Kamille) stead, "Bathroom's the second," He went on with a calm jerk of his muzzle back over his shoulder, leaning against the short counter that divided the kitchen from the living room. From her position in the kitchen, Nyx would have been the only one to ever see him coming from the hall, "Just be careful about it, alright? Don't know how good a sense of smell these things have, or if they'll be able to hear the water runnin'," Still paranoid now, as ever. If this squatter had managed to clean up without drawing any attention, he figured another shower couldn't hurt, but that didn't keep him from worrying.
He'd re-approached from the bedroom quietly, with a somberly re-tempered resolve, habitually taking care even as he'd done as a pup to deliberately sidestep that creaky floorboard in the hallway. Tears were going to get him about as far as feeling sorry for himself, and at length, he'd reminded himself of that; dried his eyes, and put his head back on his shoulders to face the apocalypse again. A few stray sniffles aside, he was right as rain again with a new purpose to drive him. Pistol still in hand, he snuffed shortly, and duly, swiped his palm down his face and his muzzle with a long exasperated sigh.
"Christ, I'm tired," He mumbled more to himself than to anyone as he pushed off the counter and crossed the kitchen. Decocking the hammer, he dropped his pistol back into its holster, and; digging the intricately - if not just as simply - wound loop of cord out of his jacket pocket, stripped it and the hood he wore beneath all in one, and flung them across the dinner table. More than anything, he just wanted to get some kind of a meal in him and get some rest, but steps had to be taken, first. Otherwise, he'd spend the entire time he meant to devote to rest worrying, instead. Some of these bastards could move just as quietly as he could, if not moreso; and that knowledge alone was more than enough to put him perpetually on edge. Without a further word to either of the women in his house, and little more than a glance between the two, he dug right into the cupboard above the refrigerator for an armful of fragile china teacups and saucers and moved back up the hallway to the backdoor foyer. Smalltalk could come later; he had his own agenda, in the meantime.
Delicately placing the stacks of cups and saucers on the floor just inside the door, he slipped his hand back to the kydex sheath mounted across his belt at the small of his back for the small sharp knife he carried with him almost constantly, and slid down to the floor. For as long as he'd had it, the blade itself was in relatively immaculate condition, and equally as sharp, and had no trouble slicing through the long lengths of sturdy cord he pulled off that woven loop. Already, those nimble fingers went to work tying this knot and that knot; well into the process of a slim, but sturdy hammock of cord. He was taking his dear sweet time, but when he fell into that rhythm, it was something he subconsciously realized wasn't going to take very long as he watched his fingers fly over the smooth green strands. Still; get it done, and get it done right the first time, and he wouldn't have to come back to fix it!
He'd re-approached from the bedroom quietly, with a somberly re-tempered resolve, habitually taking care even as he'd done as a pup to deliberately sidestep that creaky floorboard in the hallway. Tears were going to get him about as far as feeling sorry for himself, and at length, he'd reminded himself of that; dried his eyes, and put his head back on his shoulders to face the apocalypse again. A few stray sniffles aside, he was right as rain again with a new purpose to drive him. Pistol still in hand, he snuffed shortly, and duly, swiped his palm down his face and his muzzle with a long exasperated sigh.
"Christ, I'm tired," He mumbled more to himself than to anyone as he pushed off the counter and crossed the kitchen. Decocking the hammer, he dropped his pistol back into its holster, and; digging the intricately - if not just as simply - wound loop of cord out of his jacket pocket, stripped it and the hood he wore beneath all in one, and flung them across the dinner table. More than anything, he just wanted to get some kind of a meal in him and get some rest, but steps had to be taken, first. Otherwise, he'd spend the entire time he meant to devote to rest worrying, instead. Some of these bastards could move just as quietly as he could, if not moreso; and that knowledge alone was more than enough to put him perpetually on edge. Without a further word to either of the women in his house, and little more than a glance between the two, he dug right into the cupboard above the refrigerator for an armful of fragile china teacups and saucers and moved back up the hallway to the backdoor foyer. Smalltalk could come later; he had his own agenda, in the meantime.
Delicately placing the stacks of cups and saucers on the floor just inside the door, he slipped his hand back to the kydex sheath mounted across his belt at the small of his back for the small sharp knife he carried with him almost constantly, and slid down to the floor. For as long as he'd had it, the blade itself was in relatively immaculate condition, and equally as sharp, and had no trouble slicing through the long lengths of sturdy cord he pulled off that woven loop. Already, those nimble fingers went to work tying this knot and that knot; well into the process of a slim, but sturdy hammock of cord. He was taking his dear sweet time, but when he fell into that rhythm, it was something he subconsciously realized wasn't going to take very long as he watched his fingers fly over the smooth green strands. Still; get it done, and get it done right the first time, and he wouldn't have to come back to fix it!
Jericho was really thrown off by the sudden kiss but he accepted it. He had not kissed a girl in a few years, he always felt like he'd never need one. All he would ever need was a rifle and an objective. But he always felt empty, a lost feeling of belonging. But when Ava kissed him he felt like he was suppose to be here right her and right now with this amazing girl in his arms.Jericho returned the kiss while closing his eyes. He held her a little tighter and could not believe that although he was in Hell he found a little piece of Heaven.
He pulled away after remembering there was other people around and that there was Doomsday happening right outside those doors. He looked around, he really didnt care who was looking but he didnt want anyone to get any unwanted feelings stirring up. He looked at Ava's beautiful blue eyes. "Im glad its blue now, blue is my favorite color by the way..."
He looked down at his rifle leaned up on the table. The Remington ACR. Chambered in the 5.56 Nato round and militarized so it shot on full automatic. Made of high density carbon fibers, it would never rust, never crack, never fall apart or never crumble. A firing system that made it the most reliable in the world. In addition to the Magpul accessories he had on there it was the perfect rifle. Expensive though, he spent at least 4,000 bucks on it. And for the last couple of years that was what kept him going. A tool to defend the defenseless. A sword to pierce the heart of darkness.
But now? Now he had another reason to keep going.
He pulled away after remembering there was other people around and that there was Doomsday happening right outside those doors. He looked around, he really didnt care who was looking but he didnt want anyone to get any unwanted feelings stirring up. He looked at Ava's beautiful blue eyes. "Im glad its blue now, blue is my favorite color by the way..."
He looked down at his rifle leaned up on the table. The Remington ACR. Chambered in the 5.56 Nato round and militarized so it shot on full automatic. Made of high density carbon fibers, it would never rust, never crack, never fall apart or never crumble. A firing system that made it the most reliable in the world. In addition to the Magpul accessories he had on there it was the perfect rifle. Expensive though, he spent at least 4,000 bucks on it. And for the last couple of years that was what kept him going. A tool to defend the defenseless. A sword to pierce the heart of darkness.
But now? Now he had another reason to keep going.
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Justin shifted in his chair. He hated hearing all this mushy shit going. It would have been one thing if they gotten up and done somewhere nice and quite but they had their moment out in the open for all to see...... For all to comment on.
Justin moved his legs on top of the near by table and once again adjusted him self, getting just a little more comfortable. A devious grin came upon his face, the idea in his head was just as bad. What was the harm hell they all needed the laugh and he thought it was funny.
Justin did his best to sing in a soft, soothing tone. A tone that could be filled with love and compassion. "I can shoooow you the world. Shining shimmering splenderrrr." Pausing for a moment to regain his composer. In a high pitched, mock female tone he sang "a whole new world. A new fantastic point if view. "
Justin started laughing. There wasn't much to smile about in this world. Thus Justin never missed a chance to get a good laugh in. He almost hopped that the others got a laugh out of it as well.
Justin moved his legs on top of the near by table and once again adjusted him self, getting just a little more comfortable. A devious grin came upon his face, the idea in his head was just as bad. What was the harm hell they all needed the laugh and he thought it was funny.
Justin did his best to sing in a soft, soothing tone. A tone that could be filled with love and compassion. "I can shoooow you the world. Shining shimmering splenderrrr." Pausing for a moment to regain his composer. In a high pitched, mock female tone he sang "a whole new world. A new fantastic point if view. "
Justin started laughing. There wasn't much to smile about in this world. Thus Justin never missed a chance to get a good laugh in. He almost hopped that the others got a laugh out of it as well.
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Jericho heard a cat dying. Or was it a mouse screaming in pain? Or was it a baby eagle falling from its nest? Oh nope, it was the new guy. Singing that song from that very stereotyped movie. No doubt showing how awkward it was for everyone to be there while Jericho and Ava had their moment. He didn't blame the guy and it was funny. Jericho thought it'd be more funny if he sang the "In the Jungle" song from Lion King.
"Hey guys, does anyone hear one of those screaming infected creatures? Oh no wait its just the new guy." he chuckled and looked at the guy before fully cracking up.
Jericho still didn't trust the guy, he just seemed to give off an aura that he did not like at all. Plus the fact that he never even gave his name, not something Jericho was fond of. But if he decided to do something all Jericho had to do was pull his Springfield. Not many were quicker than him when it came to quick drawing, he had been quick drawing since a kid.
"Hey guys, does anyone hear one of those screaming infected creatures? Oh no wait its just the new guy." he chuckled and looked at the guy before fully cracking up.
Jericho still didn't trust the guy, he just seemed to give off an aura that he did not like at all. Plus the fact that he never even gave his name, not something Jericho was fond of. But if he decided to do something all Jericho had to do was pull his Springfield. Not many were quicker than him when it came to quick drawing, he had been quick drawing since a kid.
There was a hint of a smile playing on her lips when Nyx complimented her name but she tried hard not to let it show. Nodding her head slightly, not really giving her new 'friend' an answer to the question that she stick with them or not, the young woman cleared her throat before answering. "Yeah, safety in numbers, right?" Watching as Nyx jumped off the counter and grabbed her bag, which she was actually sort of relieved the girl had, Kamille curiously peeked around her to get a better look at whatever treasures were inside the bag. Stepping a little closer, breaking whatever awkward boundaries had kept them apart this far, she pressed her lips together.
Rough to say the least. For some reason Kamille suspected that everything wasn't peaches and cream outside, whether it be the mass amounts of walking dead and other mutated creatures to give her the hint that this was the end of the world. She still hoped things would have somehow died down, as did everyone in the back of their mind, but a part of her didn't think things would ever be the same. Too many dead people and not enough alive ones.
Her ears almost perked up when Nyx mentioned the shower, so she decided she could at least be a little helpful and point her in the right direction. "The shampoo is on the counter, and-" But before she had a chance to continue, Monday approached the room almost as if he had come from thin air. Trying to hide the fact that her heart probably leaped up into her throat, Kamille dug her fingers into her side and scratched her hipbone. A nervous tic, maybe. At least doing that wouldn't have made her do anything stupid, thus resulting in less trust from the man she was probably going to team up with. Feeling like a foreigner once again, she watched as he got the china out of the cupboard. "Actually, if you use the stove-" Her voice was quiet, smaller than it was when she spoke with Nyx and a part of her couldn't stand that. "-you'll be fine. I've been living off soup for the last couple days, anyway."
Just as Monday was there in the kitchen, he was off to the backdoor as if he couldn't keep still. Was he setting up a trap, perhaps? To let them know if the zombies or whatever other creatures were approaching? If Monday took a look, he could see that Kamille had set the garbage cans in an order which would knock over if anyone undead, like... a walker, perhaps, was to try and get into the house. Hopefully she thought, at the time, that none of the smarter ones would figure out a way to get around them or create such a racket that she could potentially get into a lot of trouble. But she thought- hey, if a gun could attract a decent amount, hopefully those garbage cans clanging about wouldn't.
