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 Posted: Sun Apr 18, 2010 6:36 am
Welcome to New York
Population:Undead Cannibalistic and diseased people with serious anger issues?Sounds like every day New York to me...
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Posted: Sun Apr 18, 2010 6:41 am
Day 25 of the End
I’ve been bitten. I’m not a carrier; I don’t have the virus in me already. It’s going to claim me. I already feel it, the infection spreading in my arm. It feels hot, but only in my arm right now. The rest is ice cold and sweating. It’s weird to know just what’s going to happen to me, but not knowing when. I don’t know what I hope to do by writing this. Maybe someone will find this journal. Maybe there’s someone still sane out there. Maybe the government will try to cover all of this s**t up and people won’t find this book until a million years when humanity has had a chance to bounce back. But they need to know. They need to know the truth. This could be the ******** end of the world, but on the slim .01% chance that it’s not, they need to know.
It could have started somewhere else but it first came to the States on a boat, I think. Maybe a plane. Most likely a boat. Cargo ships flood the harbor every day. It wouldn’t be surprising if something had gotten mixed in here and there. But no one knew it right away. Days went on without much notice of anything else. There were isolated events; cannibalism and nasty stuff that drove the police and media absolutely nuts. An old woman who ate all of her own cats and then tried to eat her nurse was the one who started it all. She bit the nurse but was quickly sedated and kept away. The nurse was worse. I’m sure she laughed off the bite, bandaged it up and went home to rest. Then she went back to the hospital the next day. Don’t have a ******** clue how she could have possibly thought that she was okay if it felt anything like this. But she did and that was when the whole city went directly to hell. The nurse went crazy in the medical wards, started biting and tearing into everyone in sight. The rest is history really. The media dogs hopped onto the story and started reporting that there had been some form of ‘mad human disease’, some fever that drove its victims mad with rage and hunger. Deadly combination that was and it didn’t take long to flow out of the hospital’s doors and spread through the city.
Government choppers tore up the sky and the news reports were pulled off the air, replaced with an ugly hooked nose chick that prattled off something about an airborne flu and how to protect yourself from it by wearing useless masks and s**t. It wasn’t any sort of flu. Hell, I’m not even sure if what I just told you is true or not but it certainly wasn’t a flu that brought all of New York screaming to hell. There was rioting in the street as people were chased down and devoured right in broad daylight and there wasn’t anything that the police could do to stop it. The smart ones got out right then and there, probably were the ones who brought the infection to the rest of the states. The rest stayed thinking that the government would take care of us, know what was happening and stop it. Well the government came all right and the next thing you know, there were barricades and barbed wire around ever road leading in and outta this city. The military sent out ‘survivor calls’, telling people where supply stations were and secured areas that would keep the diseased ragers out. The posts were real alright; filled with med kits, drugs that hippies only dreamed about, and beautiful sleek guns to fight off those who were supposed to be dead. Those were for the military personnel stationed there. The little rats that crawled out of their barricaded homes to find ‘em?
Bang bang, baby.
Guess it made about as much sense as any other solution. By the time they started playing this game, nearly all of the city was a drooling, brain hungry mess and it was harder to tell who was one of them and who was hiding their bite wounds and who was just your Joe Shmoe. Better to just lure them all into one spot and just picked ‘em off as they came. But someone must have gotten bitten in there because one day there weren’t any survivor calls, just screaming and gurgling over the radio. Then silence.
Servess the baAstards rrrright.
mmy hands aRe shaking noww. i HAve tO try and finish… LAST pack of pills.
There. I have to write quick. There are other survivors, believe me that they are. If hell is still out there, you aren’t alone in this. God knows how to find them, but they’re there. Huddled in the basements, their attics, grocery marts, nightclubs. There has to be. But be careful. Not all of them are friendly and supplies in this city ain’t infinite. Not to mention the slobbering horde outside racketing for your brains. And not all of them are as dumb as those eyes would get you to believe. The books lied. Some zombies are damn smart.
