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 Posted: Fri Jun 05, 2009 7:42 am
Background The year is 2013. In a post apocolyptic world wrot with zombies and other less abundant mutations, scores of uninfected humans fight with the inevitable for their survival. Before their attempts were vanquished, scientists called these new undead Homo mortuus (Homo mortuī being nomanitive masculine plural). However useless their attempts, a group of individuals came together for one last chance at living. Living in one of Boston's long since abandoned four story buildings, they have entirely closed off the first level. The firestairs are unfolded to the ground if one wants to get in or out. Inside the usable floors of the building are multiple large rooms, each room containing a labyrinth of cubicles, each with myriad amounts of usefull and useless technology and trinkets. Some of these cubicles have been transformed into makeshift living quarters, workspaces, and more. (Warning: gas or medical mask must be used outside.) On top of the building is the Box. The Box is your standard, eight foot by eight foot cardboard packaging device. However, it is more; this animate structure holds within it the source of energy for the building; gas. Optimally it uses steam, but because the outside world is overflowing with poison in the air, the Box made due by condensing these particles into steam-like gas. It powers parts of the building at a time; one could turn on lights in one room, but be unable to use the stove in another. Some even say that the Box has a ghost of its own. Back to the impending doom; ecause these zombies are unintelligent, unable to climb or dig, and have but one motive (brains), they are fairly easy to keep at bay. Unfortunetally, they do have one major advantage; numbers. Their overwhelming hordes were the death of the world, and their bites bring even more striken out of their graves. But the survivers carry on, and this group has a special plan for their own existance.They call themselves the FLIES; For Lucid Infected and Extra Steam, and they are here to save themselves.
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Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2009 12:43 pm
Rules 1. No God-modding. I'm not even sure why I have to say that. 2. Abide by GaiaOnline rules. This (unfortunetally) means it has to be PG-13 or lower. 3. No excessive, over-the-top violence/gore. I know we're all very much inclined to, with the zombies and all, but we don't want to get in trouble. 4. No excessive smut. Relationships are fine; kissing, holding hands, hugging - even implied sex. But no actual details, please. 5. Zombies can only be killed by burning to death or by being shot in the head/beheaded. Type C Zombie rules; Slow Stupid Can't climb, dig, swim, etc Type B Zombie rules; Very fast when smells flesh/blood Extremely agressive Stupid Can climb a little bit Can't dig, swim, etc Type A Zombie rules; Very fast when smells flesh/blood Stupid Can climb a little bit Can't dig, swim, etc Bites living things, but does not feast upon them. Spreads the plague.
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Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2009 12:59 pm
Profile PM me this form before starting, please. [b]Name:[/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Sexual Orientation:[/b]
[b]Appearance:[/b]
[b]Personality:[/b]
[b]History:[/b]
[b]Likes:[/b]
[b]Dislikes:[/b]
[b]Other:[/b]
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Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2009 3:00 pm
Characters Quote: RainbowTunnel Picture to be drawn and posted later Name: Arlington. Ricky Arlington. Age: I was twenty eight when I died. Gender: Male Sexual Orientation: Don’t even ask me; I think gays are disgusting. Appearance: I’m pretty tall; six foot over I’d say. I have small, dark eyes that some people call suspicious. I can usually be seen with a sneer on my face, but I haven’t had anything to genuinely smile about in a long time. I’m lanky and pale with short, blonde hair, and am usually content to walk around in extremely large, baggy jeans with the absence of a shirt. Some of my limbs are different colours than the others ‘cause my skin isn’t mine. See, I’m a zombie. So my insides are all rotted and not exactly the prettiest things to see. Though, I could rip myself open and give you a peek at my small intestine, if you really wanted. I have stitches everywhere from all those god damn surgeries. Personality: I’m blunt and straight to the point; no beating around the bush. Sarcasm is my middle name and twisted humor is my life. I kick people when they’re down, and unashamed of it. If I don’t like you, I’m not going to pretend to be your friend. If I do, then you’re one of the lucky few. Cynical by nature and atheistic by birth, don’t even try to play the “faith” card on me. History: Before I was twenty eight, the world was relatively normal. I lead an average life, had a wife, a kid, and a stable job. I was able to provide for my family well enough as an experimental scientist, and we were happy. Lucy and I and our little baby girl, Clair, were content to live our middle classed lives without want of anything extraordinary; our objective was to get through each day. But then the Plague ripped the animal kingdom a new one, and the infected were upon us. All it took was one stricken and an airport, and that was it. We scrambled for a cure, or even something that would slow or stop it spreading, but nothing was working . One day I came back from work only to find Lucy feasting on Clair’s still squirming body. She had become a Type C zombie, and my precious daughter was doomed. I denied it at first, it’s true. Logic went out the window. I tried reasoning with her, tried convincing her to come back to me; how naïve I was. I got near enough to her to let her bite me, and that’s when my instincts took over and I fled. My only regret is not putting them out of their misery; somewhere out there, my Clair is an undead. I left them to die by a stranger’s hands, when I should have been the one to do it. Heh, now I’m starting to sound like “Of Mice and Men”. But it doesn’t stop the fact that I had been stricken. I calculated that it would take a few hours to a few days to fully consume me. I went straight back to work and demanded that I be given the antibiotic that we had been working on. They denied me, and tried to calm me down so that they could tranquilize and then terminate me, but I broke into the labs and injected myself with it. It worked. Well, to an extent. After awhile my innards had been reduced to decomposing mush and I had to be sustained by flesh, blood, and brains. My flesh had momentarily saved; it would decompose at a much slower rate. But it tore easily, and either had to be sewn back together or replaced by another body’s skin. I, too, had been partially turned into a Type C zombie… and the first Lucid Infected. After awhile, the rest of my coworkers succumbed to the plague, and I was left alone. I found a suitable nearby building and called it my new home. I am trying to continue research with the little materials I have left, and am scraping around to recreate the antibiotic I used while fending off the sorry stricken and picking up straggling survivors. If God loved us, then he would vanquish us. Likes:+ Science +Logic +Reasoning +The simple things +Reading +Before the Plague Dislikes:+Religion +False hope +Vagueness +Stupid people +Zombies +Pretty much everything Other:
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Posted: Tue Jun 09, 2009 11:45 am
Meandering down the darkening alley ways was one of the many infected, munching on a newly aquired brain.
The great thing about brains, setting asside that without them humans couldn't function, is that not only are they the tastiest things out there, but that they are also the most nutritous (for the stricken). Brains are mostly made of fat, and fat is made of lipids. Lipids function as an excellent source of insulation, which is good news if your innards try to escape every time you're ripped open. Another reason why lipids are great is because they are used as long term energy, which is extremely helpful if you have to chase your prey for hours (sometimes days) on end. Ever wonder why every zombie seen looks pretty much the same? It's probably because they are the same - they've been following you the whole time.
This sorry stricken, while finishing the consumption of the organ in one hand, had a bundle of something soft and sticky with blood in the other. As he passed a fellow zombie, he tripped it on purpose. The other, a long-dead female that had obviously been brain-depraived, fell to the ground as her legs gave way and snapped in two. She was unsuprisingly weak, as she had little skin left and even less internals; a rare, long lasting zombie. Looks as if she was almost completely decomposed when she got the plague, thought Ricky, the primary infected.
Hurrying along at a little faster a speed, Ricky needed to get back to HQ before his precious bundle was unusable.
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