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 Posted: Sat Jul 31, 2010 11:20 pm
While testing a new biological weapon, an unknown group of Terrorists unleashed a gas which later became known as “The Plague,” a simple term to describe a horrifying effect. 99% of humanity succumbed to the plague, becoming shambling corpses unimaginatively called Zombies. But whereas the stereotypical Zombie is dead…the zombiefied humans are still somewhat alive. It makes them more fragile than your TV zombie, but makes them more deadly. They can think. They can strategize. And somehow…they can communicate with each other. It’s every man for himself in this Undead Armageddon. Rules: Standard RP Rules. No godmodding and such. All characters will be associated with the vehicle. And only Thomas can drive the vehicle unless he teaches another character how to do so. You can have any existing weapons of your choice, just don’t go overboard. Characters: Gaia Name: Lord Redtail RathanName: Thomas MichaelsAge: 23Gender: MaleSkills: electrician, tracking, was in pre-med.Personality types: Negative: Seems heartless, cruel, and unemotional.Positive: Currently hidden behind a mask of no emotion.b]
Weapon(s):
Primary: M4A2 Carbine Attachment(s): Trijicon ACOG
Secondary: Two Colt .45s (Shoulder holsters) Attachment(s): None.
Melee: KA-BAR Survival knife (Right hip)
Backpack: Uses an Army medic bag (M9 Small compact one) stocked with med supplies, camelback full of water, messenger tote over left side with extra ammo for both weapon types, NVGs, and the Zombie Survival Guide.
Background: Army Medic when outbreak happened. Raided unit arms room to secure weaponry to survive both the zombies and humanity. Currently traveling to Hollister, California to retrieve his fiancée in an M577 Medical Track Ambulance, with extra weaponry, a ton of ammo, and enough MRE‘s to last quite a while. (Will post pics once I get to the motor pool and take em. XD)
Likes: Discipline, order, hygene.
Dislikes: Bullcrap, lawlessness, not being in control of a fight.
Fears: Becoming a zombie, not being able to save someone's life, humanity never bouncing back
Picture or description:
Wearing/Armor:
Head: black stetson
Torso: black t-shirt and black denim jacket
Hands: NOMEX (fire retardent) gloves
Legs: black jeans
Feet: combat boots.
[Slot reserved for AmaiKitsune]
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Posted: Sun Aug 01, 2010 5:39 am
Gaia Name: CrazeeMoofin Name: Amber Winters Age: 21 Gender: Female Skills: Fast, precise aim, trained in combat Personality types:Negative: Quiet, bitchy, annoyed easily, rebellious Positive: Not yet known Weapon(s):Primary: Colt M4 [back] Secondary: P8 Pistol [right hip] Melee: Kizlyar Special Etched Dagger [left arm] Small pouch with ammo; enough for herself to last awhile. Background: Amber was born to a highly professional veteran by the name Leon Winters. The mother died during labor. He trained her hard in the fields of combat and shooting, which she absolutely enjoyed. When the outbreak started, she was forced to kill her only friend and love; her father, who was one of the first to turn into a "zombie." She raided his weapons cabinet, taking his Colt M4 and P8 Pistol; two guns she knew the best. She also grabbed her dagger; a trusty one she had always used. She grabbed as much ammo as she could, and is now wondering around, looking for any survivors. Likes: Fighting, taking control Dislikes: Being told what to do, yelling, idiots, zombies Fears: Dying in this mess Picture: Gaia Name: CrazeeMoofin Name: Bryan Lee Age: 18 Gender: Male Skills: Very smart Personality types: Negative: Nerd, can be annoying, wimp, cowardly Positive: Nerd, smart, caring Weapon(s): Primary: Nail gun Melee: Rock Band guitar Messenger bag filled with extra nails, books, and other things. Background: Bryan was your average teenage nerd. He would spend almost all his free time playing games, watching Star Trek, going to conventions, you name it. He never thought one of his zombie games would become real. Although he knows almost everything about zombies, he has no knowledge of fighting, and he struggles by himself. He hopes he can find a survivor that can fight... Fast. Likes: Star Trek, video games, reading, writing, being secluded Dislikes: Fighting, being outside for too long, sweating Fears: Becoming a zombie, dying, being alone Picture:
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Posted: Sun Aug 01, 2010 9:11 am
