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The Broadcast - Outliving the End.

The Broadcast - Outliving the End.

0 INK

(Remake by Shadow44499, all information within, all credit goes to Desire99600.)

1,311 readers have visited The Broadcast - Outliving the End. since Shadow44499 created it.

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

created by desire99600.

Introduction

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May 13th, 2020
5:00 am

All over the United States, at five-o'clock in the morning, every tv, radio, computer, and electronic billboard, flipped on, emitting a loud, earsplitting screech, sure to wake the dead.

*Please stand by*
*Please stand by*
*Please stand by*
A nationwide alert is being issued
This is an emergency broadcast.
Repeat: Emergency broadcast. Not a test
Not a test
Not a test
The 84K virus has gone airborne
Repeat: The 84k virus has gone airborne
Quarentine bombings of select cities are being put into effect.
All immune and uncontaminated are to report to the following city for containment and vaccines.
Dellwood
Dellwood *cutting out*
Dellwood *cutting out*
Get
To
Dellwood
*Flatline*


☢ This is the last news we've heard of the 84K virus. It is now may 20th, 2020 and the T.v's have gone dead, radios silent, internet empty. It's as if the government has disappeared, leaving the helpless citizens to fight through the mess of the apocalypse on their own. Scared. Alone. Abandoned with only one thread of hope left. Dellwood. The so-called fortress city near Miami Florida where the 84K virus doesn't exist and everyone's safe. The only remaining sign of the forces that are supposed to be protecting us lie in the quarantine bombings of cities. In an attempt to quell the virus, the air force has been destroying unknowing cities, and while millions of the infected are successfully killed, so are innocent survivors. So begins the race for survival. Will you make it? Or will you be taken by the virus? ☢

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☤ The 84K virus is not a natural virus. It was created by a group scientists looking to cure cancer, but instead, stumbling across something far more deadly. The thing about 84K is that it seemed to work. They tested animals first and the shot appeared to be an instant cure, killing all cancerous cells and replacing them with new, healthy ones within seconds. But after a few days, things started to come apart. The test subjects began to grow ill and die. One by one, 200 hamsters kept together in a single cage fell over, hearts ceasing to beat. So the scientists though that was the end of it. They'd failed. A few hours after the deaths, the doctors were cleaning out the cage, removing the lifeless little bodies when one sat up and sniffed the air. Shocked, the scientists looked to see the rest of the creatures all waking. It was impossible. They'd tested the hamsters thoroughly. They'd been dead. But here they sat, sniffing about, alive as could be. After a few more tests, the doctors soon discovered some shocking news. The hamsters, though alive and cured of cancer, no longer had a heartbeat. Their lungs no longer needed oxygen and their hearts no longer pumped blood. Other than this though, the hamsters seemed to be in perfect health. So the doctors, wanting the fame and fortune for having discovered the cure to cancer, sold the drug, took their money, and fled to various tropical islands, leaving the hamsters behind. As the days passed though, they small creatures began to change. Their skin develops large red splotches and their hair began to fall out in patches. Just three days after the initial infection, the animals began to foam at the mouth wildly and began eating each other, having developed a sudden taste for flesh and a strong sense of cannibalism. ☤

☤ Meanwhile, the injection was being handed out to cancer patient after cancer patient, slowly dooming the human race as the virus adapted to the human body. It developed new immunities and new side effects, and, before long, it was unstoppable as seemingly fine people were released from the hospitals.In the first few hours, when the patient doesn't know anything is wrong, they could touch a million things and people, spreading the virus wherever they went. That was how it was spread at first, through touch only. People who'd had the initial injection would pass it on the others and they'd pass it on to others either as carriers or infected themselves, and within hours of the first injection, the virus had traveled immense distances. As it passed on, it mutated. Changing to adapt to humans. The first people began to die. Then the next group. Then the next. The injection was called off the market as it had incredibly dangerous risks. It wasn't long before the virus went airborne, making it all the more deadly, for now it could be spread through something as simple as breathing. No one was safe. The virus spread faster and faster. Eventually, doctors figured out how to contain the airborne virus, so it was no longer being spread through the air, but it was too late. More than 3/4 of the population had turned into mindless killers and the numbers were only going up. ☤

How it works
☤ The infection is no longer airborne, but can be spread through an open wound. If contact is made with the infected, you're safe (though you've just become a carrier), but if you have any fresh or open wounds and you make contact with a carrier or the infected, you've got the disease. Saliva is also another way to spread the virus. Not that anyone's going to make out with a zombie, but if you do happen to be getting frisky with a carrier, there's a good chance you're either infected or a carrier yourself now. Once infected, you may feel a sudden boost of energy. All sicknesses or weakness will be erased and you will feel completely renewed. Even hunger will be cured. This lasts for a few hours. After this, you pass out and your heartbeat slowly teeters out until you're dead. When you wake, you'll feel healthy though you may have several symptoms. Within three days, you begin to grow sick. Severely. On the first day, you're simple miserably sick and feverish, imagine the worst illness you've ever had times ten. On the second, your hair begins to fall out in patches and your skin grays, red itchy splotches appearing. On the third, you go crazy, devolving a need for human flesh and a wild cannibalism. There is a cure, but it's extremely rare, very expensive, not released to the market, and it must be administered to the patient before the initial death. ☤

Symptoms
☣ Pre-death: Suddenly healthier (Cure may still be administered) ☣
☣ Passing out, death ☣
☣ Revival ☣
☣ Post-death: coughing, headaches, dizziness ☣
☣ Post-death day 2: Dangerously high fever, moaning, pain, suffering, constant puking yellow mucus ☣
☣ Post-death day 3: Patchy loss of hair, itchy red splotches that can sometimes bleed due to wild scratching, foaming at the mouth ☣
☣ Post-death day 4: Insanity, loss of morals, cannibalism, aggression, craving for human flesh, screaming, moaning, fighting, biting, scratching (Beyond help) ☣