And can ******** spit acid.
GOOD LUCK FINDING –
The rest of the book is torn and illegible, soaked in blood stains.
This is now day 32 of what is considered as the type Z outbreak. Type Z virus is behind this madness, turning people into what Hollywood would deem ‘zombies’. Many consider this the apocalypse. They accept their fate at the claws and teeth of their undead friends and relatives, unable to cope and survive the hellish nightmare the world has fallen into. Others refuse to accept this. They fight back against the screaming, flesh eating hordes for survival. They hold onto hope against hope that there is somewhere that is untouched and safe from this virus. That hope is fast fading. A little over a month into the infection, and there has been no signs of help or a miracle and with more and more deaths, there are more and more infected to be worried about.
But that hope is to be rekindled.
The radios went out a week ago after the Infected somehow infiltrated the military bases set up within New York. There had been nothing but silence flowing over the airways. That changed today. A garbled message filtered through suddenly at the time of 1:04 PM. It wasn’t the usual distress signal. “Please… Anyone…. There…. Cure… type Z cure… can help… Please… I’m in… pital 23 and… Repeat, 23 and 2n…” The static interfered in the same spots constantly for the time that it was on, suggesting that whoever did it had it recorded and set to loop. People are skeptical of course. No one forgets the government’s solution, not when it left mountains of ordinary innocent people lying dead in the streets. Why should this cure be any different? But some have nothing left to believe in. Is there really any other choice but to follow this lead and hope that it is the miracle that they were hoping for?
Of course, getting there is a different matter entirely...
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Posted: Sun Apr 18, 2010 11:05 am
Things Every Survivor Should Know PEOPLEPeople are people. What can you do about them? Non-carriers – The majority of the human race is considered to be non-carriers of the type Z virus. They are your average, everyday human being with nothing special marking them apart from their peers. However, when they are first exposed to the type Z virus in the exchange of fluids i.e. saliva from bites, blood into open wounds, the effects are immediate. The person falls into a feverish state marked by short burst of violent energy during periods of weakness, hindered speech, and sometimes the loss of nails on the hands and feet of the victims. This period lasts for 2 days for the strongest to endure, 3 hours for the weakest. As the victim transitions, they fall into a death like state where the virus works quickly through the ‘dead’ tissue. A 3 hour period is all that is typically needed before reanimation occurs and the type Z virus has taken control of its host, creating one of the infected provided that the host’s body has not been completely destroyed. Normally they result in a common infected but sometimes the type Z virus will mutate, creating one of the special infected.
Carriers – A small portion of the human race (estimated 10%) has a dormant form of the type Z virus already existing within them. When carriers are exposed to an active form of the virus, the dormant form seems to actually fight and destroy already active strands that did not originate from the host, allowing carriers to be bitten, scratched or ingest blood without worry of becoming one of the infected. However, there is a price. The death of the host, be from laceration wounds to a simple natural death, will inevitably come back as one of the infected in the same 6 hour period. More so, it is rare that a carrier comes back as a simple infected member of the horde. It is believed that carriers are where special types of infected arise from, as before their death they tend to carry habits and traits of the special infected. Whether or not this is a result of the mutant type Z virus, or their habits mutate the virus to adapt to them is uncertain. Whatever the case, seemingly normal habits such as smoking or overeating could be masking a potential Smoker or Boomer. ZOMBIES
Or Infected, if you don’t want to hurt their feelings. Common – Common type infected are the easiest to identify and the most plentiful type of infected that there is. They have a very low range of intelligence and when not engaged, seem to mill about aimlessly, shuffling around with an almost dazed look. However, the virus has made their vision and their hearing acute. Instinct draws them towards loud noises or bright lights and the minute they spot a living human being, they go through an instant change. Their wandering shuffle turns to a running charge which is no faster or slower than an average person provided the common did not break or mangle their legs. Common do not feel pain or fatigue and therefore do not stop pursuing or attacking their prey until they are either completely crippled or if the brain destroyed/severed from the spine. For this reason it is best to aim for the head of the Infected.