 ✖✖✖ｍｅｒｃｙ✖ｄａｌｔｏｎ✖✖✖ ╔════════════════════════╗ ✖✖✖Gaia Name: AmaiKitsune ✖✖✖Name: Mercy Dalton ✖✖✖Age: 19 ✖✖✖Gender: Female ✖✖✖Skills: Good aim, basic knowledge of martial arts ✖✖✖Personality Types: ✖✖✖✖Negative: Annoying, easily upset, anger issues ✖✖✖✖Positive: Quiet, generally non argumentative ✖✖✖Weapons: ✖✖✖✖Primary: Ruger M77 Mark II Magnum Bolt Action Rifle ✖✖✖✖Secondary: Ruger .22 CAL Long Rifle Automatic Pistol ✖✖✖✖Melee: Crowbar ✖✖✖Background: Mercy grew up in a very military/law enforcement centered family. Her father made sure she knew how to load, reload, assemble, and shoot guns, making sure her shot was always accurate. He had taught her how to drive a stick, change a tire... Everything "every woman needs to know" to survive. For years, she had dreamed of joining the military, or becoming law enforcement, but followed the safer career path of becoming an artist like her mother. Her father and mother left her at home, however, to retrieve both sets of grandparents. She is now at home, awaiting a response from either, and debating on whether or not to go after them. ✖✖✖Likes: Silence (or extremely loud music) and big guns ✖✖✖Dislikes: Perverts and classical music ✖✖✖Fears: Becoming a zombie, getting eaten alive, going out quietly ✖✖✖Wearing: ✖✖✖✖Head: Black bandanna, hair pulled back in a clip ✖✖✖✖Torso: Black wife beater with belts crossed over either shoulder, black hoodie with thumb holes ✖✖✖✖Hands: Fingerless leather gloves ✖✖✖✖Legs: Grey, boot cut jeans with holes in knees, various band patches sewn over holes ✖✖✖✖Feet: Combat boots ╚════════════════════════╝ That's my real Ruger .22 *Points up*
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Posted: Sun Aug 01, 2010 10:16 am
✖✖✖ｍｅｒｃｙ✖ｄａｌｔｏｎ✖✖✖ ╔════════════════════════╗ ✖✖✖✖✖Mercy kicked in the large wooden door to her father’s gun room with a grunt, the door splintering around her leg. She pulled it out, and reached through the door, unlocking it and entering quickly. “The fairer sex, my a**,” she grumbled under her breath, as she forced open the gun locker, taking everything. A quick overview told her that there were at least 6 handguns, .22mm and .9mm’s, a few rifles, and a shotgun (which she despised for the kick), but she couldn’t find her favorite: the AK-47. Racking her mind, she remembered why, cussing aloud. <********! Not California legal…” She pursed her lip angrily, remembering her father had sold the thing. She narrowed her eyebrows and stomped a foot in a child-like gesture. Her father had also taken the other two good ones, as well as his government issue Walther .9mm. No time for a temper tantrum, Mercy. She let her anger abate, gathering all of her father’s ammo cans, filling them up with any and all loaded brass. Only a small pile of empty brass remained, but her father had plenty of gun powder and lead; she would easily be able to reload these bullets and make them useful again. It probably wouldn’t hurt to bring the gunpowder with her either. But this would have to wait. She kicked aside the carpet in front of the entrance to the small room, and unlocked the safe below. She could hear the subtle clicking of the gears that comprised the combination lock as she twisted it left and right a few times, until it clicked louder, and the door opened. She grabbed the vacuum sealed documents which could be absolutely vital, should she survive to find herself at the end of this Armageddon. She put it on the desk, next to her pile of ammo cans and hand gun cases. ✖✖✖✖✖Mercy walked out of the room, and into the garage, whose doors she had made sure to lock so nothing could get in. It was dark, as the electricity had been shut off, which was probably for the better; knowing her clumsiness, she might trip some alarm, and alert the entire world to her location. She felt her way around the pitch black, outdoor garage, looking for her father’s heavy duty flashlight. After tripping over an electric drum set (thank God for it being electric, and not real), she found her way to the tool table, grabbing the long, cool handle of the large, metallic flashlight, and hitting the ‘On’ button. She ran to a set of cabinets, opening the lowest one to find three flats of water bottles. She smiled, glad that her father was always well prepared for dire situations. He had once been convinced that a nuclear apocalypse would happen, though they never had gotten to build the bomb shelter under the house like they had discussed. Currently, her father was on his way to his parents’ house to bring them here to be safe. She hoped he would make it across the state into Arizona without interruption. From the water cabinet, she made her way to the room that had once been a darkroom, now converted to storage. She opened it, and shone the light through the door. There were bins upon bins of non perishable goods that would last her a few months, maybe more if she rationed it out. In the corner, there was a duffel bag and a cardboard box, both filled to the brim with MREs. Thank God for little miracles, she loved those things. ✖✖✖✖✖From the other side of the garage, she heard a small rustling, causing her to jump and draw the weapon she held at her hip. Her father had always praised her for her quick draw. Her heart thudded hard in her chest, adrenaline instantly pumping through her veins. She shone the light through the doorway at the corner where she heard the noise, and saw her cat, which proceeded to meow at her, but continued to stay curled in the corner. Mercy sighed in relief. “Stupid a** cat,” she growled