The Haze

Suburban Moscow;


a part of The Haze, by DumbassArmageddon.


DumbassArmageddon holds sovereignty over Suburban Moscow;, giving them the ability to make limited changes.
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816 readers have visited The Haze since DumbassArmageddon created it.


Default Location for The Haze
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Suburban Moscow; is a part of The Haze.

4 Characters Here

Isabella Belinski [2] Firecracker
Antony Vasilev [2] ""I used to kinda like the sound of the wind through the shutters of my house. Kinda sorta terrifies me now."
Lizaveta Dolzhikov [1] The Pessimist

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Isabella Belinski Character Portrait: Antony Vasilev

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Antony stared blankly at his television set, his features emotionless as the screen fizzled out into a blur of static. He took a moment to let it all sink in. "It's all gone now, then... This is it?" He'd contemplate to himself. He'd wipe his brow as a bead of sweat trickled down and onto the wet shemagh wrapped around his mouth. Other than being incredibly toxic and life threatening, the Haze seemed to trap or generate heat. Antony cast his gaze away from the television out to the crack between the boards on his windows. He squinted and looked up the yellow fog, it's rotten fingers picking at every crack and chip in his house. The Haze had been around for only a few days, but millions had already died. Whether they were fighting for food and weapons, or defending themselves, many people died. He stood with a sigh, a light gray t-shirt plastered to his skin with sweat and thin black jeans on his legs. He'd walk across his barren living room, turning the TV off as he passed. "It's a miracle the electricity is still on... Probably not for long." He'd walk into his kitchen, appliances strewn around and furniture upended, cannibalized for barricades. He lean over the sink, twisting the knob. Nothing but a few sad drips trickled out. Antony reached out and caught the drips on his hands, sadly contemplating. He'd rub the water into his finger tips and sigh, standing back up. He'd put his hands on his hips and survey the floor. His backpack was laying flat, several items laying around it. Food, water, clothes, etc. He's shake his head and kneel down, shoveling the items into the bag. "This is fucking crazy. I'm actually going outside." He'd say to himself. He'd toss his bag across his shoulder, swiping a hefty knife off the counter as he passed. He'd purchased the knife shortly after he was assaulted a few years back. He thoughtfully stroked his purple-yellow splotched cheek, looking toward the door. He couldn't help but let his tired mind wander back to the thought of his friends and family.

He hadn't spoken to his parents in a long while, and he was afraid he'd never get to. He thought of his neighbors; the few souls he could count on. He'd been festering in worry over them the past few days. He'd finally leave the house and see if his fears were to be realized. He looked around his small house in sorrow. He'd bite his lip as his mind washed away with memories. The pride of purchasing a house, house parties, having girls over, laying on the couch contemplating life, and countless others. He'd look across the wrecked rubble that was once his pride and joy, and then out to the unforgiving haze. All he could think of was the screaming he could hear from his home in the first days. The coughing, the vomiting, the gunshots shattering through his home. This was his life now. All he owned was the clothes on his back and the things in his bag. He'd approach the door and take hold of the hammer dangling by the hook on one of the boards nailed across his door. He'd pry the nails from each board, one-by-one clattering to the ground like his forgotten securities. He's throw the boards away with conviction. "This is my life. I won't die alive." He thought to himself. He'd dramatically kick the door open once the nails were all freed, the wood splintering and thwacking against the frame. He'd immediately cringe as the Haze began to creep into his home and onto his face, the familiar coppery smell invading his nostrils, visibility only about half a mile. "That was loud..." He'd turn his eyes to the house only a few paces away from his. Isabella's. He'd silently pray to the possibility of divinity that she was okay as he crept up to her front door, careful not to spook her if she saw him.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lizaveta Dolzhikov

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Lizaveta kept as many doors between her and the thick Haze as possible. The attic’s tiny circular window was cloaked in a sheath of stapled plastic, and she had towels shoved in the bottom crack of the attic door. She had reduced herself to living out of the small room, not that it was much a change from life before the Haze. In life before the Haze, the only major difference between Lizaveta’s living conditions was the towel under the door.

She still expected the landlady to come home with her paper bags of groceries. When the Haze had rolled in days ago, or at least when the media was finally allowed to acknowledge the threat, Liz’s housemate was out in Moscow. Liz remembered the initial surge of choking fear, and how she had stood at the front window watching for her until the Haze boiled up to a visible fog on the streets. Then she announced her own retreat, plasticing windows and sealing cracks with ragged cloth rags, towels, and shirts. She essentially backed herself into a stuffy, uncomfortable corner.