Witch – A Witch is a special type of infected that is naturally nonaggressive. A Witch can usually be found collapsed on the ground and is constantly crying, though the reason is unknown. Unlike normal infected, she does not seek out living prey, nor is she drawn to bright lights or loud sounds. However, the witch can be easily startled when exposed to sudden light or sound. When this occurs, crying immediately ceases and the witch begins to shriek, alerting other infected to her location. She will immediately turn and begin attacking the source of whatever startled her, using long, sharp claws to shred her victim in a matter of minutes. As soon as the source is destroyed, she will either quickly flee or return to her weeping.
Boomer – Out of the special infected, Boomers are possibly the easiest to pick out from the common infected. They are much slower than common, walking with a waddling gait but this should be no surprise considering their massive size. The mutation in the type Z virus has caused the Boomer’s stomach to expand to impressive dimensions, an adaption to hold bile suddenly generated at an alarming rate because of the virus. The Boomer vomits this at its target, covering them from head to toe in the bile which is not acidic, but rather heavy and goo-like in consistency. The Boomer usually uses this with the intent to blind its unwitting victim. It smells about as good as it sounds but the smell also attracts other infected, making anyone covered in such bile an instant target to all infected with a 100 meter radius. This bile is churned up and kept in high pressure chambers of the Boomer’s stomach, making killing the Boomer a challenge in and of itself. When the stomach is ruptured, the bile is released, posing a hazard to attacking Boomers at close range. Use caution.
Hunter – Hunters pose the most threat to survivors who are unaware of their surroundings. The virus has taken the hunter’s eyes, but other senses are heightened significantly, sense of smell enabling them to find food in the dark and the sense of hearing heightened to the point where it is believed that the Hunter uses echolocation to find its way. It certainly would explain the constant growling and high pitched screeches the Hunter is known for. Often, it is much easier to find a Hunter through sound than it is through sight. The Hunter looks very similar to Common, allowing them to hide within the horde and get close to survivors. The most remarkable mutation that the virus causes is the strength that the Hunter possesses in its legs. A Hunter often curls into a crouch and pounces on its target, springing as far as 10 meters in an attempt to tackle and knock its victim onto their back. Then they rip and tear at the flesh with small but sharp claws and teeth which have been have become sharpened to points.
Smoker – Smoker type infected are not the nicest infected to look at. While they tend to have a one side of their body that is completely untouched by the infection, they have a large collection of what would appear to be boils and sores on the other. These are where the smoker gets its name as they seem to generate thick smog that is released when the Smoker dies. While the smog itself is no more toxic than the smell of rotting eggs, it is believed to be the mechanism behind the Smoker’s more deadly trait, its tongue. The mutation has caused the Smoker’s tongue to grow incredibly long which allows it to stay far away from its target before shooting out said appendage, length reaching up to 15 feet. The tongue will wrap around its victim and immediately begin to constrict while pulling the target closer to the smoker much like a lasso. Once the time the victim is pulled up by the Smoker, the Smoker will begin to feast.
