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Dead Morning America

Dead Morning America

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A modern zombie-survival roleplay staged in a fictional equivalent of New York (cliche, I know), based off of mixed elements from L4D, The Zombie Hunters, The Walking Dead, The Restless Dead (with GM permission), and Dawn of the Dead (2004 Remake)

3,156 readers have visited Dead Morning America since Iki created it.

Copyright: The creator of this roleplay has attributed some or all of its content to the following sources:

[url=http://www.roleplaygateway.com/roleplay/restless-corpses/#posting]restless corpses[/url] [url=http://www.thezombiehunters.com/index.php]the zombie hunters[/url] [url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/dawn_of_the_dead_%282004_film%29]dawn of the dead(2004)[/url] [url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/the_walking_dead_%28tv_series%29]the walking dead[/url] [url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/left_4_dead[/url]

Introduction

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“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.”




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“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."




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“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."




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“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
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Rules posted in the section above.

Browse All » 3 Settings to roleplay in

Modern-day zombie apocalypse.

Modern-day zombie apocalypse. by Iki

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.

A Warehouse

A Warehouse by RolePlayGateway

Run-down, abandoned; it's empty - for now.

NYMNC News Station

NYMNC News Station by RolePlayGateway

NYMNC News Station

The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 12 authors

3 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Owen James Calley Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson
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#, as written by Iki
As exhausted as he was, he found himself toiling away in the basement with a renewed sense of vigor. This was that last leg of preparation before he could finally get some sleep, and with the sun just setting, he'd have more than enough time for some good rack, provided hell didn't kick down the door and drive them out of the house. He could always hope, couldn't he?
It was a bit more difficult with only his little Maglite to see by, but when he stumbled across the sacks of fertilizer sitting tucked away in the corner of the basement, ideas began to brew, and he realized that he had a lot more work ahead of him before he'd ever be satisfied enough to call it quits. It almost made him laugh to think that his father would always poke at him for just such a habit that border-lined obsessive and often saw him working late into the night, if not straight into the next morning; but when he had his mind set on something, it literally took hell and handgrenades to tear him away from it.
"All I'd need is a mason jar, or a bottle.." He thought to himself as he stared into a box of powder laundry detergent, chewing his lip. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that there was some gasoline sitting in the shed out back, and it weighed him with a combined sense of dread, and a sense of closure. Kamille was an immense stroke of luck. She could have just as easily been a looter or robber, or even just an aggressive squatter...but she wasn't. It was then, he resolved, that the only way to preserve the purity in this modest little homestead was to bathe it in fire. Grim maybe, but it was the only way he could be sure it wouldn't be desecrated by looters, or worse; the undead things that were shuffling around in the street. The thought of those awful things spoiling what little piece of good was left in his uprooted life made his stomach tie up into knots, and his lip quaver in absolute disgust. He wasn't about to have it.

And when he finally did finish his work, he climbed quietly up the stairs, and glanced briefly down the hall, and into the living room.
"Mm; sound asleep," He mused to himself at the sight of the young blonde (Nyx) slathered across his couch, and with her things scattered all over his parents' room, it didn't take much to guess where Kamille had probably got off to. Cracking the door in the hallway juuuuust enough to peek an eye through, he wasn't surprised to find he'd guessed right. Closing the door just as quietly as he'd opened it, he crept down the hallway, and paused at the second doorway. Gripping the knob, he didn't even realize he'd been holding his breath. The seconds ticked by like hours, and when he finally exhaled, he just shook his head.
"No," He murmured at length, decidedly letting his fingers slip away from the knob. He didn't want to see what he knew was still there. They hadn't ever had to keep the room for him, and quite frankly, he'd badgered his father again and again to try to persuade him into turning it into a guest room, but the old wolf had just as stubbornly insisted with that wise trademark chuckle he had that it simply wasn't going to happen. The argument invariably ended the same way each and every time.

"You'll always be my boy, and you'll always live here; no matter what country you run off to. The room'll be here when you get back; just the same as you left it."