at the thing that had almost caused her to scream, resulting in a loss of secrecy and cover. She walked lightly back to the door of the garage, peering through the peep hole. She could see none of the wretched creatures that had destroyed the better part of the carefully built society humanity had worked hard for centuries to create. For now, all seemed safe. She popped back in to her father’s gun room, and fingered the police radio. She didn’t know any of the frequencies, but she knew she would have to try to contact someone. She hit the ‘On’ button, and held down the ‘Talk’ button. “Is anyone there? This is Mercy Dalton, Deputy Dalton’s daughter. If anyone is there, please respond.” Her voice was shaky, as she wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to say. She waited a few minutes, before repeating her message clearly and concisely. “Repeat. Is anyone there? This is Mercy Dalton, Deputy Dalton’s daughter. If anyone is there, please respond.” From the other side of the radio, she could hear fuzzy voices speaking. “10-1, please repeat!” She growled. She just wanted to hear a real voice. “10-4, Mercy. Is everything alright?” She recognized the voice as Deputy Spencer’s, and exhaled a breath of happiness. “I’m fine, Spencer. Any word from my father?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer, but she knew she needed to. “He’s fine, Mercy. Contacted us about 20 minutes ago. He made it to your grandparent’s house, they’re fine, too. The infection hasn’t reached that part of the desert, but he’s on his way back with them.” There was a laugh in his voice, causing Mercy to smile. “10-4, Spencer.” She flipped through the Code book, and hit the talk button again. “10-23, just in case I have a breakdown or something." “10-4, Mercy, good luck.”✖✖✖✖✖Mercy sat on the stool in the gun room, rocking back and forth. She was beginning to get thirsty, but decided to wait to drink anything, so as to save the water she had. In her boredom, she began cleaning her baby: The Ruger .22mm. She cleaned it almost obsessively; she liked the little logo to glimmer in the light as she shot and killed the demons that now inhabited her world. The Ruger was her pride and joy, and her only company, besides her orange tabby, who had decided to curl up on her lap. He purred loudly, and Mercy took comfort in this. It wasn’t human contact, but at least he wasn’t infected. She had thoroughly checked for wounds and blood before petting his hyper form into a purring ball of cuteness. She had been alone for 2 days now, and though it wasn’t long, she was already beginning to feel lonely. She hadn’t been this alone since she started college a year before. Of course, the few weeks after she had arrived home for the summer, the infection had spread to her city, causing her family to hole up in their less-than-secure home.╚════════════════════════╝ ||OoC::I had to at least get up my first post. I won't be home today, so I'll write up my profile later.||
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Posted: Sun Aug 01, 2010 4:33 pm
~~Thomas Michaels~~ "You're going to have to work for your meal." The rumble of the diesel engine turning over echoed through the California morning air as the large M577 Tracked Ambulance, stolen from the unit motorpool, roared into life, freshly topped off with 1,000 gallons of diesel fuel. Thomas Michaels readjusted his reflective aviators before pressing lightly on the large gas pedal, causing the APC to surge forward, almost flowing on its brand new tracks. The constant sound of the engine began to attract the "Zombies," who began shambling his way, eager for their next meal, pausing at the sight of the huge carrier. Thomas snorted as a few of them charged him, only to be flattened beneath his tracks as the 16 ton vehicle rolled on, not even rocking as the bodies squished beneath him. The unmanned M240-B to his rear upper right shook with the vibrations, but he'd locked it in place, preventing it from swinging around. Not that it'd hit him...The driver's compartment of the 577 was set lower than the Crew compartment, allowing for 360° fire from the gunner. The back of the 577 was half filled with 5.56 ammo for the two M4 carbines, 7.62 links for the 240, and a year's supply of MRE's, all on the right side. on the left, allowing Thomas freedom of movement between the two sections, was two litters for sleeping, along with a chest of medical supplies. Taped just above the steering yoke was a picture of him and a blonde girl, a tender smile on her face as her head rested against his chest. But Thomas never looked at it. He just stared straight ahead, his face completely devoid of expression, his eyes blank behind his glasses. he looked for all the world like a man who didn't care anymore. His black 10-gallon hat kept the sun from his eyes, reducing the aviators to asthetic use only. from the back of the vechicle wafted Johnny Cash's "The Man Comes Around," a perfect theme song for what was left of the world.