Spitter – It is really quite easy to underestimate the Spitter type infected. Mutations seem similar to the Boomer, although the stomach has not expanded quite as impressively. The neck has also become longer and much thicker, presumably because of the muscles and protection the Spitter needs from their own weapon that is generated inside of their belly. This weapon is spat up like Boomer bile but unlike Boomer bile, it is highly acidic. When exposed to oxygen, it is apparently short lived, perhaps a protection mechanism for the Spitter itself who does not seem immune to the effects of its own acid. However, the damage that could be caused while standing in a shallow puddle for more than 5 seconds could be permanently crippling. Upon death, the Spitter’s stomach ruptures and though it is not with the same explosive intensity of the Boomer, the sudden burst of acid has taken more than one ax wielding survivor by surprise
Tank – The name really says it all for the Tank infected. Mutant type Z virus has increased the Tank’s muscle mass 10 fold in the upper body, leaving it awkwardly proportioned and forcing it to move around with its arms in a classic gorilla – like motion. However, its sheer bulk has made it virtually bullet proof, a lesson one is quick to learn when ammo is a precious resource. It is not indestructible, but it takes many rounds to bring down. It is susceptible to fire and when covered in Boomer bile, the infected will quickly turn on it. It will use its massive arms to throw about humans and infected alike as if they were nothing but mere rag dolls and when confronted with a target that insists on staying out of reach, it’s always willing to tear away large cement chunks from the floor it’s standing on to hurl at annoying gnats. Sometimes there are infected that are better to simply run away from, or avoid all together.
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Posted: Sun Apr 18, 2010 11:07 am
Character Sheet [align=center][size=11] Hi, My Name Is [color=postingcolor][b][u]–Full name- [/u][/b][/color]
[img]-Picture of your character-[/img]
But You Can Call Me [color=postingcolor][b][u]–Nickname here-[/b][/u][/color] [/size][/align]
[size=10]I remember [color=postingcolor][u][b]-Age-[/b][/u][/color] years before this hell
I’m a [color=postingcolor][u][b]–Gender-[/b][/u][/color], for repopulation’s sake!
My mama always told me not to play with [color=postingcolor][u][b]–weapon specialty-[/b][/u][/color]
I’m a [color=postingcolor][u][b]–Non-Carrier/Carrier-[/color][/u][/b]. Better not touch.
[color=postingcolor][u][b]Before the end: [/b][/u][/color] -Bio for the character, one or two paragraphs will do-
[color=postingcolor][u][b]Don’t blame me for who I am: [/b][/u][/color] -Personality-
[color=postingcolor][u][b]Hand me the goodies! : [/b][/u][/color] -likes-
[color=postingcolor][u][b]Almost worst than the Infected:[/b][/u][/color] -dislikes-
[color=postingcolor][u][b]In case you wanna know:[/b][/u][/color] -Anything else that could be of importance to your character
[color=postingcolor][u][b]Zombified by: -Username-[/color][/u][/b] [/size]
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Posted: Sun Apr 18, 2010 12:21 pm
Known Surivivors Hi, My Name Is Nathanial Jules
But You Can Call Me Nat, Natty, Doctor I remember 28 years before this hell
I’m a Male, for repopulation’s sake!
My mama always told me not to play with Sword mainly, but can use small handheld guns with relative accuracy
I’m a Noncarrier. Better not touch.
Before the end: Nathanial was never anyone truly special when he was a child. He had a pretty good house, nice family, only child with a dog named Baker to keep him company. He made himself to be the model son for his parents. Quiet, polite, and obedient while in their presence, earning straight A within school and staying away from the trouble other children caused on the school yard. It made him few friends, nearly no friends, but if one had their parent’s approval, did one truly have need for a ‘friend’? Nasty business that was, and Nathanial never bothered with it. In retrospect, it might have helped him become better socially adjusted if he had bothered to make even a couple. But alas, he kept to himself and graduated at the top of his class. He went to medical school, as all smart children are expected to as there is where true money can be found. But while studying to be a doctor, Nathanial found something that interested him even more.
History.
The noisy, crass college boys he attended school with were no friends of his and those who were quiet and somewhat decent had about as much interest in him as he did in them. But there was no Baker or mum or dad to give Nat much company. He flipped open a history book one afternoon with utter boredom and found that he could not set the thing down until 4 the next morning. While human beings today really served no purpose for Nathanial, the people of the past seemed fascinating and bright and fresh. He began to study history alongside medicine and nearly dropped medicine altogether for it. He would collect random historical pieces that started to build to a decent sized collection. Samurai swords alongside French pirate swords, Renaissance dresses, Old England monocles and spectacles… None of it was truly valuable aside its age, but all of it held a deep significance for Nathanial. And the prize of his collection? An entire outfit of a plague doctor in the mid-thirteenth century, when the black plague had hit all of Europe.