"Oh, and don't worry about the shower." Kamille turned back to Nyx, her arms crossed awkwardly and almost protectively over her chest. "The water pressure is weak so you can hear if anyone or... anything is coming. Also, you can barely hear it when you're in the hallway with the door closed so there isn't really anything to worry about."
Rough to say the least. For some reason Kamille suspected that everything wasn't peaches and cream outside, whether it be the mass amounts of walking dead and other mutated creatures to give her the hint that this was the end of the world. She still hoped things would have somehow died down, as did everyone in the back of their mind, but a part of her didn't think things would ever be the same. Too many dead people and not enough alive ones.
Her ears almost perked up when Nyx mentioned the shower, so she decided she could at least be a little helpful and point her in the right direction. "The shampoo is on the counter, and-" But before she had a chance to continue, Monday approached the room almost as if he had come from thin air. Trying to hide the fact that her heart probably leaped up into her throat, Kamille dug her fingers into her side and scratched her hipbone. A nervous tic, maybe. At least doing that wouldn't have made her do anything stupid, thus resulting in less trust from the man she was probably going to team up with. Feeling like a foreigner once again, she watched as he got the china out of the cupboard. "Actually, if you use the stove-" Her voice was quiet, smaller than it was when she spoke with Nyx and a part of her couldn't stand that. "-you'll be fine. I've been living off soup for the last couple days, anyway."
Just as Monday was there in the kitchen, he was off to the backdoor as if he couldn't keep still. Was he setting up a trap, perhaps? To let them know if the zombies or whatever other creatures were approaching? If Monday took a look, he could see that Kamille had set the garbage cans in an order which would knock over if anyone undead, like... a walker, perhaps, was to try and get into the house. Hopefully she thought, at the time, that none of the smarter ones would figure out a way to get around them or create such a racket that she could potentially get into a lot of trouble. But she thought- hey, if a gun could attract a decent amount, hopefully those garbage cans clanging about wouldn't.
"Oh, and don't worry about the shower." Kamille turned back to Nyx, her arms crossed awkwardly and almost protectively over her chest. "The water pressure is weak so you can hear if anyone or... anything is coming. Also, you can barely hear it when you're in the hallway with the door closed so there isn't really anything to worry about."
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[[Sorry guys things have been crazy with work and everything]]
bic -
Kaylie follows the rest of the group and sits by herself with Bosco. She stares at Bosco and places her hand on his ear and scratches it.
"At least one of us could be happy." She says with a small sigh, noticing her wrists thinning and her stomach growled. She places her free hand over her stomach, certainly she had lost weight.
Kaylie rests her head back against the wall and grabs a cigarette, lighting it and taking a long drag, then blows smoke rings.
bic -
Kaylie follows the rest of the group and sits by herself with Bosco. She stares at Bosco and places her hand on his ear and scratches it.
"At least one of us could be happy." She says with a small sigh, noticing her wrists thinning and her stomach growled. She places her free hand over her stomach, certainly she had lost weight.
Kaylie rests her head back against the wall and grabs a cigarette, lighting it and taking a long drag, then blows smoke rings.
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Tim has nothing to do but fall asleep now... He woke up to the sound of birds chirping, and shot right up. "Birds? Hm. I wounder if it is possible for them to get infected.."
Before Kamille could truly answer her question about the shower, Monday appeared and answered for her. Nyx gave him a pointed look with her eyes telling him to be nice to the girl while she was in the shower. Maybe she hadn't ever really gotten along with girls before, but there was something about Kamille that reminded her of Avalon, bringing out her protective side. Nyx had always been the tough leader who played the mother role as well as the father role for Ava. Even though the two of them were twins and the same age, Nyx was always the one kicking ass to protect her sister. Not that her sister wasn't tough. Nyx made sure she was, and that was part of the reason Nyx wasn't exactly surprised when she found out her sister was alive. Might be alive, she reminded herself, best not get her hopes up.
Smiling a sort of awkward smile at the two, she nodded and reached into her bag, grabbing some clean clothes before zipping it back up. "Thanks." She nodded, rounding the corner of the counter and swerving around Kamille to the hallway. "You ladies play nice now, ya hear?" She called over her shoulder to them with a laugh before closing the bathroom door behind her.
Sighing, Nyx looked in the mirror. Just as she'd expected. Greasy hair, dirty face, wrinkled clothes, and blood. The blood was everywhere. If she had been the type of girl who was worried about appearance, she might feel embarrassed, but Nyx nearly let herself wince once, then put it out of her mind. Crossing to the shower, she turned it on to get it started and stepped back to undress. Lifting her arms over her head to pull off her shirt was painful with the way she'd landed on her shoulder earlier, but she managed.
Once she was undressed, her dirty clothes in a heap in the corner, Nyx checked her skin for scratches and bites. Nothing. A lot of blood and too many bruises to count, but nothing that would give her infection. She did have one cut along her hip, but that was from sliding along the pavement in the alley earlier. Once the water was warm enough, Nyx stepped into the water. Kamille was right, the water pressure was weak enough to where she could still hear Monday and Kamille's muffled voices.
Once clean, Nyx stepped out again and bandaged her cut, and slipped into a fresh set of clothes that consisted of an old softball tee-shirt with the word "Owls" stretched across it, and a pair of skinny jeans. Since New York was cold, she also had a Pepsi logo sweatshirt in her bag, but, being inside, she didn't really need it right now.
Feeling much better, Nyx found a brush in one of the drawers and walked back out into the kitchen. She felt fresh and clean, but still exhausted and hungry. Spotting Kamille and Monday, she sighed and grabbed a sandwich from her bag, sitting at the breakfast table.
Once done eating, she stood. "I need some sleep." She announced. "I'll be on the living room couch if either of you need me, but just so you know, I sleep with a gun and knife so if you have to wake me, do it gently. I can't stress that enough." With a smirk, she reached for her bag and grabbed her pistol and her knife before slipping off into the living room and taking her spot on the couch. The pillows were small, but it was definitely an improvement over the little janitors closet she'd spent her last night in.
Fingering the little gold ring around her neck, Nyx closed her eyes. First thing in the morning, I'm coming for you Ava. She thought before drifting into a deep, fitfull sleep, full of nightmares. Her dreams were never peaceful anymore, but sleep was sleep so there was no way Nyx's body would allow her to wake up until she was either fully rested or danger loomed.
He was ignorant, for the most part, to Nyx's subtle death stares. Aware of them, sure, but their possible threats seemed particularly empty when the world was burning around them. Regardless, her joking taunts went unanswered from the back door foyer, instead focused on the slim hammock of cord that he'd just put the finishing touches on, and was diligently checking back over the knots.
Perfect.
Working himself up to his feet with an exhausted sigh, those nimble fingers went right to work tying one of the long-haired ends to the peg doorstop on the wall, and; cracking the back door open juuust enough to slip the other end between the door and the door frame, limbed the excess up, toward the top of the frame, and promptly closed the door as quietly and as delicately as he could. The hammock itself was pulled taut enough for his purposes, and it was with a satisfied little ghost of a smile that he gingerly plucked at the knot-woven net just to be sure. The moment someone so much as tried to crack the door, the end stuck in the door would unravel, and the hammock would slump, dumping its payload of china all over the hardwood hallway. Simple, but effective.
Perfect.
The hammock itself was long enough to support three tea cup and saucer sets, and they were stacked meticulously in just such a manner, the run-ragged vet arranging them almost obsessively to the perfect assortment that he'd pictured in his head. He had other plans for those metal cans however, and when he'd finally finished nitpicking his own creation, scooped them right up by the handles and hauled them back up the hall, around to the other side of the house without a word to poor Kamille. It was a good call, but he had an even better idea for them. Both stood upside down, he leaned one diagonally against the doorknob, and just as meticulously as the fragile set of china, balanced the second at an awkward angle ontop of it that would practically send it flying should someone try to push open the door and upset the can beneath it.
Perfect.
After a few minutes obsessing over their arrangement and their angles to make sure they wouldn't simply slip on their own, he sauntered back into the kitchen, sparing the already sleeping Nyx a sideways glance before he wandered down the hall and right back up again after a short pop into the laundry room for a washcloth, and one of the several modest plastic tubs stacked on the counter inside.
"So what's your name?" He quipped casually to the young woman (Kamille) sitting at his dinner table as he worked the tub up under the kitchen faucet, finally able to spare the time to actually give her the light of day without having to buzz back and forth. There was an awkward air about her ever since they'd informally met some minutes ago, and really, he couldn't blame the woman. His reception to her had been...less than welcoming. Internally, parts of him had to wonder what she thought of him.
Holding the tub as close to the mouth of the spigot as he could to avoid making a splash and making noise, he promptly filled it with warm water, and brought it with him to the dinner table. Cocking the seat adjacent to her out and away from the table, he sat down, placed his tub on the floor, and promptly began to roll up his pantlegs; one, and then the other. Barely visible with the cuff draped down around his foot, the scars that marred his right leg were plain and clear, now. The fur was still patchy around the center of his foot and sprouted up at awkward angles, but the rest of the damage was clear; glossy warped flesh that stretched from his foot to just beneath his knee, clearly marking him a burn victim. He seemed to think little of it though, as he dipped the marred foot into the warm water, despite the typical and obvious questions the scarring often tempted. It, and the almost identical furless scatter of scarred pockmarks on the insides of his bare forearms raising further questions as to just what it was he did for a living.
"God, that feels good," He thought to himself with a short relaxed sigh as he massaged and cleaned his feet down in the warm tub of water. A typical practice in his household, he would have done this first thing when they'd come in the door...if clearing the house hadn't been such a pressing matter instead. It was considered polite in the case of fur-bearers, and quite frankly, a nice way to relax in the meantime. But then; life couldn't be all roses ,could it?
Perfect.
Working himself up to his feet with an exhausted sigh, those nimble fingers went right to work tying one of the long-haired ends to the peg doorstop on the wall, and; cracking the back door open juuust enough to slip the other end between the door and the door frame, limbed the excess up, toward the top of the frame, and promptly closed the door as quietly and as delicately as he could. The hammock itself was pulled taut enough for his purposes, and it was with a satisfied little ghost of a smile that he gingerly plucked at the knot-woven net just to be sure. The moment someone so much as tried to crack the door, the end stuck in the door would unravel, and the hammock would slump, dumping its payload of china all over the hardwood hallway. Simple, but effective.
Perfect.
The hammock itself was long enough to support three tea cup and saucer sets, and they were stacked meticulously in just such a manner, the run-ragged vet arranging them almost obsessively to the perfect assortment that he'd pictured in his head. He had other plans for those metal cans however, and when he'd finally finished nitpicking his own creation, scooped them right up by the handles and hauled them back up the hall, around to the other side of the house without a word to poor Kamille. It was a good call, but he had an even better idea for them. Both stood upside down, he leaned one diagonally against the doorknob, and just as meticulously as the fragile set of china, balanced the second at an awkward angle ontop of it that would practically send it flying should someone try to push open the door and upset the can beneath it.
Perfect.
