TURN 1: 0600-0615. Archangel
Deciding that caution was the best idea, Zedekiah turned into an aluminum based life form. After all, what could hurt something based on metal? He then trudged off to find his stuff. He walked into the small bedroom, his handgun was sitting nicely on the dresser. His combat belt was lying next to it. Was it still full of stuff? He checked through the pockets, and happily, the grenades and magazines were in there. He snapped one of the clips into the pistol and put the belt on.
The door fell with a overly large crash. He whirled to face the living room in time to see two humanoid figures charging at him. Stone smoothly lifted his pistol and fired. Nothing happened.
“FUCK!” The aluminum based life form frantically worked the slide, getting the gun up just in time to fire into the belly of one of his assailants. All three combatants crashed into one another. Metal or not, Zedekiah couldn’t keep his balance; they all collapsed to the floor. He lost control of the gun, which, unhelpfully, skittered away.
His firearm gone, Stone fell back on his current form’s great strength. He felt teeth closing in on his arm, unable to get through his tough skin (although his clothes were probably taking a pounding). With his other hand, he reached and grabbed the offending head, tearing it off of its shoulders.
Stone scrambled to his feet, facing the other . . . Thing. It was ghastly. A human being, but decomposed? He didn’t have time to observe further, as the thing had started to charge. Stone caught it with a hard jab to the jaw, and it tumbled to the ground. After a second of searching, he found his Mark 23 and holstered it at his belt.
Flintus10
Har-El, being the organized sort, quickly dashed through his apartment, looking for something useful. Everything looked fine, as far as he could tell, nothing out of the ordinary. He checked his phone, the only thing that looked important was a text message (through several types of encryption) from the local Mossad section chief, telling him to observe and report, after getting all of his equipment together, as well as several terse requests for him to acknowledge. What the hell was going on?
Rozen looked out his 1st floor window. There seemed to be a few lone people walking about, but no cars. Stranger and stranger. There were a few lights on in the windows across the street. He left his apartment, locking the door behind him, and slowly, but quickly, made his way up the stairs.
Bloody tall building. He just HAD to have rented an apartment on the first of six floors, hadn’t he? He climbed two sets of stairs (putting him on the third floor landing), and paused. Except for the screaming (still above him), everything seemed to be deserted.
He heard a pause in the screaming, then it continued. There was a muffled thud from above. What now?
Humaan
Not liking the situation, Aaron got his stuff together. He slipped his coat on, feeling that he had his inhaler in one of its pockets. He put all of his laptop gear in his bag, which he hadn’t noticed before. It was pretty comfortable, Targus brand, and slipped, satchel style, over his shoulder. He left his office, noticing that he had been locked in before (it was a deadbolt, with a latch on the inside and a keyhole on the outside). The building was very dark. They only kept about a third of the lights on at night, but even those were off. Had there been a power outage?
Aaron’s eye’s adjusted to the light (or lack thereof) after awhile, and he made his way down the stairs to the ground the floor. It was deserted (and dark) the whole way.
Kagus
His hand shaking somewhat, Owen put the gun back down on the table. He (with somewhat stiff legs) walked into his bathroom and downed his daily meds. He stood there for a minute and smoked a cig (building policy and hygiene be damned, he was feeling shaky). The former soldier proceeded to the kitchen and started cooking some eggs. He ended up breaking the yolks, and dumped the fried eggs on a muffin. Owen complemented the hearty meal with a large glass of orange juice. Should he eat at the table or couch?
His head felt considerably clearer. The screaming finally stopped! Then it picked up again, and there was a medium-large thud from somewhere over his head . . .
Little
“Shut the fucking hell up. You’re starting to get on my nerves.” Rachel’s voice was quiet, but quite dangerous sounding. “Here is what we are going to do. I am going to take half the bullets and go scope out this floor. We need more people on our side. YOU are going to stay here like a good boy, take the phone, and go through the phone book trying to find someone else who is alive. Kapiche?”
Rachel decided to round up, she took 22 of the remaining bullets, (21 were left in a cup in the apartment) shoved them into one of her overly tight pockets, and left the apartment. It wasn’t that big of a building, kind of stuck on the outskirts of a nicer neighborhood. There were 12 doors on the floor. One was the elevator and one led to the stairs. Then one lead back to her apartment.