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Posted: Mon Aug 02, 2010 3:49 am
.:Amber Winters:.
Location: California The neighborhood of which Amber lived in was awfully quiet, making her suspicious, but she continued what she was doing. She was behind her small house, looking at a freshly dug hole. She sighed, wiping her forehead and set the shovel down, looking over at her father who laid there, motionless and cold. She frowned at the sight; his eyes still opened as if begging for help and a bullet hole through his chest. She tried picking him up, only he was too heavy with his muscles and beer belly. She quickly dropped him into the hole, making him fall onto his side. She sighed, getting the shovel again to put the dirt over him. As she did so, the sound of someone climbing her wooden fence suddenly filled her ears. She was already half way done and looked over at the fence to see a man who was severly injured. "Please... Help me..." The man said, blood spitting out of his mouth. Amber raised an eyebrow at him, quickly reaching for her P8 Pistol on her right hip. She pointed at him with no emotion on her face. "Wh...Why shoot me..." He asked before falling to the ground, looking up at Amber. Amber didn't say anything. Her ice cold white eyes looked down at the man, putting her gun back in its holster on her hip. "You're right," she said, going over to the man, "you're not worth a bullet or the sound to make others come here." With that, she grabbed her dagger from its holder on her left shoulder. She pulled up her leg, stomping the man's head into the ground with her combat boots, making a crunching sound. She then stabbed the dagger into his back; all the way, turning it before pulling it out and doing it again, just to make sure. She looked at him, no longer struggling on the ground, motionless; just like her father. She looked over at the pile of dirt, sighing. It was good enough. She knew she needed to get out of here and look for other survivors. She grabbed her necklace, bringing it up and kissing it. "For you, dad..." She whispered under her breath before going to the back porch. She grabbed her pouch filled with ammo and went through the backyard gate. She looked around and saw no one, not even a zombie. She wondered where they had all gone...
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Posted: Mon Aug 02, 2010 8:22 pm
✖✖✖ｍｅｒｃｙ✖ｄａｌｔｏｎ✖✖✖ ╔════════════════════════╗ ✖✖✖✖✖Mercy rolled her eyes in disgust. The sound of the undead moaning down the street was becoming unnerving, and the blood curdling screams of the unprotected suffering the horrid fate of becoming one of them made things that much worse. It wouldn’t be much longer until the wretched beings sniffed their way towards her safe room. She would be safe for the most part; the walls of the small structure were made of concrete, reinforced with red brick, and stuccoed. It wasn’t much, but it would have to suffice, given her current situation. The unfortunate fact of the matter, however, was that the better half of one wall of the garage was taken up by a large wooden door, no doubt rotted through the years it had been there. It was something her father had intended to correct, but had neglected, due to the fact that all of his favorite posters were stapled to it. She was quite sure this was something he regretted. Things were growing dull, and the sounds of the infected grew louder and louder with each passing moment. Against her better judgment, she pulled out her iPod, and jammed one of the ear buds into her left ear, turning the music just loud enough that she could hear the moans of the creatures, but not the screams of the dead. The only screaming she could hear were the vocals of one Craig Owens, former member of Chiodos (recently deceased). She slipped off her stool, lip syncing to the words that had grown to comfort her, and banging her head, just like old times. “I existed because I dreamed. No, I dream no more. I’ve given up on the entire human race.”✖✖✖✖✖Hours passed with no incident. She had taken apart and reassembled her firearm time and time again, loading and reloading, drawing and holstering, simply to give herself something to do. If she got out of this alive, what would there be to do but entertain herself with such trial things? How many would survive? What if no survivors ever found each other? What would the world be like then? It was questions like these that endlessly plagued her mind in her solitude. Even such bitter prospects for the future, she could not bring up the courage to simply off herself there and then. If she was going to die, she was going to die with style; she would die fighting like the stubborn b***h she was. And it looked like if it was going to happen, it was going to happen soon. The police radio had suddenly sprung to life, feedback blaring through the tiny speakers. The only sound she could make out was that of frantic yelling, followed by the words she had been dreading all day.