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☠ You mission is simple. Survive, get to Dellwood, and take as many other survivors as you can with you. You have to fight through hordes of zombies. Litterally millions, though thankfuilly not all at a time. Your mission is to make it through the multiple types of infected from Milwaukee Wisconsin to Dellwood Florida. (Dellwood is made up, and on the map, is in the place of Miami Florida.) The map below shows the distance you must travel. The top star is Milwaukee and the bottom is Dellwood. All characters must meet up into a group before they leave the city, and travel together. They will start out as loners though. If you would like for them to be a small group to start, PM a few of the other members and work something out(: ☠

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☢ Infected types ☢

Regular Infected
☢ These are the regular infected with the initial virus. They're not too threatening and pretty easy to kill, though they can be extremely tedious in hordes. You must puncture their brain, or sever their spine in order to kill them. They usually just mill about waiting for their prey to stumble on them, but once they see you, they give chase and don't stop until they kill you. They have hyper-active sense of smell as well as hearing. They usually act alone, but if a horde runs past them, they will sometimes join in, sprinting along with the group. ☢

Hordes
☢ Giant groups of Regulars anywhere from 6-a million. Bright lights and loud noises trigger them, and they come running like moth to flame. They can be killed the same way as Regulars, but are usually a lot harder to kill and almost impossible to avoid contact with and keep yourself from getting the virus. The easiest way to kill them is to find the screaming one in the group and kill it. This is the horde leader. Once the horde leader is dead, the horde is lost and will stop chasing, or just be stunned for a few seconds, allowing you to kill the rest if you're trapped. ☢

Pouncers
☢ Pouncers are a mutation of the virus. They have a 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 Pouncer 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 Pouncer has been observed mimicking Regulars, 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. Pouncers have been known to stalk victims for days and miles and more, if for nothing but for the closure of the kill. The brain must be punctured in order to kill them. ☢

Spitters
☢ Spitters are another mutation of the infection and have the ability to spit a ball of acid that burns through almost anything. They can spit a long distance and, when the ball makes contact, it explodes, spreading over every nearby surface. These particular infected must be shot, stabbed, or hit in either the brain or the stomach in order to be killed. ☢

Alarms
☢ This is one of the most dangerous mutations of the infection. They look like Regulars, but have tougher skin and are harder to kill. Also, if seen by an Alarm, they will immediately open their mouths and emit a high pitched shriek that alerts any nearby infected. To kill them, you must puncture their throats. Brain and spine shots wont work. ☢

Cryers
☢ Cryers are the most dangerous of the infected. They look completely normal. Like a survivor of the virus. What makes them dangerous is that they cannot talk or make any vocal sounds other than screams, grunts, and groans, but they can cry. If they sit, or wander around, and cry, Cryers can easily be mistaken for a survivor. However, they will not notice you if you do not startle them out of their crying with either a loud noise or bright light. If you are unlucky enough to startle them, long, 20 inch talons instantly spring from their nails and they charge you, shrieking and alerting nearby infected. They are three times faster than the Pouncers and Alarms, making them six times faster than the Regulars and hordes. Their nails can tear through any material and they're extremely hard to kill. They have no specific weak points other than a very small spot at the nape of their neck, and getting behind them is very difficult without startling them, for they prefer to sit with their backs protected. ☢

Bruisers
Creative credit to Shadow44499
☢ A stain of the disease that affects only male infected, it triples their testosterone levels added to normal effects of the infection. In short it makes them stronger, capable of lifting, smashing, or throwing items that would be much heavy than the original body could, it also makes them highly aggressive and alert but considerably more stubborn than regular infected. Added onto that more muscular in body size. They can be killed with either a head or spine shot. ☢

Banshees
Creative credit to Shadow44499
☢ A strain of the disease which only affects female infected. When mutated these infected become dangerously thin, looking more like sacks of skin covering bone, their main strength is make a wail very similar to a alerter's but at a tone where it stuns and disorientates humans and infected alike. Added onto that Banshees are quick able to close the distance on their stunned pray to strike with razor sharp claws. Banshees can only be dropped by a head shot. ☢

☣ Survivor types (roles) ☣
(More or less are available if needed.)


Immunes- Cannot be infected with the disease or carry it. Their blood is the hope for the future for scientists may be able to use it to make a cure for the virus.
1. Open | Violet Fairbanks - Age 20 - Female - Played by Desire99600
2. Open | Wayne Hardy - Age 34 - Male - Played by Beaux
3. Open |
4. Open |
5. Open |
6. Open |

Immune Carriers- Those who cannot be infected or affected by the disease, but can still carry it and pass it on to others.
1. Open | Heather Fairbanks - Age 11 - Female - Played by Desire99600
2. Open | Octavia Cavendish -Age 18 - Female- Played by Dubois_Scarlett
3. Open |
4. Open |

Non-Immunes- Are at the most risk, for they can easily be infected by the virus
1. Taken | Dillon Carth Ruso - Age 22 - Male - Played by Shadow44499
2. Open | Aaron Samuel Cross - Age 18 - Male - Played by RichterGotz
3. Open |

☣ Character sheet ☣
Please make it pretty. I will be less likely to accept you if there's no pictures. And you have to have a thumbnail, or profile picture. PM me for resizing.

Full Name: [ First, middle, last ]
Nickname: [ Tell us how they got that nickname, or why they preferred to be called this. ]
Age:
Gender:
Role: [ Put the type of survivor you are here. ]
Personality: [ Minimum of 3+ good paragraphs ]
Weapon: [ What weapons do you carry? ]
Inventory: [ What Other items does your character have with them? ]
Skills: [ What skills do they have? Both combat, or not combat ]
History: [ This is optional if you would like your character to remain mysterious, but please don't leave it out because you're lazy. There is nothing more annoying ]
Theme Song(s): [ A song or two that describes your character ]
Other: [ Did I miss anything? ]

☠ Good Luck ☠

Toggle Rules

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(Rules are also all accredited to Desire99600, still using them all because they are awesome.)