After a few minutes obsessing over their arrangement and their angles to make sure they wouldn't simply slip on their own, he sauntered back into the kitchen, sparing the already sleeping Nyx a sideways glance before he wandered down the hall and right back up again after a short pop into the laundry room for a washcloth, and one of the several modest plastic tubs stacked on the counter inside.
"So what's your name?" He quipped casually to the young woman (Kamille) sitting at his dinner table as he worked the tub up under the kitchen faucet, finally able to spare the time to actually give her the light of day without having to buzz back and forth. There was an awkward air about her ever since they'd informally met some minutes ago, and really, he couldn't blame the woman. His reception to her had been...less than welcoming. Internally, parts of him had to wonder what she thought of him.
Holding the tub as close to the mouth of the spigot as he could to avoid making a splash and making noise, he promptly filled it with warm water, and brought it with him to the dinner table. Cocking the seat adjacent to her out and away from the table, he sat down, placed his tub on the floor, and promptly began to roll up his pantlegs; one, and then the other. Barely visible with the cuff draped down around his foot, the scars that marred his right leg were plain and clear, now. The fur was still patchy around the center of his foot and sprouted up at awkward angles, but the rest of the damage was clear; glossy warped flesh that stretched from his foot to just beneath his knee, clearly marking him a burn victim. He seemed to think little of it though, as he dipped the marred foot into the warm water, despite the typical and obvious questions the scarring often tempted. It, and the almost identical furless scatter of scarred pockmarks on the insides of his bare forearms raising further questions as to just what it was he did for a living.
"God, that feels good," He thought to himself with a short relaxed sigh as he massaged and cleaned his feet down in the warm tub of water. A typical practice in his household, he would have done this first thing when they'd come in the door...if clearing the house hadn't been such a pressing matter instead. It was considered polite in the case of fur-bearers, and quite frankly, a nice way to relax in the meantime. But then; life couldn't be all roses ,could it?
Setting
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Diana Novy
Diana's breath rushed from her lungs as she was slammed into a brick wall. She gasped and coughed as she slumped to the ground. Quickly she rolled out of the way as the brute slammed his fist into the wall where her head was, causing him to hit brick. She stood and took off running trying to find where her shotgun had been knocked to without luck she swore and pulled out her switchblade swearing again. Killing this thing with it would be impossible, but she couldn't just keep running from this thing. She stopped and turned around looking at both sides of the ally she was in. There was a car that had been slammed against a building and if she used it she could get a flip off just high enough to get on the things back if she timed it perfectly. A second off and the thing would no doubt kill her.
She backed up against the opposite wall thinking every thing through until the brute was close enough. Quickly she started running to the other side of the ally jumping up onto the back of the car and running up the wall pushing off of it just hard enough to flip through the air over the creature. "Shit!" She swore as she started to pass him, she reached out grabbing the things shoulder and pulling herself up onto him as he tried reaching for her. She stayed as close to his bac as she could so she was just out of reach. She lifted her arm and slammed the switchblade into the brutes head and held on tight as he fell to the ground. Slowly she picked herself up and staggered out of the ally to look for her shotgun again, still having no luck. She swore again and kicked a jeep she was walking past. She thought about screaming several times to see if there was anyone else around her but she knew how stupid it would be, and she did not want to face another of those giant creeps. She closed her eyes and sat down on top of a cars hood, pulling up her jeans to reveal her ankle that was swollen and bleeding.
"Well fuck me." She said as she pulled her backpack off and opened it finding her bottle of gin and a bandage. She opened the bottle and took a sip before pouring it over the gash she had gotten from being slammed into a car that's frame had been twisted and bent into one gigantic set of razors. She gasped and started wrapping it up taking another sip of the gin before packing everything up and pulling out her pack of cigarettes. She pulled out her last one and flicked the empty pack into the street as she lit it and took a drag watching the smoke float around her. "Nice day. To bad everyones dead..." She muttered flicking the ashes off of the end of her cigarette.
Diana's breath rushed from her lungs as she was slammed into a brick wall. She gasped and coughed as she slumped to the ground. Quickly she rolled out of the way as the brute slammed his fist into the wall where her head was, causing him to hit brick. She stood and took off running trying to find where her shotgun had been knocked to without luck she swore and pulled out her switchblade swearing again. Killing this thing with it would be impossible, but she couldn't just keep running from this thing. She stopped and turned around looking at both sides of the ally she was in. There was a car that had been slammed against a building and if she used it she could get a flip off just high enough to get on the things back if she timed it perfectly. A second off and the thing would no doubt kill her.
She backed up against the opposite wall thinking every thing through until the brute was close enough. Quickly she started running to the other side of the ally jumping up onto the back of the car and running up the wall pushing off of it just hard enough to flip through the air over the creature. "Shit!" She swore as she started to pass him, she reached out grabbing the things shoulder and pulling herself up onto him as he tried reaching for her. She stayed as close to his bac as she could so she was just out of reach. She lifted her arm and slammed the switchblade into the brutes head and held on tight as he fell to the ground. Slowly she picked herself up and staggered out of the ally to look for her shotgun again, still having no luck. She swore again and kicked a jeep she was walking past. She thought about screaming several times to see if there was anyone else around her but she knew how stupid it would be, and she did not want to face another of those giant creeps. She closed her eyes and sat down on top of a cars hood, pulling up her jeans to reveal her ankle that was swollen and bleeding.
"Well fuck me." She said as she pulled her backpack off and opened it finding her bottle of gin and a bandage. She opened the bottle and took a sip before pouring it over the gash she had gotten from being slammed into a car that's frame had been twisted and bent into one gigantic set of razors. She gasped and started wrapping it up taking another sip of the gin before packing everything up and pulling out her pack of cigarettes. She pulled out her last one and flicked the empty pack into the street as she lit it and took a drag watching the smoke float around her. "Nice day. To bad everyones dead..." She muttered flicking the ashes off of the end of her cigarette.
Setting
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When Justin awoke he sun was already out. He didn't really know what time he had passed out. All he'd known is that the sun was out then, as it was now. He just chalked it up to be more tired than he thought. Justin didn't yawn for rub the sleep the out of his eyes. He just slowly opened his eyes without moving his head. He did his best to check out what was going on. Just about everything was the same as he left it. The one girl in the corner with the dog. Tim still running around doing whatever it is Tim does. Those two other dumb asses. The blue headed girl... Ava? Was that her name? Justin couldn't really remember her name, just that she was smacking lips with the would be hero over there.
Justin thought he about had Hero over there figured out. The guy was kitted out pretty well without any real military or police insignia. Add to that fact he said he lost..... Three good men was it? More than likely he was some sort of PMC. Some fool who couldn't adjust to civi life. If that was true, Justin doubted the long term prospects of this group. PMC are nothing more than organized gun thugs. They run around kill people for money, not pride or love or even honor, just money. But hey, it was that guys life. He could do whatever the hell he wanted with out. Justin did notice a couple of other things about him, but those were better left to be figured out later. Once everyone was moving around again.
Justin raised his head looking around even further. It looked like everyone else passed out at one point or another. It all worked out in the flush, Justin just figured either him or Hero over there would have woken up first. He just hoped Hero figured out that these zombies could hear and any gun shots were as a good as sending up flares with arrows pointing down. That is of course if there were any around. Once he felt somewhat secure that nothing was going to happen in the next few minutes, Justin started to move around a little. Taking off his backpack and pulling out his canteen. He had been almost dehydrating himself for not nearly a good enough reason. After a few drinks from his canteen he was feeling much better than he had before. Food? That might could wait a little while.
"Morning ladies." He said after a nice long stretching of the back. "Tim, you get any rest?"
Justin thought he about had Hero over there figured out. The guy was kitted out pretty well without any real military or police insignia. Add to that fact he said he lost..... Three good men was it? More than likely he was some sort of PMC. Some fool who couldn't adjust to civi life. If that was true, Justin doubted the long term prospects of this group. PMC are nothing more than organized gun thugs. They run around kill people for money, not pride or love or even honor, just money. But hey, it was that guys life. He could do whatever the hell he wanted with out. Justin did notice a couple of other things about him, but those were better left to be figured out later. Once everyone was moving around again.
Justin raised his head looking around even further. It looked like everyone else passed out at one point or another. It all worked out in the flush, Justin just figured either him or Hero over there would have woken up first. He just hoped Hero figured out that these zombies could hear and any gun shots were as a good as sending up flares with arrows pointing down. That is of course if there were any around. Once he felt somewhat secure that nothing was going to happen in the next few minutes, Justin started to move around a little. Taking off his backpack and pulling out his canteen. He had been almost dehydrating himself for not nearly a good enough reason. After a few drinks from his canteen he was feeling much better than he had before. Food? That might could wait a little while.
"Morning ladies." He said after a nice long stretching of the back. "Tim, you get any rest?"
Leaning against the counter now, her arms still folded across her chest, Kamille watched as Nyx headed off to claim the couch. Looking at the guy who almost blew her head off earlier out of her peripheral vision, she cleared her throat before answering. "Kamille." That came out bitchier than she intended and, sensing this, started to ramble. "This is the last place I would of expected someone to return to, so I'm sorry if my being here was... unsettling." Her voice sounded apologetic, but it still held a stern sort of tone that kept her grounded and not entirely timid. "You're uh, Monday, right? Nyx told me that was your name." Even though it sounds more like an alias.
Trying not to stare at the stretched scars on his foot, Kamille crossed over to the kitchen window before he had the chance to answer. When she first arrived, the first thing she wanted to do was board up all the windows - but hammering on planks of wood wasn't exactly a quiet task, so instead she draped thick towels behind the blinds. Folding back a piece of the heavy material before delicately pushing down on the blinds just large enough to squint through, she surveyed the area. Out of all the locations she could choose from this one was perfect, she only saw one of the walkers off in the distance and he was hobbling off in the opposite direction of them. But of all the houses to choose...
Letting out a soft sigh and stepping away from the window, Kamille walked back over to the kitchen table and sat down again. She brushed her hair off her face with her hands and tied it all back in a pony-tail, the long strands of her dark hair ending just above her tailbone. Lowering her voice, hoping that she wasn't disturbing Nyx in the next room, Kamille parted her lips to speak. "I've only been here for a couple of days, but I've been sleeping in, uh... that room you went into." Hopefully this wasn't going to make the large, furry and intimidating man angry - she had no idea who he was or how he would react to things and from all the people she's come across since the whole 'zombie apocalypse' thing started, she's learned not to trust anybody. No matter how sane they look. She wanted to shudder at the memory and rubbed her still sore shoulder from the altercation at the gas station the first day the virus broke out.
Trying not to stare at the stretched scars on his foot, Kamille crossed over to the kitchen window before he had the chance to answer. When she first arrived, the first thing she wanted to do was board up all the windows - but hammering on planks of wood wasn't exactly a quiet task, so instead she draped thick towels behind the blinds. Folding back a piece of the heavy material before delicately pushing down on the blinds just large enough to squint through, she surveyed the area. Out of all the locations she could choose from this one was perfect, she only saw one of the walkers off in the distance and he was hobbling off in the opposite direction of them. But of all the houses to choose...