Nathanial had no idea that a very different plague would touch the United States. Nor did he have an idea of just how useful a steel bird mask was to prevent ravenous zombies from tearing apart one’s face. But he would soon find out.
Don’t blame me for who I am: Nat is a quiet sort and hardly says a word or two in an entire conversation. With his plague doctor outfit, the effect can be quite eerie, and more than one person has wondered if Nathanial can be considered sane or trusted. Nathanial doesn’t take it very personally when he isn’t trusted, nor will he try to earn anyone’s trust. Aside from almost never speaking, he tries to be as polite as one can during an apocalypse and will offer to check out rooms first before anyone else goes in. However, he will not take off his mask for anyone under any circumstances.
Hand me the goodies! : History, people who know their history, people who have manners, swords (particularly western style)
Almost worst than the Infected: Rude people, being talked about as if he is not present, having to talk about anything at length
In case you wanna know: Not particularly
Zombified by: Miss Meat Shield Hi, My Name Is Sophie Molly Flanagan
But You Can Call Me Sophie or Moll I remember 21 years before this hell
I’m a female, for repopulation’s sake!
My mama always told me not to play with knives and any sharp object for that matter (Sopie has a wicked throw with throwing daggers), and quite skilled with the use of swords
I’m a Carrier. Better not touch.
Before the end:
Originally from a poorer family in the Bronx, Sophie worked hard to get high enough grades to eventually be accepted into Columbia. Her strength was always math so she decided to study physics and statistics, hoping both could help secure her a decent paying job in the future. Before she attended Columbia, she attended a rough school where, fights were regular and she from a young age had the image of the tomboy that wore dresses as she was always one to stand up for herself and stand her ground in a fight.
Despite the fact she is in good shape and a good fighter (at least in school yard brawls), she struggles with her health due to Mitral Valve Prolapsea (a heart murmur). This causes her fatigue occasionally, along with headaches and some chest pain occasionally, though she is relatively good at hiding this fact. Due to her heart murmur she would have thought she would be one of the first to die and get infected; and she was bitten on her hand early on trying to save someone. To her surprise, not only did she not die from blood loss but she also didn't become ill from the virus.
Don’t blame me for who I am: Sophie is very intelligent and considered by many a mathematical genius- not that it does her any good with the current state things are in. She tends to be self-sacrificing for those she feels that deserve the help, though, now that she is beginning to understand the fate of Carriers, she is doing her best to avoid fatal wounds. She is generally well prepared with medical supplies and weapons, she enjoys the company of others, and lacks what many would consider a healthy level of fear.
Hand me the goodies! : books, being prepared, grounded people.
Almost worst than the Infected: -Idiotic people who set themselves up to die. Those without morals.
In case you wanna know: Sophie has very good hearing naturally, and has noticed since coming into contact with the virus (which has resulted in her loosing her left little finger) her ability to smell has greatly improved.
Zombified by: mc2 Hi, My Name Is Maximillian Evans
But You Can Call Me Max I remember 19 years before this hell
I’m a guy, for repopulation’s sake!
My mama always told me not to play with shotguns. Good thing Dad taught me differently.
I’m a Carrier. Better not touch.
Before the end: Of all the people in Max's hometown, his family was the best prepared. Not because of any prior knowledge, but because his father was a hunter. He had a safe filled with rifles, shotguns, and pistols of many makes and models, as well as ammo for everything. All they had to do was stock up on food and bottled water, and take shelter in the attic.