1. Reservations
Reservations last 24 hours. That's it. Harsh, I know, but I really hate when someone reserves a spot, then we have to wait two days to see if they'll make it, then, when they don't we have to wait another 4930809834 days for it to be filled again. No. One day from the time you reserve it. Don't take that too seriously though. I'm totally cool with you taking more time, as long as you let me know. I can't stress that enough. You don't have to reserve a character either. For this type of roleplay, I really don't care how many characters there are. There's no limit. (Unless, of course, we get a million girls and no boys) So you can just submit a character and I'll be likely to accept if the sheet looks good.
2. Characters
Okay, here's one of the most important rules. Characters. For one, they have to be realistic. I don't want any cowboys or superheros. No. I mean, get real guys, when have you ever seen a cowboy running around in the city shooting zombies? Sounds like something out of a terrible Will Ferrell movie. (No offense to anyone who likes him, he has had some good ones.) Also, they can't all be super badasses who have had rough lives that have made them strong and now they're ready for combat and all of a sudden know how to survive and kill with no emotional or physical side-effects. No. Seriously? If I get a million sarcastic badasses, I'm sending a huge ass horde after all your characters. Make some who, are maybe typically happy people, clinically depressed people, sweet kind people. Come on guys. Mix it up. Some powerhouse characters are always good for a RP, but before you join, please make sure and check the personalities of the other characters. I'd like to see variety and uniqueness. Show me something new (but realistic) and I'll be a million times more likely to accept you. Your character is not perfect. They will miss their shots or attacks sometimes. They do have weaknesses. They can be injured. If you forget these things, don't think I won't remind you by sending a horde of unkillable infected after your character and allowing them to die slowly.
3. Character sheets
Fill out all of the requirements as I've so helpfully instructed or you wont be accepted. And this also means that, when I say three good paragraphs, I don't mean three paragraphs. I mean three good paragraphs. I really shouldn't have to put a sentence limit on it. That's just weak guys, really. I'm sure you can come up with three, nicely flowing paragraphs that make sense and don't repeat themselves a million times for the sake of taking up space. I realize this is a semi-advanced roleplay, but to be accepted, you have to at least be able to make sense for gods sake. Also, to increase your chances of being accepted, make it pretty! Lol, I loveeeeee multiple pictures, different colors, and all that good shit(:
4. Respect
Respect me, my decisions, others, my roleplay, and characters. (I realize some characters wont get along, but don't make your character a bitch or a know-it-all. There is nothing more annoying.)
5. PG-13
I'm totally fine with swearing. I use it frequently. But please, for the love of all that is good please do not make every single line your character says have a cuss word in it. If you talk like that in real life, you seriously have a problem. Go get an attitude check or something. When it comes to sex, I don't want to hear anything detailed and specific okay? This roleplay is about survival, not having sex. You can make out and do whatever until the clothes are off, then its fades out or whatever you use. And finally, with gore. I don't mind it, but it's better if it's not tooooooo bad. Like really. Is it really necessary to tell us that, when you cut off a zombie's head, you could see it's brain and the blood sprayed for a mile? Like, have you ever been to science class? That's not realistic, and, quite frankly, disgusting. If you want to give us a lesson on the parts of the human brain, do it somewhere else.
6. Posting
Okay, I'm used to literate roleplays, not semi-lit, but that is what this is. I'll do my best not to be too picky with you guys, but I also don't want you to take advantage of that bit of leniency. I want to see at least three paragraphs per post min. Good ones, that flow and make sense. Even on my worst days, my posts are never less then five paragraphs. I think you can manage three. Also, as for time, this is a survival roleplay, and I'd like to keep it fast-paced, otherwise it gets boring fast. So please post at least four or five times a week. And, if you can't handle that, don't put yourself in positions where other characters have to rely on you. Also though, for you speedy posters, don't post back and forth so much that I'll log off and there's 27 posts, log back on the next day and there's 89. Like, what? Lol, pace yourself a bit please. I don't want to have to read all that. However, with action RP's, it's easy to kill off characters. If there's more than four days in between your posts and you haven't notified me of a reason, I'll kill your character.
7. Have fun
Believe it or not, I'm a very fun-loving person. I'm not all rules. Please, have fun with this. I love meeting new people, and I'm pretty lenient. If you'd like to be friends on RPG, I'm so up for it. I love having RP buddies. And don't be afraid to ask questions or make suggestions, please! I love feedback, and I wont bite. Promise. I like to know what's going on and what you guys are thinking. You don't have to use the OOC only for RP related things.

Browse All » 2 Settings to roleplay in

Northern FL.

Northern FL. by RolePlayGateway

The region of Florida stretching from Tampa to Jacksonville.

The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 4 authors

Setting

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Character Portrait: Dillon Carth Ruso
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Dillon sat atop a large boulder near a major highway heading down towards Dellwood. The road had been tough so far, but the last leg of the Journey was nearing. Overnight the Florida border was crossed. The path before had been harrowing, engagements with the undead, loses of friends, people he cared about. All starting months ago with the attack of his military convoy in Wisconsin. He still wore his military outfit, the armored vest clawed and beaten. The green paint on the mask he was wearing was fading from wear and had a large claw mark on it. His gear pack was heavily patched, looking more rag tag than army. Underneath the once youthful man had been changed, his hair was pale in comparison to what it had been when he first enlisted, his eyes, dropping with stress. But somehow he survived, whether it had been the God he prayed to, his military procedure, or plain luck. He was still walking through the paths of what seemed like hell. He had watched people come and go on his journey. He had seen people, devoured like cattle by monsters that resemble humans. His mind was shakey at best, but he still maintained his honor, sanity, and baring. Being a soldier through and through. Moving ever towards his goal.