"Stubborn old ass," He mumbled to himself, a subtle ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. He lingered only a moment longer before he crept back up the hall, and filtered his way back into the living room. Settling into the expensive leather armchair across the room, he quietly kicked out the recliner, and let himself melt into the cushions, finally just...relaxing with a long, breathy sigh. God, this feels good~
And when he finally did drift off to sleep, he slept soundly. The nightmares had long since stopped plaguing his dreams over the last three years, but so too had the pleasant ones that occasionally filled the spaces between, and consequently, his sleep was dreamless. But when morning rolled around, that biological clock of his kicked in, despite how utterly exhausted he had been the day before, and today, like almost every day he'd spent at home, he was the first one up. He immediately set about what was doomed to be an abridged routine in the first place, but by the time he was fed and dressed, he was already packing to leave.
"Nyx," He called across the living room as he came back up from the basement with a gas can and a small stuffed backpack, "Nyx, get up; it's time to get moving." A little more sharply this time, as he moved into the kitchen and began moving what few cans of food were left from the gymbag to the backpack, filling out the last of its space. With a couple 'decent' meals in him and a few restful hours of sleep, he was right as rain again, and ready to get moving - but with that typical sense of urgency that had been paramount and prevalent since the minute the two had met. Hell, if his voice didn't rouse her, then the dense stink of gasoline that was already beginning to permeate the house would be probably do the rest for him.

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2 days 5 minutes after the Outbreak

Tom got out on the ledge as carefully as possible, hugging the not-so-straight walls of the University, he tried not to look down, but the stench of death that filled his nostrils made him do so. "this sucks," he muttered to himself as he inched his way along the wall, he looked behind him every so often to peer into other dorm room windows. alot of rooms were ransacked, some had devoured bodies tossed about in their rooms. Tom gulped in some air, but with the smell of death still lingering he felt like he could throw up what little remained in his stomach. he persevered though, and found himself looking happily into the window of his dorm's small yet ransacked convience store.

he could see a few candy bars here and there, but any food is good food these days.

a shadow in one of the aisles caught his eye, catching him momentarally off guard, he slipped but kept his balance.

"crap," he whispered, and watched the shadow start to round the corner, and then he realized the shadow belonged to a rotting member of the undead.

"oh jesus!" he screamed, unwittingly catching the attention of the un-deceased man, who started for the delivered prey, unaware of the glass seperating them.

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A girl bursts in with a whispered, "Don't kill me."

Kaylie hears Bosco shift up and growl at the girl.

"Stay back." Kaylie says to Bosco and holds her hand out towards the girl cautiously.

"Trust me, you're the last thing we want to kill." She smirks, "Having people around probably keeps the insanity levels down."

Cracking a joke was Kaylie's way of making light of the situation. She gives a small chuckle and nods to her hand.

"You can call me Phoenix." She says, waiting for the others to introduce themselves.

1 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dr. Izual Fenix
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The Police Station stood magnificent during these times of need. The place where one of the very hearts of Order resided, and people to carry out the heartbeat to the chaos outside of its doors. Standing three stories tall and taking up over half a block, it didn't ask for attention; it demanded it. It demanded respect. The parking lot was a quarter full, with nothing but Crown Victorias, the police interceptors built by Ford, and of couple Lenco BearCats. BearCats...

After glancing at the SWAT vans through the closed gate, Izual noticed the generators and radio transmission antenna, perhaps a good forty, fifty feet tall. Sweeping his glance towards the windows and glass doors, he noticed that all but a couple were boarded up, which aroused the question of why to him. Keeping his hood over his head, he silently dashed across the side of the fence, keeping his profile as concealed and low as he could afford. Within a minute or so, he had easily approached the entrance.

It was slightly ajar.

As he slid the door open enough for him to slip through without placing attention on himself, he noticed the rotten smell, similar to what's outside but not as strong. Lights were off, and some barricades were formed inside the building, made from chairs and tables, as if they were there to keep something from getting in. Power's out, gut's telling me not to flip the switches though. Better switch to the flashlight, as the scientist slid his hand for the power switch on the light attached to his gun. Once inside, he crouched, silently closing the door behind him, until he heard the...

Click.

The door was closed, and fortunately the clicking sound of the door's latch falling in place onto the frame was loud enough for only Izual to hear. However, it was dead silent. No sounds, no moans, nothing. Venturing further in, sliding over one of the barricades, he decided to skip out on the jail cells, seeing that he had already had a fair share of what-the-fuckness for the day. He had two ways to go: take the stairs, or search the first floor.