✖✖✖✖✖“Mercy, get out! Your father is dead! His corpse is heading straight for your safe house!” Mercy’s eyes widened in sheer terror. She shook her head, pressing the talk button until her flesh turned white with the pressure. “Why should I leave? A zombie can’t get in here!” Her voice was uncertain, shaky, and broken. “Before they got him, he sent an S.O.S. He was attacked on arrival to your house. He told us to tell you that the garage door will not hold up! Shoot him, take the jeep, and get on the highway, Mercy! This is your only chance, get the ******** out!” A single tear rolled down her face. She grappled with her emotions, fighting off the sorrow. “10-4, good luck, Spencer.” The radio signal was cut. She slammed her fist on the desk in sheer anger, a habit she would never be able to break. Mercy threw on her grandmother’s cross necklace, and the dog tags her father had gotten made for her, as well as her father’s dog tags, which he had kept with his army memorabilia. She grabbed all of the gun cases she could carry, and put them by the door. She scurried to the darkroom, grabbing the bag of MRE’s, and placed it next to the guns. If she could manage it, she would be making a second trip. If her father had been able to contact SD before turning, surely he would have been able to pull the Jeep up next to the garage. She ran to the peephole and peered through, whooping with excitement. It was right there waiting… and so was he. She swore loudly, running backwards, away from the door, and too the water cabinet. She dragged two water flats out, again, back to the door. She hadn’t any idea how she would pull this off, but it would have to work. ✖✖✖✖✖Mercy slid on a pair of fingerless leather gloved, and grabbed the Ruger from the desk. She slid the magazine in, drawing a slow, deep breath, and exhaling to calm her nerves. She slung a rifle over her shoulder, and the first sharp thing she saw: a crowbar. Typical Zombie video game melee weapon. With a .22 in one hand, and a crowbar in the other, she opened the door, only to come face to face with her father. Without hesitation, she raised her arm, and pulled the trigger. She would have been a bit more emotional, but the way she saw it, he was a far cry from her father. Behind him were the feeble corpses of her grandparents. 3 more bullets were all she needed to take care of that problem. Another zombie ran up after the last three, instantly recognizable as… My EX?! She laughed loudly, charging toward him with the crowbar raised. She swung hard, the hooked end digging into the zombie’s temple. “God, did you deserve that!” She stormed back to the garage, making two quick trips to load the Jeep before hopping in, and driving 80mph down the city streets toward the highway.╚════════════════════════╝
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Posted: Mon Aug 02, 2010 8:52 pm
~~Thomas Michaels~~ "You're going to have to work for your meal." Marilyn Manson's "mOBSCENE" blared through the speakers in the back as Thomas violated the first rule of driving a tracked vehicle: NEVER driv on civilian roads. The tracks always tear up the asphalt. Not that he cared. Only a complete douche would attempt to stop him. And unless they were operating a tank or a bulldozer, he'd roll right on over them. He didn't care. There was no law anymore. HE was the law. His 577 was his steel steed and his .45s make him the long arm of the law. The carrier rocked slightly as he rolled over a speed bump. Or to be more accurate, rolled on to it, causing it to collapse under the immense weight of his mobile fortress. He was rolling through what used to be a nice neighborhood. Just like the one his Monika used to live in. The thought of her brought a bit of water to his eyes, but he blinked the weakness away, refusing to let the hellish enviroment get to him. Any distraction would cause him to ******** up. A ******** up with the vehicle, and he was as good as zombie food. He rolled through a red light of an intersection...just as a Jeep came tearing towards him at 80 miles an hour...
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Posted: Mon Aug 02, 2010 9:29 pm
.:Amber Winters:.