His masked eyes looked backward, and then forward again, checking the perimeter. Making sure none of those damned creatures where near by. His ears open for moan, shuffling, or screeching alarms. His fingers gripping the cold steel of his shotgun. His one companion that had been with him from the start, that and his tools. It was morning, and he stood, waiting for the right time to move on, move south to the fabled Dellwood. Wondering what they would come across or if it even existed. And if it didn't... What then?

The setting changes from Northern FL. to Milwaukee, WI

Setting

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Character Portrait: Wayne "Sarge" Hardy
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#, as written by Beaux

The setting changes from Milwaukee, WI to Northern FL.

Setting

1 Characters Present

Character Portrait: Wayne "Sarge" Hardy
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#, as written by Beaux
Checkpoint Whiskey, fall back to base. Bravo is unresponsive. Repeat, fall back now. Over.”

The voice drifted into the man’s consciousness, forcing him to open his eyes. Blinking he forced himself to focus on his surroundings. Strapped to the passenger seat he dangled across the cab, hanging into the driver’s side, which had mostly been torn away by the wall the vehicle was against. No, not a wall, the ground. He shook his head. The vehicle was on its side, crumpled with windows smashed and scattered across the cab. Blood was dripping past his face too. He reached up to the pain throbbing through his head and touched something sticky. Pulling his hand away coated in red he realized where the blood was dripping from.

The radio crackled to life again “Checkpoint Whiskey, come back. Over.”

He looked out of the vehicle at his surroundings. The grey concrete road was pitted with rough holes, splashed with blood, a lot of blood, and scattered with bullet casings. Across the street a large building was billowing smoke into the clear blue sky, the flames licking up the outside of the building and setting alight to a pair of curtains that billowed out into the wind. Looking at the vehicles dashboard he could see the radio, shattered as it was he was surprised it worked, yet with no handset it was useless to him.

“Checkpoint Whiskey, any sign of Bravo? Over.”

Who was he? Where was he? Some sort of warzone? He pulled at his jacket, camouflage, and saw the name tag ‘Hardy’. He nodded, he liked the name Hardy. He liked the name Wayne too, Wayne Hardy. It had a nice flow to it, so, for the time being, he would be Wayne Hardy. He tried to remember something, anything, but his mind was blank. He pulled at the seatbelt, braced himself against the dashboard and unclipped the latch. Tumbling, sliding and crawling, Wayne pulled himself through the front window and free of the vehicle.

“Checkpoint Whiskey? Status report. Checkpoint Whiskey, come back. Over.”

Looking around he could see the streets were deserted, nothing moved. The faint radio crackle, the whistling wind and the building fire was all he could hear. This was unnerving. Wayne knew he was in a city, he could see building tops for miles around, there should be more sounds, cars, people, even gun fire. Nothing.

“Tenth troop is moving to fallback point six. All surrounding units are advised to do the same, over.”

Wayne looked at the crashed vehicle he had just emerged from, skid marks were all around it, obviously the rest of the convoy had kept going, leaving them to their fate. The vehicle was a dark grey humvee, blood coated the heavy weapon mounted to the roof and was sprayed into the circular turret that provided access from the rear of the vehicle to the gun. As he looked at the scene he realized that as the vehicle had come to lay on its side, whoever had been in the turret had been firing at the enemy, tearing holes into the concrete road until he, yes, Wayne could see strips of material and blood, had been pulled out of the hatch. Despite the damage taken from the crash, Wayne could tell that the vehicle had not been hit by a single bullet. He frowned. Getting down on his hands and knees he looked at the driver’s side, more blood and again, more strips of material, as though the driver had been pulled from his seat and out of the window.

“Tenth troop, rendezvous at checkpoint Delta. We have two additional units on route to that location, over.”

Looking around Wayne saw a trail of blood leading away from the humvee and into a shattered shop front. Swearing, he reached into the vehicle and pulled a large caliber gun from its rack and several clips of ammo that he knew matched the weapon. Finally, something he remembered. He checked the safety and pushed the clip into place, pulling back on the loading bolt and checking the first shell had clicked into place. Satisfied that the weapon was ready, he braced the gun against his shoulder, pointing it forward and strode off toward the shattered window.

“Tenth troop be advised, we have confirmed combatants at checkpoint Delta. Over.”

Approaching the shattered window he peered into the gloom. Display cases were toppled, chairs scattered and china, obviously the stores merchandise, was shattered across the floor. In the middle of the wreckage two figures lay slumped on the floor.

“Anyone alive in here?” he asked.

With a low moan one of the figures looked up. Wayne stood, frozen in stunned panic as he realized the figure slowly pushing itself upright had been eating the chest of the body on the floor. Dark blood poured from the mouth of the man as he stumbled over the wreckage toward Wayne, arms outstretched and eyes unblinking.

Wayne pulled the trigger.

The heavy gun roared, lighting up the shop with giant flashes of light as the figure flew backwards, bullets tearing through flesh and bone. Wayne stopped firing and peered through the gun smoke at the figure. As it cleared, his eyes widened and he swore before pulling the trigger and sending more rounds into the man as he had started to rise up once more. Gun roaring, Wayne saw the man’s flesh being torn away as the second figure sat up into the hail of gunfire. A bullet clipped through its skull, spraying blood into the air and the figure slumped back to the floor. Wayne stopped firing and paused as the man, body torn apart by the bullets, continued to move, pulling himself towards Wayne with its shattered arms and leaving a trail of blood and gore in its wake.

Wayne frowned, aimed the barrel and carefully squeezed the trigger. One round exploded from the gun and buried itself in the man’s head, where he immediately slumped to the floor, motionless.

Wayne stood silently looking at the figures, until, satisfied they were truly dead, he turned away.

What the fuck was that thing?” He mumbled to himself as the sharp throbbing increased at the back of his head.