She picked the closest door, listened for a second, and turned the handle. It was locked. Rachel moved to the next door down the line, and tried the door. It was also locked. Getting somewhat flustered, she moved to a third door. Locked. The only bloody door on the floor that wasn’t locked opened up to a broom closet, filled with assorted cleaning products.
“Well, that was useful.”
Luke
“Son of a fucking seventeen and a half legged shiza muffin!” His verve vented, Luke proceeded to go be a hero. He put down some of his less useful stuff, drew his dagger (a comfortingly heavy weight) and went to go see what the noise was about.
He opened his door quietly. There were a fair number of doors on this floor (the top one of the building). It was pretty obvious where the screaming was coming from. The door across the hallway, three doors to the left had been violently bashed down. Luke ran to the doorway and looked inside.
The hysterical dame was lying on the floor, screaming. Approaching her slowly, were two imposing dudes, backs turned to Luke.
“Hey, fuckers, leave her alone.” Luke said with a somewhat raised voice.
The girl stopped screaming, but neither of her attackers made any response. Luke strode up (easily being faster than him) behind one of them and put his hand on the idiot’s shoulder to spin him around and punch and/or stab his face.
“I’m talking to you, you sonofa . . . What the?!”
When Luke grabbed the guy’s shoulder, he ended up with a handful of . . . Something? What the fuck? Is this flesh?
Luke’s opponent turned around. It wasn’t human, with a half rotted face. Stabbing and shoving in one motion, Luke sent the thing sprawling. It made a large thump when it hit, but it started to get up, despite the hole in its chest. The other one, which Luke could now see as being rotted as well, started moving towards the girl again, at a much faster rate.
What would Luke do?
Mission
The family got everything into the truck and piled on. Mission’s mother would do the driving, while his sister would get to ride shotgun (sans shotgun). The weaponry would come from the men. As they were starting out, a thought occurred to Mission, the base’s gate was a bit further away from them than the perimeter, they could drive to the gate (which might be difficult to get through if there wasn’t anybody there, Mission remembered there being a few lines of Hogs in the area), or they could go straight to the perimeter (which was, if Mission recalled, at least two lines of fences that were eight footers with barbed tops).
On the brighter note, once they were outside, Mission couldn’t see anything moving. No zeds close by. Or visible ones anyway . . .
RAM and Company
Mary unlocked her Ford with the auto-start, got inside, and turned the key. It rumbled for a second, but something beeped and the engine stopped. Sue got out and walked around the vehicle. The fuel cap was off? That’s strange, isn’t it? It was one of type that’s attached with cable, so she screwed it back in and closed the little door. She started the engine successfully and drove towards the mall, covering a few blocks, when the “LOW FUEL LIGHT!” blinked on, along with another beep . . .
Sofia
Deciding that she should check it out, and hoping for an easy mark, Sofia loaded her Berretta and worked the slide quietly. She crept closer to the source of the noise. A hanging light provided adequate illumination. With dawning horror, she realized that she wasn’t looking at a man. There was no left arm, most of the right leg was missing, and the clothes were shredded, what remained was liberally coated in dried gore. Sofia took a half unconscious step backward, and her foot awkwardly came down on a loose beer can, but she stopped herself before it made any noise.
And a warm welcome to Tack, who gets two spoilers cuz I like him more than everyone else (actually becuase he needs an inventory sheet)
User: Tack
Player: Tacken Armitage
Location: Log cabin about five miles south of tile K
Health: Robust
Hunger: A bit
Thirsty: A bit
Mental State: Just waking up
Armor: Heavy flannel jacket
Clothes: Carpenter’s pants, long sleeve shirt
Hat: Fur w/ flaps
Shoes: Hiking boots
Weapon: None.
Pockets:
Books of matches
Pocket Knife
Wallet
Tacken woke up at his accustomed time. It was starting to get chilly, a bit earlier than usual too. His garden had already been obliterated by frost (dern global warming). He was feeling a bit isolated, the one TV station he got had suddenly gone off of the air a few days ago, and hadn’t come back on. He also hadn’t heard anything from his neighbors (who all lived a fair ways away). Of course, that wasn’t out of the ordinary, the farmers didn’t have much repair work to do this time of year anyway.
Author
Topic: It's been a while since our last little . . . zombie apocalypse. (Read 13983 times)