They were the only survivors by the time the food started to run out. Max followed his father on the food runs, armed with the 24-gauge shotgun his father originally gave him for dove hunting. It was on one of these food runs that Max's father was bitten. They went too quickly, forgot to clear the house before taking the food. The clattering cans attracted the zombies, who almost overwhelmed them. Max's father hid the bite from the others, not knowing the consequences. Max had to use what his father had taught him to put him to rest.
He and his sister decided they needed to move, and started following the directions on the radio.
Don’t blame me for who I am: Quiet and withdrawn, Max is no-nonsense when it comes to missions. His experiences with his father have shown him that it is better to do something quickly, and move on.
Hand me the goodies! : Good books, good music, having time to think, and having times not to
Almost worst than the Infected: people who talk more than their abilities
In case you wanna know: That's all there is. Stop asking.
Zombified by: The Count of Monte Carlo Hi, My Name Is Kani Evans
But You Can Call Me Whatever. Just don't make it demeaning if you want to see tomorrow. I remember 18 years before this hell
I’m a girl, for repopulation’s sake!
My mama always told me not to play with Hunting rifles
I’m a Non-Carrier. Better not touch.
Before the end: While her father and brother went for supplies, Kani stayed behind with her mother to keep the house secured. She used her brother's squirrel hunting gun, a .22 rimfire. light, with little kick, the bullets had just enough power to punch into a skull, but not enough to break out the other side. The bullets just bounce around inside the skull, completely obliterating the brain. Kani didn't think about this as she used the gun, she didn't think about anything. She became mechanical, firing a shot every couple of seconds, each one dropping a zombie.
Her mother helped when she could, but her illness usually left Kani to defend the house herself.
Kani was with her mother when she died, the day after Max buried their father. She helped him dig the second grave, helped him decide they needed to leave.
Don’t blame me for who I am: Not as withdrawn as her brother, Kani almost needs someone there with her when things go bad.
Hand me the goodies! : A good hideout where I can pick off zombies at a distance, a good rifle, and and good friends
Almost worst than the Infected: -dislikes-
In case you wanna know:
Zombified by: The Count of Monte Carlo Deceased
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Posted: Sun Apr 18, 2010 12:27 pm
xX Rules Xx 1) No godmodding. One person cannot stand up to an entire horde all by themselves and expect to come away completely unharmed. I’ll pellet you with Cheezits if you do and trust me, it is not a pleasant experience.
2) Miss Meat Shield rules all. She can add rules at a moment’s notice, change the front page completely, and destroy universes with the blink of an eye. You shall respect her and the other RPers who join or she will set the horde upon ye.
3) Guild rules and TOS come first and foremost here.
4) This will be a literate RP so please no text chat or actions within **, (), [] or anything else you might encounter in the lovely chatterbox pond. And please, no one liners, they make MMS sad. A few grammatical errors and spelling errors are alright, MMS makes them all the time, but try to catch them if you can.
5) Profiles should be PMed to MMS for approval under the title “Brain Stew!”
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Posted: Sun Apr 18, 2010 12:34 pm
Announcements & Story Updates -No announcements
-All the survivors are deciding what to about the new message over the radio system.Credit - Zombies and Special Infected were ripped off 'creatively borrowed' from Valve and the Left 4 Dead 1/2 team. Go thank them for awesome zombie design.
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Posted: Sun Apr 18, 2010 12:35 pm
RESERVED POST BECAUSE I AM PRONE TO FORGETTING THINGS
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Posted: Mon Apr 19, 2010 7:16 pm
Slosh, slosh, slosh.
The black cloaked figure paid no mind to the heavy sound of liquid that had somehow wormed its way into his boots and refused to come back out. Instead it only made a nuisance of itself by rushing back and forth with each step, brushing against his feet and slowly seeping in. He would have to clean it out before the blood and the smell would stain and hold, he already knew. Wonderful. There was nothing to be done about it now though, he was much too out in the open to worry about such superficial things. Instead, he merely paused and glanced around to see if the sound had attracted any of the living dead. The only response was the mercifully empty streets. Empty if one didn’t count the corpses strewn about the ground, flesh torn by teeth and fingernails past the point where they could be revived.