As he looked around the deserted street, a distant explosion went off with a thud in the distance and as he watched a small plume of smoke rise into the air. Slinging the weapon over his shoulder, Wayne Hardy set off toward the distant combat, determined to regain his memory and find out just what in the hell was going on.

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Character Portrait: Octavia Cavendish
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Cavendish's don't give up!

“That's right O, Cavendish's don't give up!” Octavia Cavendish repeated to herself out loud.

It was late morning as the searing Florida sun pierced high through the cloudless sky. A perfect day in the sunshine state or it would be if what surrounded her wasn't the wreckage of the end of the world as Octavia knew it.

She stopped a moment to take in her surroundings, shading her eyes with her left hand. Cool grey eyes scanned the circumferent. Octavia could see she stood at the beginning of an endless highway covered in smashed concrete, surrounded by piles of rubble and broken vehicles. Blood, gas and oil stains streaked across the potholed ground. Green signs high above marked the roads to Tampa, Jacksonville and . . .

Dellwood.” The name a urgent whisper on her lips.

Both excitement and apprehension bubbled throughout her stomach.

Having crossed the state border late last evening, she had soon found shelter later that night, sojourning in a natural cove in the dry sandy ground. Allowing rest, recuperation and a small snack.

As soon as the first light stretched across the horizon Octavia was wide awake and on her way forward, down south. Or so she hoped. The internet may not have been updated in months but the crap that was already floating around in cyberspace was still there and worked. Google maps on her iPhone Clear was leading her breakneck path to Dellwood, Florida.

So far it had gotten her to the state so it couldn't be far wrong, Octavia decided, although she had seen with her own eyes in her relentless journey that some of the major cities on the map she was suppose to be passing no longer existed. Shallow craters in the ground identified the unmarked graves of the former metropolises or dark brooding cities that still smoked and burnt endlessly. But what did that matter to her know? She had one goal. Dellwood. And nobody, not even flesh eating zombies would stand in her way.

A cold shiver ran down her spine at the thought of zombies. The .45 M1911 pistol tightened in her sweaty grasp.

Zombies . . . Monsters . . . Demons . . . Octavia felt as if she'd fought her way through the fires of Hell itself. The things she'd seen, witnessed and taken part in seemed like a nightmare so far removed from the life of ease and luxury she had once led before this . . . this, apocalypse, seemed the only right phrase to describe this empty, dark burning wasteland that decayed around her.

“Stop!” Octavia told herself firmly.

Her brain felt like it would explode if she thought about the impossibility of her life one more time. Sanity. Yes. She needed to keep her sanity. Theses days it seemed like it tethered on the edges of madness. Speaking to herself constantly, looking for shadows that weren't truly there, being more optimistic then she had ever been back in the 'good old days' as she liked to call the time before. But was it optimism or was it stress induced hysteria? Octavia had the strong feeling it was the latter.

“No time for this, get on with it.”

She had to take inventory. Knowing she should have done it yesterday when she stopped but at the time the light was dying away and she didn't want to waste the batteries in her flash light, which were only for emergencies in the dark.

Slipping the brown monogrammed Louis Vuitton backpack off her shoulders, the heavy bag dropped to the dusty ground with a thump. Octavia knelt down on one knee before the pack, whipping the dust that rose up in the air away with her left hand; placing the .45 on the ground next to the Vuitton.

Her fingertips brushed the golden monogrammed tag that read Octavia Cavendish V. A present from her father on her fifteenth birthday. Tears threatened to spill over the edges of her eyes and streak down the apples of her cheeks. But they didn't and she wouldn't dwell on that now. They were out there somewhere. Her family, in Dellwood. They had to be and she would join them and with that notion fixed firm in her mind she pushed the golden buckle on the backpack open.

Removing everything from the backpack except the hard cash that lined the bottom.

“Seriously.” Octavia grumbled.

What had she been thinking when she'd stuffed the neat piles of banded notes from her fathers safe in his office at home into the pack. What good was money as the world ended? In her defence, she explained to herself, one, she did not for a second think it was the end of the world and two, the only thing she knew for a fact her whole life was cash opened doors and when the doors to salvation opened she didn't want to be left behind because she didn’t have the green.

Yet, even as she had hardly used any of the money since leaving her home in New York months earlier, Octavia would not get rid of the heavy sum weighing down her pack. She held the distinct feeling that she was desperately going to be needing it in the not too distant future.

Next, she placed the two remaining rectangular cardboard boxes containing a hundred rounds each for the .45 but not before refilling the gun with four more rounds, filling it to full capacity of seven rounds in total.

“Hundred and ninety six left.” Octavia smirked as she patted the two boxes of ammo she placed in the pack.

She'd actually started out with four boxes. Like the money, the gun and the rounds had come from her fathers safe. It was a scary knowing her father had kept so much ammunition with a weapon to fire it in their own home. Again, this was something she no longer dwelt on. It seemed so unimportant now. So small.

“Flashlight,” Octavia flicked it on to make sure it still worked before replacing it in the backpack “on and check. Matches, check. Copy of the Bible – Vogue,” Octavia's face broke out in a beam that hadn't crossed her lovely features in such a very long time; smiling from ear to ear she kissed the bedraggled last ever edition of the magazine with its folded and creased corners before putting it carefully back into the pack as if the pages were coated in solid gold “- check.”

Her one true link to the real world. She hadn't simply imagined the world before in delusion. It had been real and she had been apart of it. The magazine reminded her of all that and the hope that some day she would be back there again. One day.
She sighed heavy-heartedly and continued with the task at hand.

“Phone charger, check. Food – three small bags of chips, two chocolate bars and three bottles of water, check.”

The simple sight of the clear liquid parched her throat and dry mouth instantly. Octavia allowed herself a small swig of the warm water and then a guilty another before putting the bottles back in. No More. She needed to save her supplies for the most dire and desperate of times.