Letting out a soft sigh and stepping away from the window, Kamille walked back over to the kitchen table and sat down again. She brushed her hair off her face with her hands and tied it all back in a pony-tail, the long strands of her dark hair ending just above her tailbone. Lowering her voice, hoping that she wasn't disturbing Nyx in the next room, Kamille parted her lips to speak. "I've only been here for a couple of days, but I've been sleeping in, uh... that room you went into." Hopefully this wasn't going to make the large, furry and intimidating man angry - she had no idea who he was or how he would react to things and from all the people she's come across since the whole 'zombie apocalypse' thing started, she's learned not to trust anybody. No matter how sane they look. She wanted to shudder at the memory and rubbed her still sore shoulder from the altercation at the gas station the first day the virus broke out.
As everyone else was sound asleep Jericho kept watch, he already got his hour of sleep. That would keep him running for at least a day or two. Just like in the Sierra Leon... The Warlords over there were ruthless but Legion had left a mighty big boot imprint on their faces before they left. Legion showed them that there is more to the world than children and women to be bullied, there were sheepdogs willing to protect them. Even if the only money he made there was 20 bucks him and his squad felt like they were paid too much for taking out sorry excuses for men. But that was his first mission with his newly acquired Bushmaster ACR. Jericho had been following this rifle since it was known as the Magpul Masada way back in 2005. The ACR gained its popularity when it was featured in the Modern Warfare series but because of that most people thought they knew everything about the ACR. Jericho would laugh when he heard about the myths of the gun but he would keep to himself and just smile and nod. On this mission alone he clocked in over 40 kills at a Warlord camp in less than an hour with his newfound love. He overthrew Warlord Mohad Assem and in his place was put a young teenager who was willing to put his life on the line for democracy and equality. Good kid, Jericho hoped his people wasnt affected by these things. Of course Jericho wasn't alone when all of this was accomplished. He had all or Reaper Squad behind him, they were considered the best but they would never acknowledge this. They were just humble.
Reaper Squad...
Spartan, Irish, Iceman then finally Jericho as Frostbite.
A greek immigrant to the US Spartan always carried around that stupid Kel-Tec shotgun. Slide action and bull pup with over 14 rounds of ammo it was actually a nice shotgun. The reason why he thought it was stupid was cause it was still a slide action aka pump. Why would the guys at Kel-Tec not make this thing semi auto? The KSG matched his personality though. Spartan was loud and had many different skill sets. From breaching to close quarters combat Spartan was the guy you'd turn to for help in CQB.
Irish was... Well... Irish. Jericho hated to be stereotypical but he was a loud drunk that liked to fight. He chuckled thinking about him. He carried around "The Highlander." it was essentially an M249 SAW with the best parts money could buy. Irish increased the firing rate, threw in a LE stock with a recoil reducing pad, attached a specialized RIS unit on the front, a holographic sight on top and a very unique 40mm grenade launcher on front. Highlander was as heavy as a Civic but Irish ate Civics for late night snacks. 6'4 and 240 lbs Jericho never wanted to fight the large SOB.
Finally Iceman, a Navy SEAL that like Jericho was not satisfied with what the government was doing and thus joined Legion. Men and women who wanted to make a real difference. He had a very impressive resume, he was actually part of the team that took out the infamous Bin Laden. Cool, collected, quiet, Iceman was much like Jericho. He just simply lost faith in the human race but he always told Jericho to find a reason worth fighting for. He said he lost his reason a long time ago and he would hate to see Jericho wind up like him. But Jericho had a deep respect for the man, he was after all his mentor. Over 4 and a half decades old, Iceman was a force to be reckoned with. He liked his SCAR-L he carried back in ST6 so he decided to buy it. He always had a suppressor on it as well as a 4x Trijicon ACOG sight.
Jericho had to stop thinking about Reaper Squad and focus on his current group. Two badass females, one very different male and one hot shot. He'd get along with all of them but he may have problems with the hot shot. He seemed to be military but he also seemed to be the type of guy that went and got hammered every weekend at a sports bar. A shame to have talent but not use them in life to help others. So far it looked like he was in this for himself but Jericho wasn't going to turn away anyone needing help. That's why he didn't oppose to letting him stay the night. If he wanted to stay with the group he could. Jericho would never turn down any opportunity to help someone. If his group reached 50 people he would defend them until his heart stopped beating.
Everyone knew how he felt about Ava, he felt like a manwhore cause he only knew her name for maybe five hours before they kissed.
Phoenix seemed like one tough cookie, especially with her dog. Seemed like she could take on anything.
Then there was Tim, good man.
Jericho noticed the new guy waking up and drinking from his canteen and said a morning greeting. Which only confirmed what Jericho thought of the man. "Foods in the back like Tim said. You might want to stock up. I'm not sure if you want to join us in getting out or not but we just want you to know you're welcome to. And we may not have a lot of supplies but please help yourself to em!" Jericho smiled " The names Jericho Winters by the way. I'd shake your hand but I'm a little tied up at the moment." he looked down at the bundle of blue hair still on his lap. " Please excuse our first encounter the other day, we were all on edge. "
Reaper Squad...
Spartan, Irish, Iceman then finally Jericho as Frostbite.
A greek immigrant to the US Spartan always carried around that stupid Kel-Tec shotgun. Slide action and bull pup with over 14 rounds of ammo it was actually a nice shotgun. The reason why he thought it was stupid was cause it was still a slide action aka pump. Why would the guys at Kel-Tec not make this thing semi auto? The KSG matched his personality though. Spartan was loud and had many different skill sets. From breaching to close quarters combat Spartan was the guy you'd turn to for help in CQB.
Irish was... Well... Irish. Jericho hated to be stereotypical but he was a loud drunk that liked to fight. He chuckled thinking about him. He carried around "The Highlander." it was essentially an M249 SAW with the best parts money could buy. Irish increased the firing rate, threw in a LE stock with a recoil reducing pad, attached a specialized RIS unit on the front, a holographic sight on top and a very unique 40mm grenade launcher on front. Highlander was as heavy as a Civic but Irish ate Civics for late night snacks. 6'4 and 240 lbs Jericho never wanted to fight the large SOB.
Finally Iceman, a Navy SEAL that like Jericho was not satisfied with what the government was doing and thus joined Legion. Men and women who wanted to make a real difference. He had a very impressive resume, he was actually part of the team that took out the infamous Bin Laden. Cool, collected, quiet, Iceman was much like Jericho. He just simply lost faith in the human race but he always told Jericho to find a reason worth fighting for. He said he lost his reason a long time ago and he would hate to see Jericho wind up like him. But Jericho had a deep respect for the man, he was after all his mentor. Over 4 and a half decades old, Iceman was a force to be reckoned with. He liked his SCAR-L he carried back in ST6 so he decided to buy it. He always had a suppressor on it as well as a 4x Trijicon ACOG sight.
Jericho had to stop thinking about Reaper Squad and focus on his current group. Two badass females, one very different male and one hot shot. He'd get along with all of them but he may have problems with the hot shot. He seemed to be military but he also seemed to be the type of guy that went and got hammered every weekend at a sports bar. A shame to have talent but not use them in life to help others. So far it looked like he was in this for himself but Jericho wasn't going to turn away anyone needing help. That's why he didn't oppose to letting him stay the night. If he wanted to stay with the group he could. Jericho would never turn down any opportunity to help someone. If his group reached 50 people he would defend them until his heart stopped beating.
Everyone knew how he felt about Ava, he felt like a manwhore cause he only knew her name for maybe five hours before they kissed.
Phoenix seemed like one tough cookie, especially with her dog. Seemed like she could take on anything.
Then there was Tim, good man.
Jericho noticed the new guy waking up and drinking from his canteen and said a morning greeting. Which only confirmed what Jericho thought of the man. "Foods in the back like Tim said. You might want to stock up. I'm not sure if you want to join us in getting out or not but we just want you to know you're welcome to. And we may not have a lot of supplies but please help yourself to em!" Jericho smiled " The names Jericho Winters by the way. I'd shake your hand but I'm a little tied up at the moment." he looked down at the bundle of blue hair still on his lap. " Please excuse our first encounter the other day, we were all on edge. "
“Yeah, that's right,” He replied simply as she crossed the room, only really watching her through his peripheral. It wasn't his real name, but it wasn't a lie, either, and her assumption at an alias was spot on - but he preferred to keep it that way until someone got it in their head to pry. He had his reasons.
”Kamille, hmm?” He thought to himself as he plucked one foot – rubbing it dry as well as he could with that wascloth – and then the other out of the washbasin. Had to admire the young woman's simplistic methods of concealment, though; he was willing to bet they could have even chanced turning on the lights – if the electricity worked.
“But, it's fine,” He replied at length, a man of few words in strange company, “Used to be mam'n dad's, but I don't think they'll be using it again anytime soon,” There was a subtle bitterness in his voice; that nagging realization that the last time he visited home might very well have been the last time he was ever going to see them. The guilt was still chewing at him beneath the surface, and for once, it was something he was just having a hard time getting past. They had a plan, sure, but it was a plan that spanned more than a thousand miles, and assuming things were just as bad going through Ottawa and Montreal, he had to assume the worst. Grim perhaps, but it was realistic. His old man was smart as all get-out, and more than able in his growing age, but he still worried – they were his parents, after all.
Despite that, he still couldn't help but notice her awkward stance around him. It might as well have been written on her forehead in big bold print, because for the most part, her body language betrayed her. Really, he couldn't tell if she was genuinely intimidated by him, or if she just had mood swings something fierce. Still, that little nagging in the back of his head told him she was making some kind of conscious effort to puff up in front of him like he was some..alpha male, or something. Parts of him told himself that the young woman had every reason to be tucking her tail around him. Parts of him told himself that she damn well better be walking on eggshells after breaking into his house like this - but the more realistic parts of him were more sympathetic. He'd been lucky. She could have just as easily been a looter, or worse - brought those things in behind her - but no, she was just someone running scared – just like the rest of them.
Dumping the dirty water into the sink, he hauled the tub back into the laundry room before he sauntered across the hall into the pantry.
”Didn't think so,” He smiled to himself at the shelves that were devoid of canned soup and products. Good. He'd certainly expected as much, and it just reinforced the belief he clung to that his parents were alive and well.
“Hungry?” He quipped at the young woman on his way back up the hall, digging into the kitchen cupboard. Carefully settling two glass bowls on the counter, he dug into one of the drawers for silverware. The slip of paper sitting neatly ontop of the plastic tray made him stop when he opened it. Shaking his head, he plucked it up and plucked up a spoon for each of them before he slid the drawer shut, and slid the letter out onto the table, and pushed it across to her. Here. This'll explain everything.
Circling back around to the other side of the table, he dug into that stuffed gym bag, sifting through this can and that can until he settled on a can of chicken noodle and a can of beef and vegetable soup.
“The good stuff,” He murmured to himself as he buzzed about the drawers for the can opener; popped open the can of beef and vegetable, and sat down to help himself to a cold bowl of soup. He didn't dare cook anything for fear of drawing attention. He wasn't about to take a look outside for how many of those things were skulking around outside, but he could just as easily remember how he could smell his mother cooking from the backyard. Based on that recollection, he had to assume that the walking dead would be able to smell it from the street. No chances. Not here.
”Kamille, hmm?” He thought to himself as he plucked one foot – rubbing it dry as well as he could with that wascloth – and then the other out of the washbasin. Had to admire the young woman's simplistic methods of concealment, though; he was willing to bet they could have even chanced turning on the lights – if the electricity worked.