He decided to take the stairs, knowing that in a station this size, an armory would be on one of the upper floors, away from access of the general public. Taking cautious step after step up the stairs, he reached the second floor. "The armory is the first place to check, then securing down the place for the night," he said to himself, careful enough not to alert anyone, or anything, lurking in the shadows. Slowing down for a second, he glanced at his watch...

18:15

Since when has time started slowing down? It had begun to feel like an eternity has passed. he crept up against the wall, rounded the corner and...

"Don't even fucking move, or so help you God that I don't blow your fucking brains out." A 8-gauge double-barreled shotgun was aimed directly at him, 10 inches away from his head.

"First, why don't you tell me exactly what the hell is going on?" Izual slowly raised his hands, both hands in sight, pistol in hand. In front of him stood a blonde female, a head shorter than him, heavily tanned skin, almost orange. She was new to the force.

"What the hell is going on is that the world is eating itself out there, and I'm trying to keep myself alive and keep order inside this building. Now tell me why you're here, and give me the gun," she barked at him, shotgun still in hand and aimed at him. He quickly grabbed the barrel with his open hand, taking notice that the safety on her weapon was still on.

"If you are going to threaten to shoot me, do it then, or else give me the gun." Izual dared her to pull the trigger.

Click.

He snatched the shotgun, pulling the grip from her hands. "You had the guts, but you forgot that your safety was on." Izual, glancing at the young woman, shocked at what had just happened, then returned his attention to the shotgun, breaking open the breach. "Both are loaded. I'm willing to bet that you're new." He let out a quick chuckle.

5 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Owen James Calley Character Portrait: Celeste Rinehart Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson Character Portrait: Kaylie Thorton
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Image


"Nyx," The sound of her name drifted into her dreams, and she sat up, gun in hand, before he'd even managed to get the next part out. "Nyx, get up; it's time to get moving." When the fear from her dream finally faded, Nyx realized it was Monday who'd spoken and lowered her gun to the couch again. He walked away and she dropped her face into her hands with a deep groan. For the first time in two days she felt like she'd actually had enough sleep. Even if it had been wrought with nightmares.

Rubbing her eyes, she stood and stretched her arms above her with a yawn, pulling her muscles. She turned to the couch and grabbed both her knife and her gun before the sharp smell of gasoline started to make her eyes water. She turned, eyebrows knit in confusion, as she walked out into the kitchen to find Monday dumping gas on everything. At first she just stood and watched, but then she moved past him and down the hall towards where Kamille had slept. He could do what he wanted. If he wanted to light the house on fire, who was she to stop him? It was his afterall.

When she reached the room, she pushed open the door gently and went in. "Kamille." She said, sleep still choking her voice as she fumbled for a light switch. Her hand managed to swipe on and suddenly the room was illuminated with light and Nyx crossed to where Kamille was sleeping and nudged her. "Time to get going Kamille." She said again before turning and leaving, walking back out into the kitchen with a yawn.

Her bag was still laying unzipped on the counter so she reached over and zipped it up before pulling herself up and taking a seat next to it, watching Monday with a yawn. "Why exactly do you want to burn your house?" She asked, deciding she wanted to know afterall. As she watched him, she sighed. "Did you even get any sleep?"

Image


The first one to talk was the girl with the dog. "Stay back." The young woman told the dog and Celeste's eyes turned sharply to her as she reached out a cautious hand. She looked to be older than her, but not by too much. Maybe a year or two. "Trust me, you're the last thing we want to kill." She smirked, "Having people around probably keeps the insanity levels down." She glanced at the rest of the group one by one, green eyes roaming over each one before turning to the woman again. The joke went over Celeste's head, and she just nodded meekly, still ready to run if necessary.

"You can call me Phoenix." She said with a nod and then seemed to be waiting for something. Oh. Right. For the others to introduce themselves. Celeste nodded at Phoenix and managed a small fake smile, stepping tentetivly closer.