What was left was her navy blue pure cashmere cardigan. Octavia folded and stuffed this on top. It was way to hot for the cardigan here in Florida but she was glad she had it with her anyway. On top of that she placed her pink Swiss army knife for easy access. That baby had gotten her out of a lot of scraps.
Securing the golden buckle back in place, Octavia heaved the pack onto both shoulders.

Dusting the skirts of her white lace summer dress that came just above her knees, Octavia made sure the kitchen knife strapped to her left thigh by a garter made of red ribbon was secure.

The brown Penny Loafers on her feet now were a hell of a lot more comfortable and durable than the ballet flats she's had on for a while before.

“Good to go.” She declared as she stood up on both feet.

Looking around, placing one hand on a backpack strap while the other gripped the .45, Octavia decided, obviously there was only one way to go. Straight ahead. So off she set, down the deserted highway. Dellwood had better be at the end of this long damnable highway . . . and if it wasn't?

“I swear God,” Octavia bellowed to the heavens as she continued on through the middle of the road “if Dellwood isn't at the end of this highway, then I'll, I'll . . . I'll throw myself off of this damn highway! That's right mister! You can say goodbye to your greatest creation. You can say goodbye to the human race!”

Happy with her tirade, she harrumphed triumphantly with a decided nod and just for good measure added, “You listening? God? . . . Satan?”

The setting changes from Northern FL. to Milwaukee, WI

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The setting changes from Milwaukee, WI to Northern FL.

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Dillon's head turned quickly as he heard something down the highway a bit. He jumped off the boulder and climbed back onto the pavement, crouching low and using the scattered vehicles here and there as cover as he approached the source of the noise slowly and carefully. He was without his pack, that was left back the camp in the near by wooded area's around the highway. His hands began to grip his shotgun shakily, eyes wandering above the tops of the cars. Seems like this supply run onto the road for supplies from abandoned vehicles may get interesting, though Dillon didn't want that, he'd had enough "interesting" the last few months. Enough that he should get a damn Medal of Honor when he got back, not that the soldier cared for medals any longer.

Peaking up one more time his eyes under the dark circle of his mask widened. He had expected to see a corpse or two shambling down the road, he was not at all expecting to see another survivor on the road other than he the little groups he had run across and split from time to time. Taking a deep breath he ducked back into cover, situations with humans were always more complicated than the Walking Dead. Humans generally had guns... And Some would shoot to steal some supplies for their own. Dillon had been shot at several times from his trip in Milwaukee.

Cocking his shotgun he stood up and waved over the roof of the car. When she got nearer he would fall back to his military checks and lists. For now... A softer approach was needed so he decided not to go dashing up, shouting at her to get down on the ground. From afar he was hoping she would notice the camouflaged uniform he still wore, even if it was soiled with blood and mud. This uniform had literally been his best friend, people were much more inclined to be passive towards a soldier, hoping for rescue or answers, Dillon had neither, though he tried to save as many lives as he could. His kind heart still getting the best of him no matter he said or did in this cruel world.

Now all he could do was wait, hoping the woman he saw on the road noticed him. And if she did didn't try to blow his organs across the pavement with whatever armaments she could possibly be carrying around on her person. Though that was always a risk. Damn risks... Seemed to take over in the world nowadays.

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“. . . Satan?”

Ears prickling, suddenly, Octavia stopped. She'd been walking along the endless highway speaking out aloud to herself, again. But she was dead certain she'd heard something. Something moving. She desperately hoped she was wrong about the dead part. She was unfortunately never usually wrong about the dead part.

Heart thumping, pulse racing; slowly Octavia peered over a slim shoulder certain the sound resonated from behind her. Whipping around, legs apart, gun at the ready in front of her, Octavia faced a wrecked upturned vehicle.

Something moved in her periphery. Something big and . . . humanoid, Octavia thought startled. Human? And it was . . . waving at her?

Octavia frowned deeply. Relief and fury surged through her whole being. The .45 tightened in her grasp. Her left hand by her thigh ready to slip the knife out should she need it relaxed as she wriggled her fingers.

Another human, huh? A scruffy human.

The strangers face was hidden behind a dark mask that covered most of his face. His clothing which looked like well worn military gear was ravaged and torn, streaked with dirt, muck, mud and blood.

Jeez buddy, thought Octavia, could change your clothes once in awhile. She most certainly had quiet a few time. The last time had been in Valdosta in Georgia, a few days before she had crossed the border into Florida. She'd even been lucky enough to have a shower, albeit a cold shower and that too in some sort of dirty community sports center, however a good clean wash and some fresh new clothes had been miraculously re-energizing. But, maybe the gear meant something to the guy. Soldiers were weird about their uniforms and stuff, right?

Well, he was a sight for sore eyes, wasn't he, snorted Octavia besides herself, who hadn't seen another human in weeks if not months . . . and especially one that had not tried to attack her. As if it wasn't enough that there were freaking zombies attacking her, but the damn humans she came across tried to attack and steal from her too! Well, she'd seen to them hadn't she? Even Octavia herself was surprised by that fact. She, Octavia, who hadn't lifted a finger to get a single glass of water since the day she was born. Yet as her father always said 'Cavendish's don't give up!' And she wouldn't!

Octavia took a step and then another, slowly moving closer to the stranger in the dark mask; both hands now gripping the .45 out in front. A warm breeze blew dust and strands of her long brown hair into her face. She was not deterred.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Octavia bellowed as she stopped twenty yards away from the stranger.

He moved carefully around the upturned vehicle, hands in the air.

“You scared the crap out of me! You sneak up on the unsuspecting living like that all the time?!” She shouted, her anger increasing with every millisecond by being taken so unexpectedly by this ragged stranger.

Not giving the guy time to respond Octavia continued on at full steam.

“And if you think for a second about stealing my shit I swear I'll blow a hole in you faster than you can even think about moving and believe me buddy I never miss!”