The figure looked down wordlessly, peering through amber stained glass at a collapsed woman clutching an infant to her chest. The child was still squirming, like a maggot on the corpse, but the pale skin scored with scratches and underlined with green hues kept the figure at a distance. He didn’t want to know if Infected infants had the teeth to bite or not. He looked back up. He kept moving.
Slosh, slosh, slosh.
The corpses were fresh; he could smell it through vents in the ‘beak’ of the bird like mask. It wouldn’t take very long for the ones that were intact to rise and join the horde or bring them over here if the figure was still around. He would very much prefer for that not to happen. At the same time, a group of freshly dead survivors meant a stockpile of supplies and that he was not willing to give up either. He stepped through the alleyway, carefully stepping around puddles. Didn’t need more water in the boots, nor did he need the splashes to ring a dinner bell through the back halls of the city. They couldn’t be too far from their hide away. One of them still had a near full cartridge of bullets on that the man had plucked away from the cold dead fingers and safely tucked away in his robes.
Ahead of him was a door swung wide open with bright lights pouring out onto the side street. The man couldn’t help but smile underneath his mask but was quick to calm himself. If he could see light, so could any wandering infected. He had to be careful. His right hand was quick to slip under the folds of the heavy black cloth and drew out a thin almost delicate looking foil. It looked harmless enough, but the point was jagged and sharp, having cut through many skulls in the past few days. It would protect the figure well enough from any common infected that might be lurking about. Specials were a different matter entirely but… He tried not to think too hard about them.
He stepped cautiously around the door, peering inside. Nothing, no one had managed to get in yet, even with the door wide open. He must have come pretty early then. Everything was exactly how the now deceased survivors had left it. Ammo stacked in one corner, spare weapons in case of emergencies right beside them. Food boxes were empty, reason they had abandoned this place. There was a desk pushed over against the far wall, papers spread out and scattered. A quick glance at those and the figure knew they were useless aside fire fuel. Just journal entries, like a thousand survivors had already tried to start certainly. The man had yet to read one that didn’t end abruptly or with tearful goodbyes. The papers weren’t important. But the radio on the desk, spitting out static and a signal for help? That was a little more so.
But only a little.
Blank, listless eyes watched behind the glass, head tilted to the side as the machine sputtered. “Hospital… I’m at…. Pital…. Cure…” This was what attracted the infected to their position, the man assumed. The crumple tinfoil sound was ceaseless, the rest too dim to make out. He sighed and shut the thing’s screeching off, ending its caterwauling. Hospital within New York hm? Needed help or something else? No matter. The last thing the radios had been used for was a trap, and a stupid one at that. No one still living would fall for a second time around. There was no way in hell. But… there had been the mention of a cure. Couldn’t possibly be real. Could it? The man frowned beneath his mask and paused for a moment, wringing his hands together in thought. A cure could change everything. Even if it was fake, going after it had to be better than simply the mere existence that was being eked out each day. Something had to be done. Some progress had to be made. Living day to day would no longer work.
A low growl startled his thoughts.
Several infected had been attracted by the light of the room and now one of them had spotted a tasty human inside.
This was not the finer points of his morning, the man quickly decided.
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Posted: Tue Apr 20, 2010 3:13 am
Yesterday, Sophie Molly Flanagan was hiding out inside of a condo that had easily cost over a million dollars... today, all she carried with her from her stay was two dozen kitchen knives, fresh clothes on her back, and a couple bags of organic dried fruit and crackers. She never stayed long in any place it was too dangerous, and it didn't help on her way out, she acquired a stalker.
Most humans wouldn't have noticed the quiet steps behind her, the slight stench of rotting flesh, and the high pitched click that occasionally came. Then again, Sophie wasn't most humans, she was one of the carriers, and no doubt destined to be a hunter herself- just like the one following her- if she ever let herself die.