"I'm Celeste Rinehart." She said quietly. "Not really the survival type.. It's kind of a miracle I've made it this far. She crossed her arms over her chest, letting her bat hang uselessly at her hip. They all looked like badass, action movie types. What did she look like to them with her tiny build and torn dress? Like the stupid one in the movie that always gets the group killed? The damsel in distress? She bit her lip. She hated asking things of people, but if there was ever a better group to protect her, it was these people.

That is, if they'd take her.

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2 days 10 minutes after the Outbreak

the force of the zombie-glass collision, almost knocked Tom off his ledge, but her held on.

"ha!" he mocked the zombie, "idiot, you can't get me from here,"

the zombie, ever so unresponsive, simply stared at his prey, teeth trying to break the glass.

Tom stuck his tongue out and started moving again, but the zombie, hungry for more human flesh, headbutted the glass hard enough to make a crack in it, and Tom saw this.

"oh, this just keeps getting better," he moaned

3 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Owen James Calley Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson
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#, as written by Farrah
Kamille was already awake when Nyx poked her head in through the door. Her dark hair was tangled still from her restless sleep but other than that she appeared to be ready to leave. With dark, purple circles under her eyes Kamille grabbed her Jansport bag and slung it over her shoulder. Everything she owned was in her bag and, leaving the room exactly how she found it, Kamille quietly shut the door behind herself as she watched Nyx head over to the kitchen.

About the gasoline - she already knew. The strong smell wafted in through the vent during the early morning and woke her, but trusting that Monday wouldn't set the house aflame with them all still inside, she decided that was the time to get her belongings together. Clad in the same leggings and shoes as yesterday, her gun strapped securely against her right thigh, Kamille found that her throat was starting to burn. What a rancid smell gasoline was, especially in the morning. Greeted by nausea, Kamille plugged her nose with her hand and tried breathing in through her mouth - which really couldn't be any better.

Still unspoken, Kamille watched Nyx exchange some words with the hybrid and tried to stifle a yawn. By the looks of it, Nyx didn't sleep too well either. Or Monday, for that matter. Maybe she just felt so miserable she was imagining it.

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#, as written by Acer-Ro
Justin was still distraught over how bad he'd let his weapon get. No one really spoke up about head over to the station either. He couldn't blame them, there's no way any of then would go of they just knew how dangerous it was. There had to be three or four of those big hulking things plus a couple of screamers. Which meant the the hunters and runners and walkers and what ever else was fucking out there would come running. But he really needed to get there.

If he was honest it had more than likely been raided a dozen times over. But he still had his locker. In it was more ammo for FN57, his cleaning kit, another side arm along with some stupid odds and ends. His other side arm was a 9mm that he hated. In truth he hated the round every which way. But that didn't matter, most everyone trying to kill them was with in twenty feet. In his mind he should be able to hit that. So any issue with the round should be close to none.

Outside of the fact they had no real gain from caper, what the hell was the point? A few rounds and a another gun? It was no where near worth it for the risk associated with the danger......... But it could be fun and he did really want that cleaning kit. Well that settled it. Justin case was going to try and get in just in case...

After getting back to reality and out if his stupidity, Justin's eyes caughtthe girl standing in the door. After listening in for a few moments Justin spoke out.

"Come on in with the cold Celeste. If you're hungry, I'll get you some thing to eat." Justin said with a mildly warm tone while waving her over.

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2 days 12 minutes after the outbreak

Tom had nowhere to go, and hardly anything to help him in his obvious suicide mission. he was backed up against the corner of the ledge while the undead campus security guard went to work on the glass window with a good old fashioned head bashing, each crack of the glass making it just a little less weak.

a minute or so later, the glass gave way just enough for the zombie to poke his head through, the many headbutts had caused a gash on his forehead.

"rarrgghh," it moaned and opened and closed it's mouth as if chewing on air,

despite his fear, Tom found himself laughing, "you gotta do better than that," he said and stood up, as he tried to inch his way away from the undead beast, almost tripping on a fist size peice of concrete.

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Character Portrait: Dr. Izual Fenix
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Izual lowered the shotgun to the ground, holding it in one hand.

"Look, it's getting dark outside, there are people running around attacking people, and I was looking for a place to stay for the night. Name's Doctor Fenix."

Izual quickly holstered his handgun, then reached out with the shotgun in the other hand, barrel in hand. As the police officer retrieved her weapon, she quickly checked him over for any scratches or bites.