The streets were still eeirly quiet, which Amber didn't mind, just made her a little uneasy. She continued walking down her street, getting to the end. She heard low groans and growls down the street. She looked over at the sound to see a few zombies, only tilting her head slightly as her hair fell to her face. She looked around, seeing a car filled with blood. She went over to it, looking in to see a mauled body lying on the steering wheel. She pursed her eyebrows down, shaking her head. She heard the footsteps dragging towards her as the groaning got a bit louder. She needed to find something, quickly. She looked down the street more, seeing more zombies coming in that direction as well. Down that way, laid a motorcycle on its side. She took a deep breath and lunged foward in a sprint, sliding out her dagger from her arm holder. She hoped she didn't have to use it; she just cleaned it from that bastards blood. She went over to the motorcycle, turning it up right. She looked it over, making sure it was fine and hopped on, looking back to see a few zombies right behind her. She motioned her arm back - the one with the dagger - and felt the hard, solid hit of the dagger straight into the side of the skull. She took it out, punching him with her other hand back into the other two zombies right behind him. She quickly turned on the motorcycle, pushing the gas foward. It rumbled beneath her, going along to her command. She smirked, putting her dagger back in its place and seated herself right. She drove foward, barely dodging zombies. She noticed it only had about half a tank of gas. She sighed, knowing it wouldn't get her far. Hopefully she would find some survivors...
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Posted: Tue Aug 03, 2010 5:01 pm
✖✖✖ｍｅｒｃｙ✖ｄａｌｔｏｎ✖✖✖ ╔════════════════════════╗ ✖✖✖✖✖Mercy gripped the steering wheel tightly, tense about the fact that she was driving through a zombie infested city in a Jeep that lacked both doors and a top. She had been able to bush the back seats out to make room for supplies and such, but that wasn’t going to help how exposed she was to the new world she was living in. She kept her .22 in her left hand, shooting any of the putrid things that came her way. Although the Jeep was pretty hefty, she was wary about the way the pressure of a body hitting her windshield would affect it. She kept her foot pressed down against the gas pedal; 80mph was the fastest it would go. She was going nowhere in particular. She was more concerned with finding survivors than anything. ✖✖✖✖✖Mercy finally hit the highway, causing her to breathe in deeply of the hot desert air. There were no zombies in her way, not anymore. She reached into the back, keeping a knee on the steering wheel, and pulled out a water bottle. She unscrewed the lid, and took a swig, replacing the cap, and looking forward. To her dismay, what looked like a tank, but was obviously an ambulance, was coming toward her, and fast. At that moment, she could only have looked like a deer in the headlights. Her quick reaction time had to come forward, NOW. She grabbed the wheel with both hands, and jerked it to the right, driving off the road. The Jeep flipped on its side, leaving Mercy hanging sideways by her seatbelt. <********> She screamed loudly, as her supplies fell out of the nonexistent windows on the side. “Damn! Damn!” Her seat belt wouldn’t unbuckle, and the safety lock was stuck on. She struggled against her restraints, but they wouldn’t budge. ✖✖✖✖✖“Turn around, turn around! God damn Army kid! Get over here!” She muttered desperately. She was open for any of the stupid buggers to come get her, and she would be able to defend herself… but only just. Her knife was somewhere in the back, so she couldn’t cut the belt, so she settled with continually jabbing at the release button, waiting for it to release. She wasn’t expecting it to, so when she fell out of her seat, it came as a very big surprise, and a searing pain as her leg landed on an enormous shard of broken windshield glass. She growled in fury, lifting her leg, and resting it on the seat. She tore a strip off of the bottom of the black wife beater she was wearing, and wrapped it tightly around the gash in her leg. “Good for nothing Medic!” She yelled at the tank behind her. ╚════════════════════════╝ ||OoC:: Lol Olive Juice, RED xD And there you go, a shorter post cause you hate my details xD||
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Posted: Tue Aug 03, 2010 8:08 pm
~~Thomas Michaels~~ "You're going to have to work for your meal." Thomas kept on rolling along, not caring about the fool that thought they could play chicken with a 577. But then his sense of professionalism won out, and he slowed to a stop, keeping the track in 1-4, but applying the parking brake. He climbed out of the driver's hatch and stood on the top of the crew compartment, the wind blowing his long black hair, his M4 loaded and chambered, the sun at his back, causing his shadow to stretch, almost to the overturned Jeep. He stepped off the top of the edge, landing on his feet, knees slightly bent. he slowly made his way to the Jeep, his finger in the trigger well, weapon on SEMI, but kept the muzzle pointed down, away from the girl with a large gash on her inner thigh, which happened to be bleeding profusely. While the blood wasn't bright red and spurting, it was still something to worry about, as it was dark red and steady. She'd hit a vein. He knelt down in front of her, his eyes on the laceration, his left hand already reaching into his medic bag, removing a large cylindrical roll of white gauze. He then looked the girl directly in her eyes.
"If you want to live, then let me do my job. Do anything funny..."