Sighing, as she sat down on the rooftop, listening to the city around her, she looked down at her four-fingered left hand. It was remarkable that only 31 days earlier it had been a gaping wound gushing out blood. The miracles of the human body's healing process she supposed. Frowning she realized it had been about an hour since she could hear her tracker. Did it mean she lost the Hunter? Did it mean that it lost interest in her? The only reason that would happen is if it found an easier pray.
That was when she heard a sloshing instead of static down below her. She leaned over the roof and saw a black clad figure trudging through blood left in the ally from a stronghold that had been overrun what looked to be earlier that day or last night. Generally bored, she decided to watch and see what progressed in the ally. The man- dressed like a Plague doctor (wasn't that a bit melodramatic?)- entered into a door in the side ally.
Unlike the human below her, Sophie had a different philosophy to surviving the zombies and starvation and whatever else happened- she avoided places that had been strong holds. Things that had been strong holds meant that they were no longer safe- it was common sense, or at least to Sophie. She shrugged, watching when instead of the static below the sound of silence met her ears. He had turned off the radio- and that change in sound would no doubt attract zombies as much as the sound of a human's boots- or at least the smart zombies- things like hunters.
As she watched, she spotted a handful of the infected turn into the ally. It wasn't long before it would swarm. Sighing, Sophie did as she would usually do, she jumped onto the fire escape, the sound causing some of the Infected to glance up as the girl began to navigate the drop down from one level to the next. Already some of them were reaching up at the ladder- just above their heads to the fire escape.
Reaching into her bag she pulled out a knife and threw it- piercing the first infected in the middle of it's eye sockets. Once at the second floor, Sophie skipped using the rest of the fire escape and simply swung herself down landing a few yards from the nearest infected, who spun around. Initially she winced at the landing- that was going to hurt in the morning- but she ignored whatever pain she felt, there wasn't time to reflect on it. So instead, she focused on the task at hand.
Chuckling she threw the other two daggers in her hands-each landing in the forehead of nearby zombies- and pulled out one of the two katanas from her belt she had found on day three of Zombie-world creation. "Three down," she muttered looking at the handful, "Five more to go out here." Swinging the sword she decapitated the nearest zombie and chuckling slightly she said, "Bring it!"
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Posted: Thu Apr 22, 2010 10:44 pm
A pair of survivors, a brother and sister, were currently going against everything any zombie survival specialist will tell you. They were walking into a major city at night, in search of a hospital, only carrying supplies for a day or two, and making noise. A small radio clipped to the shoulder strap of the brother's backpack had been playing the repeating message on the only working frequency for hours now.
"Ugh! will you turn that thing off!? It's starting to echo in my head!" The girl finally said. She'd been putting up with the noise until now, expecting the message to change or something. It hadn't though, and it had quickly grown annoying.
With a sigh, the older sibling turned the little radio's volume knob until it shut off. "Whatsa matter, sis? Don't like good radio?"
"I love good radio, but that was torture. We're lucky it hasn't drawn any zombies, anyway." As she said it, she truly noticed the odd phenomenon. They had seen a zombie since passing the police barricades at the edge of the city. Maybe they had all been drawn closer to the center by something, but what?
"Yeah, that is a little freaky." The boy said, rubbing his chin in thought. "Judging by what we saw back home-"
"Please don't remind me of home." The girl said, rubbing her arms. "I had to shoot poor little Angela. And Becky..." She stopped walking as she started to sob, and the boy put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
"It's okay, Kani. I'm sorry. I'll remember next time." The boy said. He understood why she was crying, she hadn't spoken a word about what had happened since they left their home, and it was about time she let it out. But as quickly as the little breakdown had started, she was pushing him away.
"Don't worry about it, Haro." She said, and as they started walking again, she added; "Tell anyone about that and I'll end you."
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