“But, it's fine,” He replied at length, a man of few words in strange company, “Used to be mam'n dad's, but I don't think they'll be using it again anytime soon,” There was a subtle bitterness in his voice; that nagging realization that the last time he visited home might very well have been the last time he was ever going to see them. The guilt was still chewing at him beneath the surface, and for once, it was something he was just having a hard time getting past. They had a plan, sure, but it was a plan that spanned more than a thousand miles, and assuming things were just as bad going through Ottawa and Montreal, he had to assume the worst. Grim perhaps, but it was realistic. His old man was smart as all get-out, and more than able in his growing age, but he still worried – they were his parents, after all.
Despite that, he still couldn't help but notice her awkward stance around him. It might as well have been written on her forehead in big bold print, because for the most part, her body language betrayed her. Really, he couldn't tell if she was genuinely intimidated by him, or if she just had mood swings something fierce. Still, that little nagging in the back of his head told him she was making some kind of conscious effort to puff up in front of him like he was some..alpha male, or something. Parts of him told himself that the young woman had every reason to be tucking her tail around him. Parts of him told himself that she damn well better be walking on eggshells after breaking into his house like this - but the more realistic parts of him were more sympathetic. He'd been lucky. She could have just as easily been a looter, or worse - brought those things in behind her - but no, she was just someone running scared – just like the rest of them.
Dumping the dirty water into the sink, he hauled the tub back into the laundry room before he sauntered across the hall into the pantry.
”Didn't think so,” He smiled to himself at the shelves that were devoid of canned soup and products. Good. He'd certainly expected as much, and it just reinforced the belief he clung to that his parents were alive and well.
“Hungry?” He quipped at the young woman on his way back up the hall, digging into the kitchen cupboard. Carefully settling two glass bowls on the counter, he dug into one of the drawers for silverware. The slip of paper sitting neatly ontop of the plastic tray made him stop when he opened it. Shaking his head, he plucked it up and plucked up a spoon for each of them before he slid the drawer shut, and slid the letter out onto the table, and pushed it across to her. Here. This'll explain everything.
Circling back around to the other side of the table, he dug into that stuffed gym bag, sifting through this can and that can until he settled on a can of chicken noodle and a can of beef and vegetable soup.
“The good stuff,” He murmured to himself as he buzzed about the drawers for the can opener; popped open the can of beef and vegetable, and sat down to help himself to a cold bowl of soup. He didn't dare cook anything for fear of drawing attention. He wasn't about to take a look outside for how many of those things were skulking around outside, but he could just as easily remember how he could smell his mother cooking from the backyard. Based on that recollection, he had to assume that the walking dead would be able to smell it from the street. No chances. Not here.
Avalon Goldwin
Ava moaned hearing Jericho and the new guy talk. "What time is it?" She asked slowly as she sat up looking around and rubbing her eyes. She yawned and grabbed her backpack not waiting for an answer before walking into the back bathroom and changing out of her bloody mess of clothing. She walked up to one of the sinks and looked in the mirror. She had specs of blood all over her face and her makeup was smeared. Not like that was a major problem, but her appearance was below ecxepting even for a zombie apocalypse. She frowned and ran some water, splashing it on her face and whipping away the splatters with a paper towel and touching up her makeup the best she could without having to add more. She yawned again and turned leaving the bathroom and sitting down. "So what's the plan? We gonna just walk around until we get attacked again out there or are we gonna stay holed up? Cuz the red head out there seems to be having a fun time." She said pointing out the window to the girl that was smoking her cigarette on the hood of a car.
Ava moaned hearing Jericho and the new guy talk. "What time is it?" She asked slowly as she sat up looking around and rubbing her eyes. She yawned and grabbed her backpack not waiting for an answer before walking into the back bathroom and changing out of her bloody mess of clothing. She walked up to one of the sinks and looked in the mirror. She had specs of blood all over her face and her makeup was smeared. Not like that was a major problem, but her appearance was below ecxepting even for a zombie apocalypse. She frowned and ran some water, splashing it on her face and whipping away the splatters with a paper towel and touching up her makeup the best she could without having to add more. She yawned again and turned leaving the bathroom and sitting down. "So what's the plan? We gonna just walk around until we get attacked again out there or are we gonna stay holed up? Cuz the red head out there seems to be having a fun time." She said pointing out the window to the girl that was smoking her cigarette on the hood of a car.
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Kaylie's eyes flicker over as she flicks the ashes from her cigarette, noticing everyone was getting up and about. She sighs, poking Bosco with her toes and he grumbles, dark eyes fluttering open.
"Get up, dummie." She grumbles, pushing her aching body up, the cigarette rests in her mouth as she cracks her back. The blue headed girl asks what the plan was.
Did anyone have a plan anymore? Besides survive of course.
Kaylie grumbles, "The plan is to stay alive another day, even though this shit hole has nothing to offer."
Bosco sits up with a yawn and stretches out, scratching his ear. Kaylie looks around, they all looked like a poorly put-together machine, but somehow it worked. Kaylie runs a hand through her hair, pulling it away from her face and taking a long, final drag of her cigarette and flicks it out the window.
"Get up, dummie." She grumbles, pushing her aching body up, the cigarette rests in her mouth as she cracks her back. The blue headed girl asks what the plan was.
Did anyone have a plan anymore? Besides survive of course.
Kaylie grumbles, "The plan is to stay alive another day, even though this shit hole has nothing to offer."
Bosco sits up with a yawn and stretches out, scratching his ear. Kaylie looks around, they all looked like a poorly put-together machine, but somehow it worked. Kaylie runs a hand through her hair, pulling it away from her face and taking a long, final drag of her cigarette and flicks it out the window.
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"I'm not sure where we are in the city but if I'm right there should be a police station a few miles up the the road. I was heading there before I ended up here. Doubt we'll find much there but you guy's could really use some decent gear." Justin let his mind wonder for a moment trying to think about what he really needed.
Justin got up and walked all behind the bar. Once he got there he cleared his weapon.. First ejecting the clip then his one in the chamber. Locking the slide in place with the thumb safety Justin quickly reached out and caught the single round floating in the air from the chamber.
Taking a white paper napkin, Justin placed the napkin and the very edge of the ejection port and angled the white napkin towards the light. The reflected off the napkin only to show what he had feared it was unbelievably dirty. He was shocked to see how he'd let it get so bad.
"More than anything I need to clean this weapon out badly. This thing is filthy. I might get another fifty good shots before I really need to worry about fouling taking hold." He was more talking to himself than anything else.
"Oh Jerry!" Justin said snapping back into reality. "Pleasure to meet you and wonderful marry band of cohorts. I thank you all for the offer and will take you up on that for the short time." Justin did make note of the girl with the dog she hadn't said much nor anything to him. She was the wild card of the of the group in Justin's mind.
Justin got up and walked all behind the bar. Once he got there he cleared his weapon.. First ejecting the clip then his one in the chamber. Locking the slide in place with the thumb safety Justin quickly reached out and caught the single round floating in the air from the chamber.
Taking a white paper napkin, Justin placed the napkin and the very edge of the ejection port and angled the white napkin towards the light. The reflected off the napkin only to show what he had feared it was unbelievably dirty. He was shocked to see how he'd let it get so bad.
"More than anything I need to clean this weapon out badly. This thing is filthy. I might get another fifty good shots before I really need to worry about fouling taking hold." He was more talking to himself than anything else.
"Oh Jerry!" Justin said snapping back into reality. "Pleasure to meet you and wonderful marry band of cohorts. I thank you all for the offer and will take you up on that for the short time." Justin did make note of the girl with the dog she hadn't said much nor anything to him. She was the wild card of the of the group in Justin's mind.
How long have I been out? What the hell attacked me? Where am I? What is with the rotting smell around here?
Izual thought to himself, silently mouthing the words of each question. He opened his eyes, then immediately sealed them again, the eyelids slamming closed to block out the sudden brightness of the sun gazing into his eyes. When he got adjusted to the sunlight, he removed his hood then proceeded to reach for the back of his neck, his hand rubbing the spine, as if he was trying to feel for something.
A sudden bolt of energy blasted through him, sending him upright on the cover of the dumpster he fainted on many hours ago, as if shocked to what he found... or what he didn't find, that is.
There was no bite mark, no scratch, no soreness to his neck, even though he was certain that he was bitten. He knows that he should be infected, but not feeling any symptoms? Is he imagining the bite, he doesn't know. He gazed at his watch, his eyes widened with some possible fear.
17:45
Twelve hours ago from when he thinks that he passed out in this destitute alleyway. He was in a hard place, that's for damn sure, as if after sunset was when the fun really began. How he managed to not be killed during the time he was unconscious is another question to ask. However, too many questions, too little time to have them all answered.
As he moved forward, pushing himself from the dumpster, his boots touched something below him, something that gave way as soon as he applied pressure. With a violent jerk of his right foot, shooting off from under his body, he lost what sort of balance he had, slipping towards the ground, landing on his ass.
After a few seconds to regain what posture he had, Izual set eyes on what was the cause: the remains of some poor soul, his pile of intestines no less, with a footprint partially smeared. His footprint. Nausea began to set in. The scene seemed familiar. Too familiar...
He suppressed the image, climbing back up, using the dumpster as support. As his feet stayed soundly in place this time, he looked towards the alley entrance, nothing in sight. Running his hands over his pockets, checking himself for his belongings, he let out a slight sigh of relief, for that he still held ownership to his belongings. His P228, still holstered on his left thigh. He still had five magazines on him, stored neatly on his belt, out of view, three marked blue and two marked red. He checked his hind pockets, and removed his wallet from the right side. After carefully searching it, he returned it back to its pocket. Nobody searched him when he was cold, as he still had fifty dollars in a combination of two twenties, one five, and five one dollar bills. His IDs were still there, including his work ID for CyberTech.
As he removed his handgun from its holster, its light off, he inched closer to the entrance, holding the weapon out in front of him, before he took a couple minutes to peek around the corners, surveying the road, taking mental notes on how the layout was, noting down how a couple of police cruisers formed a makeshift blockade, with a number of conveniently placed corpses scattered around it. Best not to go that way, I reckon.
As he turned his head to look the other direction, he spotted a police station not too far away, perhaps forty or so feet away, on the other side. More makeshift barricades made from cruisers, though he didn't know how many there exactly were. He glanced behind his shoulder, in case there wasn't anything prowling or stumbling from behind. However, he didn't notice the hunter hiding on the rooftops watching him from above.
As Izual returned his sight back towards the police station, he flipped his hood over his head, and began to take careful but quickened steps, at a reasonable pace, towards the building, staying observant of his surroundings.
Izual thought to himself, silently mouthing the words of each question. He opened his eyes, then immediately sealed them again, the eyelids slamming closed to block out the sudden brightness of the sun gazing into his eyes. When he got adjusted to the sunlight, he removed his hood then proceeded to reach for the back of his neck, his hand rubbing the spine, as if he was trying to feel for something.
A sudden bolt of energy blasted through him, sending him upright on the cover of the dumpster he fainted on many hours ago, as if shocked to what he found... or what he didn't find, that is.
There was no bite mark, no scratch, no soreness to his neck, even though he was certain that he was bitten. He knows that he should be infected, but not feeling any symptoms? Is he imagining the bite, he doesn't know. He gazed at his watch, his eyes widened with some possible fear.