Strictly speaking that wasn't remotely true. It was fair to say she was a good shot, not a great one. Great would be pushing it, but this guy didn't know that. For all he knew she could be a super assassin.

“Stop!” Octavia shouted.

She inhaled sharply. Her heart began to hammer erratically. Palms beginning to slick with sweat, the gun felt sticky in her hands. He stopped a moment at her yelled command . . . only for a moment before he started forward again slowly, pacifically.

“Stop! I said don't move!”

He wasn't listening. Shit! Buddy, you are so going to regret this, cursed Octavia.

Perspiration streaked down the nape of her neck, down her back under her dress. An ear piercing screech ripped through the air, the sound so similar to wild cats fighting in a dark ally.

Bang! The sound of the round fired from her gun rang through the humid air. Octavia saw the blood splatter across the right side of the strangers mask and clothing, before something landed with a large thump next to the strangers right.

Closing her eyes for a long moment, Octavia exhaled breathing a huge sigh of utter relief.

Oh. My. Dear God!

Octavia opened her eyes slowly, lashes fluttering. Well, what do you know? She was a better shot then she thought! She'd almost killed the guy . . . oops . . . hope he didn't notice.

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Character Portrait: Aaron Samuel Cross Character Portrait: Octavia Cavendish Character Portrait: Dillon Carth Ruso
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Dutch licked his teeth as he watched Dillon through the scope of his Mosin-Nagant bolt action rifle. It was oppressively hot, the sun beat down on his head and sweat poured down his back, and into his eyes and mouth. He had removed his gasmask because of the heat, and continually wiped his eyes as he watched the only living person he knew glide smoothly through the wreckage of the highway. He felt like he would bake to death in his parka, but being hot was better than being infected. Besides, as long as he staid in the shade, it wasn't so bad.

He was currently sitting quite comfortably beneath the trees on a hill over-looking the highway. He preferred not to walk along the street, he wanted as much distance between himself and the "dead" as possible. Besides, he and Dillon had a system, and it had worked so far. Dutch scouted ahead, through the trees if there were any, the overgrown grass if there were not any trees. If there were walkers, he gunned them down from a distance. Then Dillon would advance through the same area and scavenge for supplies, taking care of any undead that had escaped Dutch's sights.

Together, the two of them had managed to make it from Wisconsin to Northern Florida on foot; an incredible feat in and of itself. What was even more incredible was that the two had taken part rather little actual conversation with each other. Because of the nature of their teamwork, they would often go days or weeks without seeing each other. To be honest, it was more like the two of them just bumped into each other a lot, rather than an actual travelling group.

This time, it had been almost two weeks since Dutch had seen the soldier; it was a long stretch, but the record of a month and two days still held. That had been while crossing the Appalachians, but it hadn't been that bad at all really. There weren't many walkers wandering around in the Smokey's, as long as you stayed away from Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge. He had looked at Gatlinburg through his scope, he didn't really like remembering what he saw there.

Dutch had spent a night up on Clingman's dome, and had been tempted to just hang out up in the mountains for a few months. It would be easy for him to hunt deer and fish and survive. However, he somehow felt responsible towards Dillon, the only living person who still seemed decent in the world. Dillon wanted to make it to Dellwood, so Dutch would help him get there.

So here he was, sitting on a hill, baking to death with a rifle in his hands. He had read the road signs, and knew they were getting close, he only hoped that Dellwood was everything Dillon hoped for. He watched as Dillon approached the young woman. He had watched this play dozens of times know, and he always hated this scene. Either this lady was a psycho and he would have to shoot her before she shot Dillon (because Dillon would never kill her); or she would end up exchanging a few words with him, maybe some ammo or supplies, and then go on her way again.

He took a deep breath and trained the crosshairs of his Mosin over the woman's head as she raised the pistol in her hands and pointed it like a girl. It was a 1911, he could practically read the factory print through his scope. It was a beautiful, unfinished grey, and was obviously an original .45, not one of the nine millimeter conversions. The large, robust military handgun seemed out of place in the young woman's hands though. She seem the type to find guns distasteful, or carry a little pink .22 pee-shooter. Still, a .45 would rip Dillon's head off, so he remained cautious.

The walker came out of nowhere, and had the woman not shot it at the last moment, Dutch was sure Dillon would have been done for. He cursed his lapse in watchfulness, the show had distracted him. He stood up and replaced his old gasmask over his face. He supposed he would hang back for now, and watch the couple. The girl was obviously heading for Dellwood, there was no other reason to be headed South. He would keep watch over their path for now, and continue moving ahead through the forest. He might head down and let Dillon know he was around later on, probably close to dusk.

The setting changes from Northern FL. to Milwaukee, WI

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Character Portrait: Aaron Samuel Cross Character Portrait: Octavia Cavendish Character Portrait: Dillon Carth Ruso
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Dillon nearly hit the dirt when he heard the bullet fire. Everything was a split-second, as if time had been accelerated and he had been slowed, creating a trance-like state of survival. Then he heard a shallow thump next to him. He had heard the screech just a second before the woman had popped the walker through the skull. In instinct, Dillon pulled his shotgun up and began scanning through the mess of vehicles only to find no movement or sound. It wouldn't be that way for long however, any walkers on the highway within noticeable sound distance would be in the area soon.

Dillon lowered weapon and turned around, he instantly held a hand up in a gesture that he meant no harm. "Don't shoot! U.S Army!" He yelled and moved closer slowly, his eyes under the tinted glass circles of his gasmask scanning her body for any visable signs of infection. When he was reassured, he stopped about seven feet from her. "I'm Private Ruso... Whats your name?" He asked in a gentle tone despite the distortion from his mask.

It was simple to see the soldier was nervous and had been through a hellvalot. His hands were shaking as he clutched his gun and his legs were also shaking gently. He was turning his head over and over to check the corners of the area. He was also obviously being affected by the temper, panting gently under his mask still refusing to remove it though and his Kevlar ceramic vest was slowly becoming a hot pit.

