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Dead Morning America

Modern-day zombie apocalypse.

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a part of Dead Morning America, 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.

Iki holds sovereignty over Modern-day zombie apocalypse., giving them the ability to make limited changes.

471 readers have been here.

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]

Setting

Default Location for Dead Morning America, set in New York.
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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.

Minimap

Modern-day zombie apocalypse. is a part of Dead Morning America.

1 Places in Modern-day zombie apocalypse.:

13 Characters Here

Nyx Goldwin [34] "How am I still alive? Baby, I'm a survivor."
Avalon Lynell Goldwin [14] "I'll do what ever it takes to survive."
Jericho Winters [14] " I don't have time to bleed."
Kaylie Thorton [11] Look alive, sunshine
Justin Case [7] God my leg hurts
Tim Flenn [6] "Geez, can a guy not get sleep around here?"
Dr. Izual Fenix [4] "Eat some watermelon and kick some ass."
Celeste Rinehart [2] "You know how they say good things come in small packages?"

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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.

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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.

Characters Present

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

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.