17:45
Twelve hours ago from when he thinks that he passed out in this destitute alleyway. He was in a hard place, that's for damn sure, as if after sunset was when the fun really began. How he managed to not be killed during the time he was unconscious is another question to ask. However, too many questions, too little time to have them all answered.
As he moved forward, pushing himself from the dumpster, his boots touched something below him, something that gave way as soon as he applied pressure. With a violent jerk of his right foot, shooting off from under his body, he lost what sort of balance he had, slipping towards the ground, landing on his ass.
After a few seconds to regain what posture he had, Izual set eyes on what was the cause: the remains of some poor soul, his pile of intestines no less, with a footprint partially smeared. His footprint. Nausea began to set in. The scene seemed familiar. Too familiar...
He suppressed the image, climbing back up, using the dumpster as support. As his feet stayed soundly in place this time, he looked towards the alley entrance, nothing in sight. Running his hands over his pockets, checking himself for his belongings, he let out a slight sigh of relief, for that he still held ownership to his belongings. His P228, still holstered on his left thigh. He still had five magazines on him, stored neatly on his belt, out of view, three marked blue and two marked red. He checked his hind pockets, and removed his wallet from the right side. After carefully searching it, he returned it back to its pocket. Nobody searched him when he was cold, as he still had fifty dollars in a combination of two twenties, one five, and five one dollar bills. His IDs were still there, including his work ID for CyberTech.
As he removed his handgun from its holster, its light off, he inched closer to the entrance, holding the weapon out in front of him, before he took a couple minutes to peek around the corners, surveying the road, taking mental notes on how the layout was, noting down how a couple of police cruisers formed a makeshift blockade, with a number of conveniently placed corpses scattered around it. Best not to go that way, I reckon.
As he turned his head to look the other direction, he spotted a police station not too far away, perhaps forty or so feet away, on the other side. More makeshift barricades made from cruisers, though he didn't know how many there exactly were. He glanced behind his shoulder, in case there wasn't anything prowling or stumbling from behind. However, he didn't notice the hunter hiding on the rooftops watching him from above.
As Izual returned his sight back towards the police station, he flipped his hood over his head, and began to take careful but quickened steps, at a reasonable pace, towards the building, staying observant of his surroundings.
Kamille hasn't been eating much since all hell broke loose. Depression and worry are the main factors that kept her from feeding herself but the real truth was - she never really had the chance to get her hands on any food. Grocery stores were the last place she wanted to go, she's seen enough zombie flicks and natural disaster movies to realize that grocery stores were a hotspot for disease and infection spreading, not to mention germs and crazy people, so she grabbed whatever was in the pantry and fled. That was only enough to last her for a couple of days at least, so she's been trying to ration whatever granola bars she had left.
Now this girl wasn't exactly hungry per se, but once her eyes set on that Campbell's can she was relieved that Monday offered to share his food. Almost instantly her shoulders relaxed and her eyebrows formed back into their natural state instead of being furrowed into a worried expression. There was something about the act of sharing food, she thought to herself, that was welcoming and reassuring. She tried to remember briefly if she learned about anything like that back in high school but shrugged it off - for she had a delightful can of chicken noodle soup to devour. Uttering a small, "thank you", Kamille stood up from the table and joined Monday briefly at the counter before he sat and ate his meal. Popping open the lid and sliding the contents into the bowl, her eyes thoroughly scanned the note that the feline mutt left on the counter for her to read. Standing at the counter for a few moments, understanding why Monday was so emotional and angry when they first met, she nodded her head to herself before gently pushing the note away. For some reason, Kamille felt like she didn't need to say anything. She understood now, that's all that really needed to be done. Besides - sympathy wasn't really her thing. It made her feel awkward.
So when she looked at the contents in her bowl it was obvious that it wasn't the most luxurious meal she's ever had, but it sure had granola bars and trail mix beaten by a landslide, so when she sat back down at the table it was safe to say the young woman was enjoying herself. Eating in silence except for the occasional clang of their spoons, Kamille couldn't help but feel a severe sense of longing and... what else was she feeling? Lack of normalcy that has been in her life for the past few days? Everything was still hard to take in - everything she's seen and heard, the people in her life that she's lost or might not even be alive - it's a wonder she hasn't killed herself already. But sitting at the table with this stranger who offered her soup, vaguely listening to the soft breathing coming from the sleeping Nyx in the next room, this is the closest she's been to happy in days. Days. It's only been days.
Taking a peek at Monday every now and then from underneath her dark lashes, Kamille wondered if she should say anything. Then, almost as if it was on queue, the two strangers sitting at the table could hear from very far off in the distance a faint shrieking noise. It made the hairs on Kamille's arms stand up and she was suddenly thrown back into reality - this was the zombie apocalypse and nothing was ever going to be the same again.
Now this girl wasn't exactly hungry per se, but once her eyes set on that Campbell's can she was relieved that Monday offered to share his food. Almost instantly her shoulders relaxed and her eyebrows formed back into their natural state instead of being furrowed into a worried expression. There was something about the act of sharing food, she thought to herself, that was welcoming and reassuring. She tried to remember briefly if she learned about anything like that back in high school but shrugged it off - for she had a delightful can of chicken noodle soup to devour. Uttering a small, "thank you", Kamille stood up from the table and joined Monday briefly at the counter before he sat and ate his meal. Popping open the lid and sliding the contents into the bowl, her eyes thoroughly scanned the note that the feline mutt left on the counter for her to read. Standing at the counter for a few moments, understanding why Monday was so emotional and angry when they first met, she nodded her head to herself before gently pushing the note away. For some reason, Kamille felt like she didn't need to say anything. She understood now, that's all that really needed to be done. Besides - sympathy wasn't really her thing. It made her feel awkward.
So when she looked at the contents in her bowl it was obvious that it wasn't the most luxurious meal she's ever had, but it sure had granola bars and trail mix beaten by a landslide, so when she sat back down at the table it was safe to say the young woman was enjoying herself. Eating in silence except for the occasional clang of their spoons, Kamille couldn't help but feel a severe sense of longing and... what else was she feeling? Lack of normalcy that has been in her life for the past few days? Everything was still hard to take in - everything she's seen and heard, the people in her life that she's lost or might not even be alive - it's a wonder she hasn't killed herself already. But sitting at the table with this stranger who offered her soup, vaguely listening to the soft breathing coming from the sleeping Nyx in the next room, this is the closest she's been to happy in days. Days. It's only been days.
Taking a peek at Monday every now and then from underneath her dark lashes, Kamille wondered if she should say anything. Then, almost as if it was on queue, the two strangers sitting at the table could hear from very far off in the distance a faint shrieking noise. It made the hairs on Kamille's arms stand up and she was suddenly thrown back into reality - this was the zombie apocalypse and nothing was ever going to be the same again.
A subtle nod aside, her thank you went otherwise unanswered. She could have said nothing, and the way the young woman visibly relaxed would have said enough instead. The hybrid watched her through his peripheral as she sat down to join him, shoveling spoonful after spoonful of soup into his hungry mouth. It was by no means gourmet, but Progresso was by far the closest brand name to that next step up as far as he was concerned, even cold. He counted himself lucky by far, because his case could have been much worse, and whether it would have been genuine or not, he wasn't interested in her resulting sympathy. People had enough to worry about on their own these days, and the last thing anyone needed was someone else's problems compounding them. Still; he may have overreacted a bit, and she at least deserved to know why.
But at the very least, they'd gained some sort of common ground, and a truce therein. He wasn't about to play the part of the politician and try to urge everyone to pull together, because really, the situation was bleak, and that should have been a given by itself. At the very least, traveling together meant traveling with someone else who was glancing over their shoulder every ten paces too. He'd been fortunate in that instance too, he figured, because the two women he was cavorting around with could have just as easily been those hysterical, helpless sorts of people that made everyone in the movie theater groan in disgust. Even still, despite the quiet little corner they'd found, the warbling shriek far off in the city was a stark reminder of just how startlingly real their danger still was. Instinctively he paused, and his hand shot down for his holstered pistol, every tired and aching muscle tense. The notion that one of those...things might be prowling around for them exclusively made him feel the urge to clear the house again, just incase.
He stuffed it back down, at length with an exasperated sigh and shake of his head, and; when he'd finished, excused himself from the table to quietly rinse, wash and dry his dishes, replacing the bowl back in the cupboard as if it really mattered. This was still home, for him, and he meant to preserve that sacredness as well as he could until they left again.
"Hold onto this," He thought to himself, pocketing that spoon. For all he knew, he might not ever come across a clean spoon again!...but he could already feel his stomach twisting into knots around the soup he'd just scarfed down, and it wore on him when he realized on impulse that he still had more to do before he let himself get any rest. Unconsciously scratching at his midriff, he stared off into the living room, momentarily lost in his thoughts.
"I wonder if..." Maybe; just maybe, there were a few odds and ends left downstairs he could rig together into something useful. Just maybe.
"Got some work I wanna do downstairs before I get some rest," He quipped randomly, picking at his black shirt a bit with his fingers, "If you're gonna tag along with us, great; but try to get some rest if you can. We'll see if we can manage an overnight stay, and provided we don't get chased outta here prematurely, we're gonna get movin' again first thing; early first thing," He emphasized sternly, finally glancing across at the young woman, "So try to rest up; and if anything happens, just yell. I'll be in the basement," Yanking his machete out of its scabbard where it rest on the table, he moved through the living room and trotted right down the steps. With Kamille so at ease in the homestead, he could stand to assume it was clear, but...just incase...
But at the very least, they'd gained some sort of common ground, and a truce therein. He wasn't about to play the part of the politician and try to urge everyone to pull together, because really, the situation was bleak, and that should have been a given by itself. At the very least, traveling together meant traveling with someone else who was glancing over their shoulder every ten paces too. He'd been fortunate in that instance too, he figured, because the two women he was cavorting around with could have just as easily been those hysterical, helpless sorts of people that made everyone in the movie theater groan in disgust. Even still, despite the quiet little corner they'd found, the warbling shriek far off in the city was a stark reminder of just how startlingly real their danger still was. Instinctively he paused, and his hand shot down for his holstered pistol, every tired and aching muscle tense. The notion that one of those...things might be prowling around for them exclusively made him feel the urge to clear the house again, just incase.
He stuffed it back down, at length with an exasperated sigh and shake of his head, and; when he'd finished, excused himself from the table to quietly rinse, wash and dry his dishes, replacing the bowl back in the cupboard as if it really mattered. This was still home, for him, and he meant to preserve that sacredness as well as he could until they left again.
"Hold onto this," He thought to himself, pocketing that spoon. For all he knew, he might not ever come across a clean spoon again!...but he could already feel his stomach twisting into knots around the soup he'd just scarfed down, and it wore on him when he realized on impulse that he still had more to do before he let himself get any rest. Unconsciously scratching at his midriff, he stared off into the living room, momentarily lost in his thoughts.
"I wonder if..." Maybe; just maybe, there were a few odds and ends left downstairs he could rig together into something useful. Just maybe.
"Got some work I wanna do downstairs before I get some rest," He quipped randomly, picking at his black shirt a bit with his fingers, "If you're gonna tag along with us, great; but try to get some rest if you can. We'll see if we can manage an overnight stay, and provided we don't get chased outta here prematurely, we're gonna get movin' again first thing; early first thing," He emphasized sternly, finally glancing across at the young woman, "So try to rest up; and if anything happens, just yell. I'll be in the basement," Yanking his machete out of its scabbard where it rest on the table, he moved through the living room and trotted right down the steps. With Kamille so at ease in the homestead, he could stand to assume it was clear, but...just incase...