"Alright, you seem clean to me. You need to talk to the captain, and see what he says."

He nodded in acceptance, then followed her past another set of barricades. Another police officer, whom Izual assumed was SWAT by how his appearance was, stood watch over the barricade, with a FN P90 in hand.

"Captain, we have a survivor! Sending him over to you now," the young woman called out, with a reply that sounded like the words "Okay."

As he came up to another set of stairs, he could see that the lower access was blocked off, with it leading up the third floor. As Izual started to ascend, he was greeted by the captain.

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Jericho zoned out

MOVE IT! MOVE IT! MOVE IT! These loud shouts vibrated through the air, barely audible over the sounds of the 81mm explosions blowing craters in the ground within Jericho's vicinity blowing dust and sad into the already sandy environment. The shouts originated from his mentor, Iceman who was 25 yards away, as he motioned for Jericho to get up and get into the building. Wait Jericho was on the ground? what happened?

Shaking his head to gain his focus Jericho realized he was on the ground with his hands pushing at the earth to stand up. Explosions still rattled the ground as Jericho stood up. One explosion hit behind him and knocked Jericho forward a bit as he felt the heat of the blast as well as small hits of shrapnel stinging his back. Jericho didn't fall but it did hinder his performance moving toward the aging man with his right hand motioning for Jericho to move. Another explosion hit the ground closer to Jericho than the last but this one threw him forward and to the left. This one actually hurt and left a ringing sound within his ears. Jericho wanted to give up and just lay here, He couldn't remember where he was or why he was here but all he knew was that this sucked... A big one.

As he closed his eyes to give up he felt his legs leaving the ground, as if he was suspended in midair. He opened his eyes to witness the ground moving and another pair of legs maneuvering through the dirt. Jericho realized he was on another man's shoulders as they finally reached the building his mentor was in. They went down a pair of concrete stairs and that's when the buzzing sound started to cease. Loud booms and thuds could still be heard but Jericho could also hear voices of others in the room, he could recognize the voices. Iceman, Irish and Spartan, the members of Reaper squad. Whoever picked him up set him down on a wall and smiled. It was Iceman.

It was all coming back to him now, Reaper was assigned to a suicide mission in freaking Afghanistan. Lord did he hate the 'stans, sand got everywhere, it was always hot, the little boy asking for chocolate in the morning would be planting a bomb in your boot that same evening. It was just a horrid area, but that's where the mission was and no one else would do it. And the "it" being referred to was the sabotage of an Afghani drug farm. 100 miles away from any safe zone or reinforcements but only 100 feet from an Al Qaeda training camp it was a suicide mission for any group of less than a full company of men. The US Army didn't want bad media for dead men and the Afghani army didn't care. Thus the US government paying Legion to do this job quickly and efficiently. It was a very high paying job but the main reason as to why Legion took it was because the self appointed Captain in charge of these operations was a murderer and a thief. With their high standards Legion would do this with no questions asked,

Reaper always volunteered for crap like this. Although they did plant and detonate the bombs in the factory, the armory, the barracks, the fuel depot and the Captain's sleeping quarters they were somehow found and alerted what was left of the terrorists in the camp and factory. They wanted revenge and boy did they try to get it. Within 10 miles of the factory Reaper was cornered into some small village and that's when the mortars started hitting. Thus putting them into the situation they were in now.

An Irish accent emanated from the back of the room You doing ok Frosty? You took a couple of big punches from those mortars. Irish stepped into the light with Highlander hanging on his weapon sling, his right hand extended with a silver flask. Have some of this whiskey, it'll take a bit off from the pain. A blast hit very close by and it rattled the building making dust seep out of the cracks.

You know I don't drink you big brute, just toss me your stupid canteen. Mine..l well let's say it saved my ass. Jericho lifted the canteen and showed a huge piece of jagged metal jetting out from the center it. "Literally" He laughed and caught the flying canteen Irish threw and took a swig.

Jericho came back to reality when a girl showed up, others were already making contact so he figured he should just sit back and watch.

View All »Arcs

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Welcome home, Promethean. Here, you can manage your universe.

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Arcs are bundles of posts from any location, allowing you to easily capture sub-plots which might be spread out across multiple locations.