The urban chaos centered on the city streets and spilled out to more immediate neighborhoods. The first night, Liz listened to the shots, anticipating a boot to the door. Nothing came but an oily, Haze smeared dawn, and by that time she was deeply asleep. She kept a kitchen knife near her cot, just in case, next to her prepared backpack.

The media announced locations for shelters and simultaneously asked citizens to stay in their houses. Lock the doors, bar the windows, bring your pets inside. Don’t breathe the air and don’t drink the water unless you boil it first. Liz had wrapped a bandanna around her mouth then, and when she went downstairs for the toilet or a can of cold soup, she put on an old respirator from the clinic. It wasn’t a chemical mask, but at least she wouldn’t get TB.

The combination of Haze defense mechanisms kept the worst taste out of her mouth, and besides for being hot and a little ripe, her attic air was next to filtered.

It was that time of the day again, and Liz peeled the stiff towel out from underneath the attic door so it would swing open. Cautiously, she took the dim stairs to the first floor. Nothing looked disturbed. Liz walked to the front windows, which offered a view of the dilapidated cul-de-sac, and she peered around the margins of the plastic sheet that kept most of the caustic fog from reaching circulation.

Liz was waiting for civilization to return. If it didn’t, one day soon, she’d have to open that front door. She didn’t know what to expect outside, and she didn’t know what to expect of the human race post-apocalyptic disaster. Liz didn’t like surprises.

Outside, through the murky air and thin window of cheap plastic, something moved.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sasha Volkov

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Sasha stood at the door, his pack on his back and his pistol on his hip. The past three days had been a living nightmare. The news reports had painted such a grim picture, and the screams and gun fire outside had confirmed it. Sasha had tried to follow the t.v.'s advice and stay put, but it was no longer safe indoors. His small house was very old, and despite of all of Sasha's efforts, he just couldn't keep the Haze from seeping in. If he waited one more day, the interior of his house would be just as bad as the air outside. He had spent the morning packing and prepping, and now it was it. Time to leave the house.

After tearing down the three blankets he had taped over the door, Sasha cracked the door open and stepped outside. The acrid smog burned Sasha's eyes and throat, blurring his vision and sending him into a coughing fit. It reminded Sasha of teargas. Coughing, Sasha yanked his scarf over his mouth and nose, and dug out his goggles from his backpack. He pulled on the goggles and opened his eyes again. The make-shift face cover helped keep the Haze at bay, but Sasha could still feel it on his skin and taste it on every breath. Once the burning has subsided, Sasha opened his eyes and looked around. It was his neighborhood, and yet it wasn't. A thick yellow fog roiled about, obscuring the world Sasha knew and transforming it into a nightmarish landscape. There were cars abandoned on the roads and sidewalks, the buildings all showed signs of distress: broken glass, boarded up windows, and a few were even burnt down. Sasha could see that there were a few bodies laying about. Some showed signs of being attacked, but most were untouched, their faces bearing the grimaces they wore in death as the Haze claimed them. Sasha shook his head, forcing himself to look away from the dead. He began to walk down the sidewalk, heading east. If the news had been correct, there was a shelter not too far from his home. Sasha just hoped that others had survived as well.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Isabella Belinski Character Portrait: Antony Vasilev

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What a way to go out... She thought as she sat there on the couch, flipping through the page of a novel she had read at least twenty times before. Isabella just sipped her bottle of water that she had been for the past few days. The tv was useless, the lights maybe on for another day or two max and all the while no phones were on either. She felt the impending doom of it all. She heard the gunshots for a few days as people began to panic and worry. Not to mention the Haze killing everyone off by the millions. With a heavy sigh, she set the book down and checked over her supplies and checked it all off her list of completed things to do. Clothes: Check, Food: Check, Water: Check Shotgun loaded: Check, Spare Shells: Check...everything seemed to be in order. She nodded to herself and sheathed her tactical knife into her holster and brought her shotgun up the stairs with her as she headed for her bedroom.

The Master bedroom was nothing grand but it had a single window that she had covered with a blanket. Downstairs had been the same, the front door boarded from the inside and only leaving a door that would be blocked to only let it open partially. A trick her father taught her. She moved the blanket to look down into the street, nothing moving as far as she could tell. She then heard something...kicking coming from the next door house. Poor S.O.B...someone found him. he was coming out and towards her house "Shit.." She said as she went down to the door and looked through the peephole to see him coming right for her home "Damn man...common sense" She said as she went for a window to the side of the door and opened it partially, bringing her bandana over her mouth "Hey...back door. Stay low and quiet. Last thing I need is to get shot at" She said and shut the window, heading for the back door and stood at it. When he arrived, she would open it and let him in.