In her dream, Nyx was happy and laughing. She was laying on the large, four-post bed in her parents room, the velvet of the rarely used covers soft against her stomach. Around her rose the four wooden posts of the bed holding up a sheer white canopy. Beside her lay her sister Avalon. Everything was bathed in a surreal beauty, colors brighter than she remembered them, Avalon's skin practically luminescent, the sheer white canopy enveloping them in their own little world of childish laughter and secrets.
Yet somehow the two blond girls seemed far away. Nyx watched herself lean over and giggle something secret in Avalon's ear who reacted by throwing her blond head back in laughter. She had had so many bad memories in her life that standing here at the edge of this world, observing this happy one now hurt. She shouldn't feel like an outsider. The happy girl on the bed with her sister was her this was her memory and yet she felt as though she was watching a movie. Only able to watch the scene, not feel the emotions.
The two girls before her rolled onto their backs in laughter and stared up at the wispy white canopy as their giggles slowly died away breathlessly. This room had always been where Nyx and Avalon had shared their secrets and come to laugh, talk, do homework, or read. Her parents were nearly never home so their room was often unused, but sitting on the bed, the two of them had almost felt their presence. As if the white canopy walls were a good enough substitute for their mothers arms.
The scene before her made her smile as well as yearn to be there. To be them.
Seconds later, the scene changed as dreams do, yet Nyx was still in the same room. The two girls on the bed were a little older now, but this time they weren't happy and giggling. This time they were wickedly whispering back and forth in angry tones about what they were going to do to the new nanny. How they were going to drive her away.
Again the scene changed and the girls were older still, sitting together under the canopy. Nyx's heart wrenched as she watched Avalon break down into sobs, throwing her arms around her dream-self. She watched as the two girls held each other for a long time, and now Nyx truly connected with the picture before her. The emotions flooded her and she closed her eyes. These were emotions she was familiar with, things she knew how to handle.
The scene then changed one last time, and this time, Nyx was no longer viewing her life from the outside. And she was no longer in the safety if her parents bedroom. Now she stood outdoors. Trees stretched up around her, but not in the wild way of the forest, in a trim, precise way. Like a garden or something. The smells of Autumn drifted towards her on a cool breeze and Nyx took a few steps. What was she supposed to be seeing here? Another few steps, and she tripped over a rock, falling flat on her face.
On the ground, Nyx turned to find that what she thought had been a rock at first, was actually a headstone. Looking down among the trees, she realized that others stretched in long rows between the trunks. This particular one was small and grown over with roots of a large maple. Hands shaking, Nyx reached forward to yank away the roots, fearing what she would find there.
One final tug and the name was clearly visible. A slight shriek exploded from her as she fell back into the dirt in startled surprise, staring at the engraved letters in disbelief: "Avalon Goldwin" She shook her head frantically and stood. This no longer felt like a dream. Afterall, how could a dream be so detailed? Right down to the smell of the Autumn leaves.
Fearfully, she stood and took off running only to be tripped by another gravestone. This one was blank, but as she watched, letters began to etch themselves into the stone: N. Oh God. Y. Oh God. X. Nyx closed her eyes, unable to watch.
When she opened them again, they were still there, clear as day: "Nyx Goldwin."
Celeste woke to a continual banging at her door. Her heart jumped into her throat and she had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming. Blood trickled from the cut and suddenly the pounding grew more frantic. Whatever was on the other side had smelled her blood. Fuck. Running her fingers through her long brown hair, Celeste shrank back into the corner of the room, wrapping her arms tight around her knees. Maybe it was better if she died. Then this would all be over anyway right?
She had barely gotten an hour of sleep in three days when she came to the building she was in now. It was seemingly empty and Celeste had needed a serious recharge so she'd decided to stay the night in one of the rooms. Unfortunately, there was neither electricity nor running water in any of the rooms. She knew how to cook from her days on the farm, but without food that would be impossible and without running water, so was a shower. She was still dressed in the checked yellow sundress she'd put on two days ago. The lace edges were torn and one of the straps was broken, hanging limply on her shoulder.
The only form of supplies Celeste had left home with was a metal bat she'd found in a truck and her pills. She knew how to swing the bat at least. She'd been on a softball team back in Alabama, but that was all the self defense she knew. The beating at the door grew louder and a growl rumbled on the other side.
Celeste couldn't help it. She let out a squeak and squeezed herself tighter, closing her eyes and burying her face in her knees a moment before lifting her head. She was going to die here in an alien city in someone else's apartment and no one would ever know or care. But it would all end. She would finally be free of this hell.
No. She couldn't think like that. Why was she thinking so morbidly? Celeste glanced at the window. It was late afternoon. She'd been asleep for hours, meaning it'd been hours since she'd taken her medication. Pinching her eyes shut tight, she tried to steady her breathing as she reached into the small pocket in her sundress and pulled out a baggie of white pills.
Not wanting to think about what would happen when she ran out, Celeste took one and put them away without bothering to see how many were left.
Looking back to the door again, she found that the creature was almost finished breaking it down. It could have simply pushed it open by now for sure, but it seemed absorbed in fully breaking off the door before it got to her. Stupid creatures. Apparently they were only able to focus on one thing at a time. Shaking, Celeste rose, bat hanging at her side.
She pressed her shoulder blades into the corner and closed her eyes as she raised her bat and placed it tenetively on her shoulder. The creature on the other side of the door was a hunter. How long had if been stalking her? From what she'd seen, they could move incredibly fast. She better take it out while it was still preoccupied.
Cautiously, grip on the bat firm, Celeste crossed the room to the feral thing beating on the door. It saw her and grew frantic, reaching out a hand to grab at her. She squeaked and jumped back avoiding a scratch, but it managed to grab hold of her dress, tearing a clean chunk out of the bottom.
Celeste took a second to compose herself before stepping back up to the thing. This time she didn't hesitate. Instead, she slammed her bat down on the zombie's neck with a sickening crack. It fell with a thud. Just to be sure, she hit it again in the skull with another crack before deciding that, without a door, the apartment was no longer safe.
Celeste made her way down to the ground floor and slipped out a side door that opened up into an alley. She stopped to press her back against the wall and slide to the ground, breathing heavily, trying to get a grip on herself. She'd just killed a person. It may have been out for her blood and infected, but it had been a living, breathing, human once.
Slowly, the panic drained away and Celeste focused on her surroundings. Were those... voices? As far as she knew, the infected couldn't talk. They had to be people. But would they kill her instantly? Celeste shook that off. What reason would they have? She had nothing but her medication, the clothes on her back, and the bat in her hand. Maybe these people were okay.
Standing, she followed the voices down the alley to a door, hanging slightly open on it's hinges. The door seemed to be the back door of a bar. She peeked in without quite stepping in. Yes. Definitely people. All standing in the bar talking with their backs to her. Celeste pulled her head from the doorway and pressed herself to the alley wall to breathe a second. Okay, you can do this. Just don't look threatening and they might spare you. She glanced down at herself in her torn dress, holding nothing but a bat, her small delicate form. Well at least she didn't have to worry about intimidating them. The only reason they'd have to kill her is because they didn't want her slowing them down. She'd just hand over her bat if they wanted it that bad. No need to die over it.
Once she reassured herself, Celeste let the bat hang at her side, making it obvious that she had no intention of using it before slowly pushing the door open and stepping inside. The ground was cold on her bare feet and the people still had their backs to her. She took the second to look them over. A girl with a dog smoking a cigarette, a girl with blue hair, and three boys.
Again she moved across the vast space between them slowly, cautiously, and stepping so light and delicately she made no noise for she'd had to ditch the heels she'd had on the first day. "Don't kill me." She spoke tentatively, fear evident on her face as she crept forward, every muscle in her body ready to flee in an instant if she had to.
Run. Just run.
That was all Liz could think about with a single runner close behind her. Close enough that it could grab her if it only knew how to lunge. She didn't want to die like this, or worse, become like one of them. No, she refused to become one. She could see the intersection before her, maybe ten yards away.
She had a sliver of hope give her another chance to push on, giving her renewed energy to continue running, but when will this boost end, she did not know. Within seconds, with the runner a few feet still behind her, she had reached the intersection and made a sharp left turn, hoping to slow down the beast at least. But it was to no avail.
Police cruisers littered the street, forming failed makeshift barricades. She had reached the police station, however, she had also spotted a man in black, hood covering his face, handgun in hand, slinking towards the building. As she ran further towards him, that one runner determined to get its next meal out of her, the man stopped and spotted her.
He raised his gun and started to fire at her. A total of four shots rang out, but she didn't know if the man was firing at her or where those rounds ended up at. She ran faster, past the man, and tried to jump over a corpse, but tripped over it instead.
She had no weapon to defend herself, especially against some gunman. As she tripped, she threw out her left arm, bracing her fall as well as keeping her up enough not to go completely face first into the pavement. As her hand scraped across the concrete, she bounced forward, her momentum allowing her to keep going. And thus, she kept running.
And running.
And running.
~~~~~~~~
Izual was treading carefully across the road to the police station, cautiously watching his surroundings in case anything comes his way. P228 in hand, it had reminded him of his times at the "firing range" at CyberTech Corp.
There, he had been introduced to Captain Arguil, head of the Security Service's "Alpha Team", a five-man SWAT team, with an impressive 100% success rate in their operations. Whether it was retrieval of people of special interests, destruction of prior CyberTech property, escorting VIPs like himself and the like, these guys were hands down the best. It was rumored that each one was former Special Forces, brought in from Delta Force, SEALs, Rangers. It showed in their training, in their absolute precision of getting the job done, to the absolute lettering, down to the crossing of T's and the dotting of I's. To have an opportunity to see them at the range was a sight to behold.
Each one, perfect marks on their firing, and they were each trying to be better than the others.
He wondered if they're in New York, waiting to get him off the ground and out of the country. The thought gave him hope, hope to survive this hellish nightmare.
But then something caught his eye. No, not something, someone. And they were running fast towards him, with a runner right behind them.
She was young, perhaps teen years, give or take a couple years. White and brown waiter's uniform, he had easily recognized it. This person had worked at the diner that he loved to eat at. FRANK'S, or something like that, he couldn't think of the name right now. Right now there's a girl running towards him and she's in danger.
"You, stop!"
He yelled, but it seemed that the runner was too busy at getting its next meal.
"Get on the ground!"
Again, they didn't respond to what he said, too busy running, as if it was some chase scene from Tom and Jerry. He raised his pistol, and aimed down the iron sights.
Blam.
He missed, and fired again, this time three shots rang out, the last two hitting on course.
One round hit the creature squarely in the left shoulder, moving back a bit, the impact was obvious, but the runner was still moving quickly after her. The second round to hit dropped the runner, hitting in the center of the eyes, the right side of the back of the head blew out, brains sprawling from the round traveling through its target, exiting and continuing to travel in the direction he fired.
But she kept running, obviously thinking that he was firing at her. Past the police cruiser, tripping and recovering from her fall. Out of sight.
"Well, you're welcome, you ungrateful bitch!"
Izual took a glance at his watch. 18:00. Sun should be going down soon. With a less-than-full mag in his pistol, he began walking towards the station again.