His right tapped the side of his pistol grip, the meaning clear. He pressed the gauze against the wound and began wrapping it, applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding. He kept his eyes on his work, though made sure to pay attenton to the girl. he'd rather not get stabbed. At least not without taking revenge on her. He finished the wrap, then used a roll nof three-inch medical tape to tape it in place, preventing it from comming off.
"There. You'l live. I suggest you move out. They'll be coming here soon."
He turned his back to her, then began walking away, directly back to his track.
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Posted: Tue Aug 03, 2010 11:33 pm
*~Byran Lee~*
Bryan held his breath, going into his kitchen, holding his Rock Band guitar up above his head. He stepped in cautiously, turning quickly. There was nothing in his house, but the constant reminder of his zombie game made him wonder if they would break in through the window or door any second now. He slid his feet over quietly to the kitchen sink and made sure all was normal looking before getting down on his knees to check if they had anything useful of this situation. His parents were out on vaction in the Bahamas, leaving him even more worried. He looked around quietly, trying not to make a sound for the zombies were sensative to sounds, not so much sight. The only useful thing he found was his father's brand new nail gun, filled with about 30 nails. He sighed, looking it over. It wasn't a gun, or a powerful weapon, but it would have to do. He slowly stood up, his plastic guitar in one hand and the nail gun in the other. He slid back to his room, grabbing his messenger bag. He threw it over his head and onto his shoulder, leaning a bit with it. He slowly slid back into the kitchen, opening a cabinet to find more nails. He found three 500 packs of nails. A very good start. He smiled a little, stuffing them in his bag. He carefully put his guitar onto his shoulder making it relax on his back and made his way for the door. He needed to get out of here before they began tearing it apart with him included. He quietly opened the door, trying to avoid it from squeaking. He poked his head out and looked around, seeing nothing. He went out, closing the door behind himself and slowly stepped off the porch, going over to the street. He sighed a sigh of relief, happy to not have to shoot anything... When a low groan sent chills down his spine. He looked around to see a zombie stumbling his way. He froze like a statue, looking at what was formally his old neighbor. The zombie began moving fast, straight for him. He aimed the nail gun at him, shaking. He looked away with his eyes closed and pulled the trigger....:Amber Winters:.
Amber was about a little more than half way across the town, not seeing a single survivor yet. She had grown use to the groans as she passed by. She entered a quiet like neighborhood, slowing down a bit. She heard a sudden shot... But it wasn't a gun... She raised an eyebrow, jerking the motorcycle in that direction. She stopped it, looking over at a boy standing there with a nail gun held out and a zombie on the ground. The nail had gone straight into his eye, killing him instantly. She almost smiled, but held it back, looking at the boy who's eyes were still closed and looking away.
"Hey, blondie," Amber called over, resting on the motorcycle, "nice weapon."Bryan opened his eyes, looking down at the dead body and shivered, then looked at the girl, standing up straight and nodded. "Y-Yeah... Its the only weapon I have..." He said quietly.Amber chuckled gently, still looking at him. "Something tells me I should pick you up, just because you're a survivor, but I don't know. You seem pretty... Wimpy," she said, finally smiling a little.Bryan closed his eyes and shook his head, his hair going everywhere like a shaggy dog. "No I'm not! I promise! Please take me! I can't be alone!"Amber winced a little at his begging and whining, scooting up a bit on the motorcycle. "Then I suggest you hurry up before I push the gas pedal," she said, already putting her foot on it.Bryan quickly ran over, putting a leg over the seat and moved his messenger bag to his back along with the guitar. He looked at her, wrapping his arms around her stomach. He lightly blushed, thinking it should be the other way. "Hey, is this even safe...?" He asked, looking at her. "Its only for one person I think...""Not anymore," Amber said, pushing the gas. It quickly bucked foward, making Bryan jerk back and then foward. He clinged to her tightly, making her ribs ache. Her long black hair flew back, hitting Bryan's face. He looked down, trying to keep it from getting in his eyes."I'm Bryan," he said over the roar of the engine.Amber rolled her eyes, not wanting to do an introduction. "Amber," she said, taking a sharp turn onto a highway. She cursed under her breath as the gas light turned on and started blinking. She knew they wouldn't make it far on this highway. She really hoped there was another ride soon.