Add Quest » Quests

You can create Quests with various rewards, encouraging your players to engage with specific plot lines.

Add Setting » 3 Settings for your players to play in

Settings are the backdrop for the characters in your universe, giving meaning and context to their existence. By creating a number of well-written locations, you can organize your universe into areas and regions.

Navigation

While not required, locations can be organized onto a map. More information soon!

Modern-day zombie apocalypse.

Modern-day zombie apocalypse. by Iki

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.

A Warehouse

A Warehouse by RolePlayGateway

Run-down, abandoned; it's empty - for now.

NYMNC News Station

NYMNC News Station by RolePlayGateway

NYMNC News Station

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Character Portrait: Avalon Lynell Goldwin
14 sightings Avalon Lynell Goldwin played by Shattered233
"I'll do what ever it takes to survive."
Character Portrait: Justin Case
7 sightings Justin Case played by Acer-Ro
God my leg hurts
Character Portrait: Diana Novy
1 sightings Diana Novy played by Shattered233
"lil red riding hood know's how to fight for herself, so back off."

The Forge

Use your INK to craft new artifacts in Dead Morning America. Once created, Items cannot be changed, but they can be bought and sold in the marketplace.

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Buy, sell, and even craft your own items in this universe.

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View All » Add Character » 18 Characters to follow in this universe

Character Portrait: Owen James Calley
Character Portrait: Tim Flenn
Character Portrait: liz carena
Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin
Character Portrait: Jericho Winters
Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson
Character Portrait: Dr. Izual Fenix
Character Portrait: Celeste Rinehart
Character Portrait: Tom Jones

Newest

Character Portrait: Celeste Rinehart
Celeste Rinehart

"You know how they say good things come in small packages?"

Character Portrait: Dr. Izual Fenix
Dr. Izual Fenix

"Eat some watermelon and kick some ass."

Character Portrait: Jericho Winters
Jericho Winters

" I don't have time to bleed."

Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin
Nyx Goldwin

"How am I still alive? Baby, I'm a survivor."

Character Portrait: liz carena
liz carena

"Ok, just calm down and let's try to think this through, everybody."

Character Portrait: Tim Flenn
Tim Flenn

"Geez, can a guy not get sleep around here?"

Trending

Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin
Nyx Goldwin

"How am I still alive? Baby, I'm a survivor."

Character Portrait: Tim Flenn
Tim Flenn

"Geez, can a guy not get sleep around here?"

Character Portrait: Jericho Winters
Jericho Winters

" I don't have time to bleed."

Character Portrait: liz carena
liz carena

"Ok, just calm down and let's try to think this through, everybody."

Character Portrait: Celeste Rinehart
Celeste Rinehart

"You know how they say good things come in small packages?"

Character Portrait: Dr. Izual Fenix
Dr. Izual Fenix

"Eat some watermelon and kick some ass."

Most Followed

Character Portrait: Dr. Izual Fenix
Dr. Izual Fenix

"Eat some watermelon and kick some ass."

Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin
Nyx Goldwin

"How am I still alive? Baby, I'm a survivor."

Character Portrait: Jericho Winters
Jericho Winters

" I don't have time to bleed."

Character Portrait: Celeste Rinehart
Celeste Rinehart

"You know how they say good things come in small packages?"

Character Portrait: Tim Flenn
Tim Flenn

"Geez, can a guy not get sleep around here?"

Character Portrait: liz carena
liz carena

"Ok, just calm down and let's try to think this through, everybody."


View All » Places

Modern-day zombie apocalypse.

Modern-day zombie apocalypse. by Iki

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.

A Warehouse

A Warehouse by RolePlayGateway

Run-down, abandoned; it's empty - for now.

NYMNC News Station

NYMNC News Station by RolePlayGateway

NYMNC News Station

Modern-day zombie apocalypse.

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.

A Warehouse

Run-down, abandoned; it's empty - for now.

Fullscreen Chat » Create Topic » Dead Morning America: Out of Character

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    1 ... 5, 6, 7by Iki on Sun Apr 22, 2012 8:31 am
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    on Mon Jul 09, 2012 11:24 pm

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    on Thu Apr 26, 2012 9:53 pm

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