As he stood in front of the station, he could imagine that this might make a decent shelter for the night, and to see if anybody had some answers to his questions.
That was all Liz could think about with a single runner close behind her. Close enough that it could grab her if it only knew how to lunge. She didn't want to die like this, or worse, become like one of them. No, she refused to become one. She could see the intersection before her, maybe ten yards away.
She had a sliver of hope give her another chance to push on, giving her renewed energy to continue running, but when will this boost end, she did not know. Within seconds, with the runner a few feet still behind her, she had reached the intersection and made a sharp left turn, hoping to slow down the beast at least. But it was to no avail.
Police cruisers littered the street, forming failed makeshift barricades. She had reached the police station, however, she had also spotted a man in black, hood covering his face, handgun in hand, slinking towards the building. As she ran further towards him, that one runner determined to get its next meal out of her, the man stopped and spotted her.
He raised his gun and started to fire at her. A total of four shots rang out, but she didn't know if the man was firing at her or where those rounds ended up at. She ran faster, past the man, and tried to jump over a corpse, but tripped over it instead.
She had no weapon to defend herself, especially against some gunman. As she tripped, she threw out her left arm, bracing her fall as well as keeping her up enough not to go completely face first into the pavement. As her hand scraped across the concrete, she bounced forward, her momentum allowing her to keep going. And thus, she kept running.
And running.
And running.
~~~~~~~~
Izual was treading carefully across the road to the police station, cautiously watching his surroundings in case anything comes his way. P228 in hand, it had reminded him of his times at the "firing range" at CyberTech Corp.
There, he had been introduced to Captain Arguil, head of the Security Service's "Alpha Team", a five-man SWAT team, with an impressive 100% success rate in their operations. Whether it was retrieval of people of special interests, destruction of prior CyberTech property, escorting VIPs like himself and the like, these guys were hands down the best. It was rumored that each one was former Special Forces, brought in from Delta Force, SEALs, Rangers. It showed in their training, in their absolute precision of getting the job done, to the absolute lettering, down to the crossing of T's and the dotting of I's. To have an opportunity to see them at the range was a sight to behold.
Each one, perfect marks on their firing, and they were each trying to be better than the others.
He wondered if they're in New York, waiting to get him off the ground and out of the country. The thought gave him hope, hope to survive this hellish nightmare.
But then something caught his eye. No, not something, someone. And they were running fast towards him, with a runner right behind them.
She was young, perhaps teen years, give or take a couple years. White and brown waiter's uniform, he had easily recognized it. This person had worked at the diner that he loved to eat at. FRANK'S, or something like that, he couldn't think of the name right now. Right now there's a girl running towards him and she's in danger.
"You, stop!"
He yelled, but it seemed that the runner was too busy at getting its next meal.
"Get on the ground!"
Again, they didn't respond to what he said, too busy running, as if it was some chase scene from Tom and Jerry. He raised his pistol, and aimed down the iron sights.
Blam.
He missed, and fired again, this time three shots rang out, the last two hitting on course.
One round hit the creature squarely in the left shoulder, moving back a bit, the impact was obvious, but the runner was still moving quickly after her. The second round to hit dropped the runner, hitting in the center of the eyes, the right side of the back of the head blew out, brains sprawling from the round traveling through its target, exiting and continuing to travel in the direction he fired.
But she kept running, obviously thinking that he was firing at her. Past the police cruiser, tripping and recovering from her fall. Out of sight.
"Well, you're welcome, you ungrateful bitch!"
Izual took a glance at his watch. 18:00. Sun should be going down soon. With a less-than-full mag in his pistol, he began walking towards the station again.
As he stood in front of the station, he could imagine that this might make a decent shelter for the night, and to see if anybody had some answers to his questions.
Watching Monday trot down the stairs, Kamille realized she was alone again. Nodding at the mutt's invitation to tag along she let out a frustrated sigh as she pulled the hair tie from her dark hair, but made sure she did so as soon as he was out of earshot. Barely wavy wisps falling against her back, Kamille looked at her fingernails while her elbows were propped up on the table. Dirty, chewed and short. The young woman was never one for glamour but she sure felt like she could use a manicure, which was a funny thing to be thinking about at a time like this. Listening to the vague tick, tock, tick, tock coming from the living room's clock (which didn't have a bell, thank god) Kamille stared down at her now empty bowl of soup. Her stomach hurt from eating it so fast and as she stood up was greeted by a small wave of nausea. So much sodium in those goddamn things.
So - she had a decision to make. A hard one. Although she was seriously lacking human company, Kamille promised herself that she wouldn't trust anyone. Or even worse, end up getting attached to them. Gently rinsing out her bowl just as Monday did before setting it next to the others in the cupboard, Kamille quietly crept back to the room she's been sleeping in for the past few days. Making sure she turned the knob so it wouldn't make a noise as she shut it, the young woman pulled her baggy T-Shirt over her head and set it next to her Jansport backpack. Kneeling down to unzip her bag, Kamille took out a sweatshirt. Gathering the fabric in her hands, she deeply inhaled through her nose. It still smelled like him. She hoped it always smelled like him. Closing her eyes for a moment, completely still in the almost pitch black darkness of the room, she thought of him. Their wedding was supposed to be next month. Biting her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood so that she wouldn't let her emotions get the best of her, Kamille told herself that she had to stay strong, especially in this strangers house. Crying wasn't something a strong person did, or so she thought, so while she pulled on the sweatshirt she crawled across the floor and into the bed, a pounding in her temples nagging at her to get some sleep.
Curling into a ball on her side, Kamille went over the pros and cons of teaming up with Nyx and Monday. Pros: she wouldn't be alone, she had someone to rely on, she wouldn't be alone, and safety in numbers. Cons: worrying about their safety, worrying about being left alone, and worrying in general. A part of herself was upset that she met these people, the other part completely relieved. It was only a matter of time before she bumped into someone, right? Might as well be these guys instead of someone else, someone worse.
As she drifted off to sleep that night she was haunted by her demons, just as the blonde haired girl was in the other room.
So - she had a decision to make. A hard one. Although she was seriously lacking human company, Kamille promised herself that she wouldn't trust anyone. Or even worse, end up getting attached to them. Gently rinsing out her bowl just as Monday did before setting it next to the others in the cupboard, Kamille quietly crept back to the room she's been sleeping in for the past few days. Making sure she turned the knob so it wouldn't make a noise as she shut it, the young woman pulled her baggy T-Shirt over her head and set it next to her Jansport backpack. Kneeling down to unzip her bag, Kamille took out a sweatshirt. Gathering the fabric in her hands, she deeply inhaled through her nose. It still smelled like him. She hoped it always smelled like him. Closing her eyes for a moment, completely still in the almost pitch black darkness of the room, she thought of him. Their wedding was supposed to be next month. Biting her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood so that she wouldn't let her emotions get the best of her, Kamille told herself that she had to stay strong, especially in this strangers house. Crying wasn't something a strong person did, or so she thought, so while she pulled on the sweatshirt she crawled across the floor and into the bed, a pounding in her temples nagging at her to get some sleep.
Curling into a ball on her side, Kamille went over the pros and cons of teaming up with Nyx and Monday. Pros: she wouldn't be alone, she had someone to rely on, she wouldn't be alone, and safety in numbers. Cons: worrying about their safety, worrying about being left alone, and worrying in general. A part of herself was upset that she met these people, the other part completely relieved. It was only a matter of time before she bumped into someone, right? Might as well be these guys instead of someone else, someone worse.
As she drifted off to sleep that night she was haunted by her demons, just as the blonde haired girl was in the other room.
Setting
0.00 INK
2 days after the Outbreak
the door was locked, both by use of the door lock, and a chair Tom had wedged against the knob. The kid took his eyes off the door for a minute, and looked around his dorm room, he wondered if the electricity was still on as all the light came from his closed blinds. he looked back at the door at the sound of shuffling footsteps, and a small moan. Tom Jones knew he was safe, but only as long as the door held and he didn't make any noise to attract the undead. his backpack lay at the foot of his bed, so far he only had a few pairs of boxers packed away. Tim frowned and grabbed his stomache as he felt it stew away his only meal: poptarts from yesterday, he was getting hungry and the cafe was just a few halls away. the problem were the scores of now undead students and faculty roaming the halls in search of their next catch. he craned his neck and started to gently raise the blinds, out on the university grounds, he could see a plethora of mauled and destroyed lives strewn across the blood soaked grass lawn.
"screw it," he muttered and grabbed his backpack and stuffed some clothes into it before opening his window and began formulating a way to the cafeteria.
the door was locked, both by use of the door lock, and a chair Tom had wedged against the knob. The kid took his eyes off the door for a minute, and looked around his dorm room, he wondered if the electricity was still on as all the light came from his closed blinds. he looked back at the door at the sound of shuffling footsteps, and a small moan. Tom Jones knew he was safe, but only as long as the door held and he didn't make any noise to attract the undead. his backpack lay at the foot of his bed, so far he only had a few pairs of boxers packed away. Tim frowned and grabbed his stomache as he felt it stew away his only meal: poptarts from yesterday, he was getting hungry and the cafe was just a few halls away. the problem were the scores of now undead students and faculty roaming the halls in search of their next catch. he craned his neck and started to gently raise the blinds, out on the university grounds, he could see a plethora of mauled and destroyed lives strewn across the blood soaked grass lawn.
"screw it," he muttered and grabbed his backpack and stuffed some clothes into it before opening his window and began formulating a way to the cafeteria.
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View All » Add Character » 18 Characters to follow in this universe
Newest
Celeste Rinehart
"You know how they say good things come in small packages?"
Dr. Izual Fenix
"Eat some watermelon and kick some ass."
Jericho Winters
" I don't have time to bleed."
Nyx Goldwin
"How am I still alive? Baby, I'm a survivor."
liz carena
"Ok, just calm down and let's try to think this through, everybody."
Tim Flenn
"Geez, can a guy not get sleep around here?"
Trending
Dr. Izual Fenix
"Eat some watermelon and kick some ass."
Celeste Rinehart
"You know how they say good things come in small packages?"
Nyx Goldwin
"How am I still alive? Baby, I'm a survivor."
Tim Flenn
"Geez, can a guy not get sleep around here?"
Jericho Winters
" I don't have time to bleed."
liz carena
"Ok, just calm down and let's try to think this through, everybody."
Most Followed
Celeste Rinehart
"You know how they say good things come in small packages?"
Tim Flenn
"Geez, can a guy not get sleep around here?"
Dr. Izual Fenix
"Eat some watermelon and kick some ass."
Nyx Goldwin
"How am I still alive? Baby, I'm a survivor."
liz carena
"Ok, just calm down and let's try to think this through, everybody."
Jericho Winters
" I don't have time to bleed."
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111 posts · 16 characters present · last post 2012-05-14 01:42:17 »
A post-apocalyptic New York City, wrecked by the enigmatic virus that has swept the nation and brought the recently dead and deceased back to life.
0 posts · 2 characters present · last post 1970-01-01 00:00:00 »
NYMNC News Station Owner: RolePlayGateway
NYMNC News Station
0 posts · 0 characters present · last post 1970-01-01 00:00:00 »
Modern-day zombie apocalypse. ↪ A Warehouse Owner: RolePlayGateway
Run-down, abandoned; it's empty - for now.
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