THE END IS NEAR
The world is a petri dish. You are an amoeba. And now someone is pouring bleach over it all.
The end is here and there's nothing you can do to stop it. All you can do is try to survive. Five players will attempt to survive as long as possible, to live through the terrors at the end of time and see the final horrors which wipe the world clean. Will they succumb to hunger and thirst? To exhaustion? To mundane injuries or to things far worse? Only time will tell....
MAPYou are in Redway Falls, A small city on the coastline of Southern USA. It is 12:01 AM on the first of December. It's near freezing and very dry out.
Toaster: Brian Helden: Red
Inventory:
Boxers
In pockets:
Nothing
Location:
Home. (Quality Downtown apartment.)
Time:12:01 am Dec 1.
Your Room is burning. The carpet is a blaze of melting plastic and acrid smoke, your curtains and walls illuminated by thick trails of flame that curl and climb like burning serpents. You sit in bed, perfectly still while the cheap comforter that's spread across your lap blackens into ash. But you don't notice. You're looking straight ahead.
Hovering there, just above the footboard, are words, spelled out in flame.
THE END IS NEAR
You watch them with the absolute knowledge that they are true. You watch them as they burn brighter, igniting like thermite or white phosphorous, and sending molten embers the size of your thumb spraying all around them. You watch as your flesh melts and burns.
You wake up with a start, blinking in the darkness, eyes still stinging from the light of the words. You know they were true. The clock, a red LCD display hanging in the otherwise absolute darkness of the room, reads 12:01 AM.
Pyrodesu: Samuel Richard: BlueInventory:
Boxers
In pockets:
Nothing
Location:
Home. (High quality apartment downtown)
Time:12:01 AM Dec 1st
You're sitting waist deep in water, and it's getting deeper by the moment. You're in the ward on the Dubuque, sitting against a wall with a bed on either side of you. Charred and twitching bodies leak a constant flow of blood across their starched white sheets and into the water around you, where it mingles with the blood from your own injured legs.
In front of you is a man, a sailor. He's wearing his parade uniform, decked out in full regalia with a chest covered in ribbons. He looks down at you with one eye, the other missing along with much of the upper left side of his head. Blood and brain tissue drips down onto his neatly pressed uniform and you can hear the sucking of air passing through a blood filled, crushed sinus cavity. He kneels down into the water, resting his knee on your injured legs and looks you straight in the face.
"THE END IS NEAR" he says, his voice strong and resonant, even as blood rolls from is mouth and down his chest.
You hear the sound of metal straining and then the walls give way to a flood of water.
You sit up in bed, covered in sweat and breathing hard. Outside, through the huge bay window of your bedroom, you can see the twinkle of the city lights in the middle of the night.
Kri: Thomas Crawford: GreenInventory:
Sweater
Jeans
Winter jacket
Watch
In pockets:
Wallet with Driver's lisence
Car Keys
Location:
Home. (Van parked in downtown)
Time: 12:01 AM Dec 1st.
You open the door to your home; the familiar feeling of coming home late at night after a long day at the hospital. You wipe your feet and try to shake as much snow off your coat as you can before you hang it near the door. It's bright inside, the carefully hung vestments of Christmas clinging from the stairway, doors, ceiling and anywhere else your wife could manage to hang a wreath or stocking. But it's cold, colder then outside.
You head downstairs, calling for your wife. She doesn't respond, but you can hear a baby crying upstairs, in your bedroom. You jog up the stairs and quietly open the door. Your wife is sitting with her back to you, rocking slowly back and forth in a rocking chair in front of the fireplace near the foot of your bed. You can hear her humming while she gently sways the baby in her arms. By the time you get to her, the child is quiet. You place your hand on her shoulder and reach down to touch it. Your fingers find the infant to be as cold as ice, bloated and purple. You yank your hand back and look at your wife. She stares back at you, with eyeless, maggot filled sockets, exposed teeth and jaw grinning back at you.
"THE END IS NEAR" she says, and the fire fire goes out.
You wake, screaming and struggling in the darkness until you remember where you are. The pale yellow illumination of the streetlight outside filters into the back of your van. It casts strange shadows in your makeshift bedroom. You check your watch. 12:01 AM.
Radio Controlled: Rico Vasquez: OrangeInventory:
Patient's uniform
In pockets:
Nothing
Location:
Home. (Asylum Room 204)
Time: 12:01 AM Dec 1st.
You're standing in the bush, ankle deep in mud and surrounded by strange plants the like of which you've never seen in the concentrated world of your life. Your Uncle stands ahead of you hacking his way through the jungle with a machete and dragging you along by the hand. He's massive, the hulking form of a full grown man as viewed from the perspective of a child, and dressed in an outfit more befitting a turn of the century British explorer then a doctor.
As you and he walk, the mud beneath your feet transforms into pus and blood, a river of scabs and wound discharge. Your uncles constant talking, his story of adventure distorting into a graphic depiction of an ebola outbreak in the deep jungles. The cries of monkeys and birds transform in to screaming and wailing of pain and fear. You try to get closer to your uncle, the only safety in this decaying land, but he keeps walking away. He marches away as you struggle through the puss with weak, child like legs. As you try to run, you fall onto your hands and knees. Your own face, pouring diseased blood from every oriface, half sunk in the human sludge, stares back at you.
"THE END IS NEAR" it says, gurgling as the blood fills it's mouth.
You sit up screaming in your private room at the asylum, clutching your knees as you scoot yourself into the corner. You can hear the on duty nurse running down the hall to check on you. It's the middle of the night.
Xan: Patrick Schwartz :PurpleInventory:
Pajamas
In pockets:
Nothing
Location:
Home. (Quality apartment downtown)
Time: 12:01 AM Dec 1st.
You're sitting in the interrogation room with a suspect. You've been working on him for hours, and he hasn't said a thing. You can feel your captain's anxious glare from behind the two-way mirror. You're about to ask another question when you hear something elsewhere in the building. Gunfire. You draw your weapon and move for the door, the sound of screaming echoing down the hall. You're halfway out the door when your captain stops you on his way toward the noise.
"Stay here, they may be trying to break him out."
You watch him go and then step back inside, locking the door and bracing it with your chair. The sound of gunfire continues, getting closer and closer. You realize with a start that it's one sided, the familiar sound of standard issue police sidearms combined with a wet sloshing sound and screaming. Slowly, the guns grow silent and all thats left is a sound like a pile of raw meat sliding down the hall, accompanied by an odor of ozone and copper. You point your gun at the door as the sound stops right outside.
For several seconds you sit in silence, waiting. Nothing happens. You glace over at your captive, handcuffed to the table. He smiles at you, a smile that reaches back to his ears and reveals insect-like mandibles beneath a rubber mask of flesh.
"THE END IS NEAR"
You wake up, staring at the ceiling, the pills rendering you too physically tired to jerk up and out of bed. But your heart is pounding and you can feel the walls closing in. The nightmares are leaking into this world yet again.
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Topic: THE END IS NEAR : Warning: May be more rational than reality. (Read 49521 times)