"We have to get off this highway... That bullet you fired won't go unnoticed. I have a camp, about a mile off the road. We should be safe there. If your willing to follow?" He asked in a polite manner, falling back to his standard, helpful attitude. He didn't care she was a stranger, she was human and that was enough for him. Besides, maybe she'd join up with him on the trip. And Dutch more or less... Though he rarely saw the sniper. And needed to talk with him on their strategy fo the coming leg of the trip

The setting changes from Milwaukee, WI to Northern FL.

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Octavia was panting as heavily as the guy in the mask - Private Ruso. But she wasn't as badly shaken as the Solider. Naturally, the zombie hadn't come at her. Obviously the guy had been through a lot . . . but she was still really mad at him! He was a Solider, couldn't he follow her simple command, when she'd asked him to stop? It would have made aiming for the creature a hell of a lot more easier. Not almost killing the guy in the process which was the point of firing in the first place.

He'd asked her name . . . That was on a need to know basis. Her need to trust a perfect stranger, which she didn't. Trusting got you killed. She sucked in another calming deep breath, eyes trained on the Private and hesitantly lowered her gun. Octavia could tell he was checking her out for infection even through his thick mask as he approached cautiously. Look all you want buddy, she was clean. Cleaner than most. But the question was, was he? She couldn't tell for all the gear he had on. One thing she could guess at was that the guy must be boiling to death. Didn't he know the virus wasn't airborne any longer?

"We have to get off this highway . . . That bullet you fired won't go unnoticed. I have a camp, about a mile off the road. We should be safe there. If you're willing to follow?" He asked politely.

Yeah, they had to get off this damn highway thanks to him! This was her road to salvation and now it was going to take a hell of a lot longer. Argh! If he hadn't come after her. This was all his fault. But in all fairness, deep down Octavia realized she was so very grateful because had this scruffily geared Solider not come after her, it would have been her bloody entrails that freaking zombie would be feasting on right this instant. A quick glance at the pungent creature by the guys feet made her want to throw up, she looked away.

Plus, he was offering some sort of safety. She wasn't stupid, she knew those things would be upon them at any moment. Safety, was worth something. But she didn't get it . . . why was this guy being so nice to her? She was a stranger, he didn't know her. Actually, Octavia thought thankfully, it was a good thing he didn't know her or he would have left her out for the creatures in an instant. She should be nice to this guy who was selflessly offering her help. The problem was no matter how good Octavia's intentions were, she didn't know how to be nice or articulate it correctly. In her world, being polite got you nowhere. Thus, she addressed him the only way she knew how, controlling and commandingly, although it was her intention to be anything but . . . for the most part; Octavia couldn't give up control completely . . . she had some issues.

“Listen buddy,” Octavia answered coarsely “I don't follow anyone, you got that? . . . However given the circumstances I am willing to escort you to this camp you speak of.”

She began forward.

“You do know the virus is no longer airborne, don't you?” Octavia commented casually, walking past the guy “You don't have to cook like a Thanksgiving Turkey under all that gear. And just so you know,” She added for good measure “if this is some ruse to steal my things then I will shoot you in both legs so your death is very slow and very painful and leave you out for theses zombies to devour.”

Peering over a slender laced shoulder Octavia smiled coyly, the dimples defining in her cheeks, she asked “Well, you coming or not Private?”

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Northern FL. by RolePlayGateway

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Character Portrait: Aaron Samuel Cross
Character Portrait: Heather Fairbanks
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Character Portrait: Octavia Cavendish
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Character Portrait: Jennifer Aileen Johnson
Jennifer Aileen Johnson

You don't know how strong you are, untill strong is the only thing you can be

Character Portrait: Octavia Cavendish
Octavia Cavendish

Everything is for sale and everyone has a price . . .

Character Portrait: Wayne "Sarge" Hardy
Wayne "Sarge" Hardy

Once more into the Fray.

Character Portrait: Violet Fairbanks
Violet Fairbanks

"They told me I'd never survive, but survival's my middle name."

Character Portrait: Heather Fairbanks
Heather Fairbanks

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

Character Portrait: Aaron Samuel Cross
Aaron Samuel Cross

"I'll go in ahead, see what I can see."

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Character Portrait: Heather Fairbanks
Heather Fairbanks

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

Character Portrait: Aaron Samuel Cross
Aaron Samuel Cross

"I'll go in ahead, see what I can see."

Character Portrait: Jennifer Aileen Johnson
Jennifer Aileen Johnson

You don't know how strong you are, untill strong is the only thing you can be

Character Portrait: Violet Fairbanks
Violet Fairbanks

"They told me I'd never survive, but survival's my middle name."

Character Portrait: Wayne "Sarge" Hardy
Wayne "Sarge" Hardy

Once more into the Fray.

Character Portrait: Octavia Cavendish
Octavia Cavendish

Everything is for sale and everyone has a price . . .

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Character Portrait: Heather Fairbanks
Heather Fairbanks

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

Character Portrait: Violet Fairbanks
Violet Fairbanks

"They told me I'd never survive, but survival's my middle name."

Character Portrait: Jennifer Aileen Johnson
Jennifer Aileen Johnson

You don't know how strong you are, untill strong is the only thing you can be

Character Portrait: Wayne "Sarge" Hardy
Wayne "Sarge" Hardy

Once more into the Fray.

Character Portrait: Aaron Samuel Cross
Aaron Samuel Cross

"I'll go in ahead, see what I can see."

Character Portrait: Octavia Cavendish
Octavia Cavendish

Everything is for sale and everyone has a price . . .


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Northern FL.

Northern FL. by RolePlayGateway

The region of Florida stretching from Tampa to Jacksonville.

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Northern FL. Owner: RolePlayGateway

The region of Florida stretching from Tampa to Jacksonville.

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