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Posted: Sat Aug 07, 2010 11:51 am
✖✖✖ｍｅｒｃｙ✖ｄａｌｔｏｎ✖✖✖ ╔════════════════════════╗ ✖✖✖✖✖“Mother ********> Mercy yelled at the man as he pressed the gauze to the open wound on her leg. It was already painful as it was, but the feeling of the textured fabric on the gash was enough to push her over the edge. She gripped her gun tightly, keeping it close enough to draw if needed. She winced in pain, trying to keep silent. When the man was finished wrapping her wound, she grabbed his wrist in anger, but realized he had done his best to help her, even if he hadn’t cleaned the wound before wrapping it. She let go of his arm, and thanked him angrily. She dragged herself out of the Jeep (the medic had done nothing to help her get out) and attempted to stand. She was wobbly, and could feel her wound bleed even more with the pressure of her weight on her leg. She began to lose balance, however. The glass shard had hit a vein, causing her leg to go weak. In order to keep walking, she had to keep hold of the metal frame of the Jeep.✖✖✖✖✖The soldier was walking away, and the only thing that kept her from bitching the man out were the weapons he had in hand. She grumbled profanities to herself, trying to move the Jeep back on its wheels without collapsing on the ground to become zombie bait. She grabbed the bottom most rail, and tried to pull up with all her strength, but could feel the wound gush. She fell to the ground, and began to panic. <********’ Medic! Get the ******** over here! NOW!” She yelled, pulling the Ruger from her waist, and pointing it at him. The phrase that started running through her head was almost comical. Help, I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up! She held in a snicker, but kept a firm hand on the gun. “Help me up, cowboy.” She motioned for him to join her by the Jeep with the gun. ╚════════════════════════╝
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Posted: Sat Aug 07, 2010 12:17 pm
~~Thomas Jones~~ "You're going to have to work for your meal." Thomas stopped as he heard the click of a handgun. He judged by the sound that it wasn't as powerful as his. He chuckled and turned his head to the left, just enough so he could see her out of his periphials.
"Really now. Pointing a gun a someone you need help from? If you shoot me, how will I help you? Besides, you can't move from that spot. You shoot me..."
He made an airy gesture in the direction she'd come from.
"Or perhaps you think to crawl your broken and weak self to my track? You wouldn't even make it to the driver's hatch, much less climb inside. And the controls are too complicated for you to wrap your mind around their use."
He drew on of his .45s and turned to poijnt it at her, showing her the right side of his body, so as to present her with less of target.
"So what's it gonna be, Emokid? Will you put your weapon down and ask me nicely for help? Or are we going to have a Western style shootout right here in the middle of the road?"
He used his tumb to pull back the hammer, emphasizing his point. He aligned the sights on the revolver with her chest, a nice big target, as opposed to her head. In his mind, he could almost hear the whistling fromn an old Clint Eastwood movie, especially Hang 'Em High, which was his favourite. Back when men were real men and women were grateful. When all a man needed was his horse, his hat, and his gun. he had his hat, his steel steed, and plenty of guns.
"Well? What's your answer gonna be?"
He blinked as a tumbleweed rolled by, as if it were a cliche' western. ((OOC: Since Kitsune ain't seen my favourite Character Header, here it is.)) ~~The Kingdom of Thyvia~~ "We are springing to the call of our brothers gone before,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom!
And we'll fill our vacant ranks with a million freemen more,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom!" Leader: Lady Celise Allenar, Protector of the Kingdom of Thyvia.
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Posted: Sat Aug 07, 2010 12:39 pm
.:Amber Winters:. Amber continued down the long highway, dodging broken and abandoned vechicles. The motorcycle slowed to a stop, jerking a few more inches before turning off completely. Amber pierced her eyebrows together and jumped off, forgetting Bryan was still holding onto her. *~Bryan Lee~* Bryan fell off onto his side from the sudden yank, his belongings falling on top of him. He sat up and rubbed his side, looking up at Amber. He looked at the motorcycle, and raised an eyebrow. "Out of gas?" "No s**t," Amber growled, kicking over the motorcycle. She kicked it once more before she started walking down the road where they were heading.Bryan quickly grabbed his messenger bag and plastic guitar and jumped to his feet, running over to Amber. "Well... This is a different turn of events..." He said quietly, looking down."I swear," Amber said, turning to him with a fist to his face, "you say one more thing and I'll..." She hushed and blankly blinked at the sound of a motor. A loud one at that. She looked down the road and sighed in relief as she saw a man standing next to a army like abulence. "Finally! Some hope," she said happily, running towards it.Bryan started running as well, but not as fast as Amber. He never liked to run, but this was an acception. "What if he's crazy and shoots us?" He asked out loud to Amber.Amber slightly looked back at Bryan. "You should be lucky I haven't done that to you," she growled.
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