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| Zombie RP; Will the real zombies please stand up? | |
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| Topic Started: Nov 2 2008, 10:32 PM (90 Views) | |
| Ozmodious | Nov 2 2008, 10:32 PM Post #1 |
Ignorance Is Bliss.
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I think the use of a thread for ooc gossip and roleplaying is tacky. I'm copy/pasting needle's intro and starting fresh. If you have anything to say OOC, do it in quotes at the bottom of your posts. Thanks! ------------ The surf begins to hit the shore with increasing intensity as the sun falls behind the horizon. Once, people would still be here on the beach, by now probably packing their stuff up and washing off in the public showers. This was before everything got fucked up. Before everyone either left or died. This beach is empty now, except for me. No snotty-nosed kids running around, no surfers with bleached hair, no fat people trying to get a tan. Far off down the shore I could see the umbrella and lounge chair with the dead guy sitting in it. When I found him there was a gun on the loose sand beside him and there was blood all over the fucking place. Shit like this makes people crazy. The people that aren't crazy already, that is. You know. The cannibalistic maniacs running around foaming at the mouth and making guttural noises. Those things. They aren't even people to me anymore, just things. Animals. It makes it easier, I think. To kill them. If you're imaging that you're only shooting a bird or a rat instead of your neighbor, everything is simplified. I think a virus did this. Something easily transmittable. No one knew when it first came around, but by the first week people were dropping like flies. Every day the death toll doubled, not counting the people killed by crazies. That's what I call them. Laurel calls them zombies, but I dunno if they are or not. I just know that if you give them the chance, they'll rip out your throat. The government tried to stop the outbreak. Quarantine zones, military patrols, mass burning sites, everything. It wasn't long after that the crazies outnumbered the normal people and everything went to hell. They put my family in quarantine because they showed signs of infection. I didn't. They tried to transport me to a different facility, but sometime between then and a couple of weeks the riots happened. One moment I'm being escorted outside of the hospital and the next I'm in a clusterfuck of angry, scared people. I don't remember when this all happened. I think two, maybe three weeks ago. The virus broke out maybe six or seven. I'm just guesstimating. Just like money and fame, time means nothing anymore. It's simple now. You're either one of us, or one of them. I just hope that someone kills me before I become one of them. Edited by Ozmodious, Nov 2 2008, 10:35 PM.
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| Saithis | Nov 3 2008, 09:07 PM Post #2 |
It r teh KLAOWN. FROM "IT". OSHI-! RUN AVAY!
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Damned if I wasn't right. . . Announcements had gone out about the virus, and I'd been one of the first to guess exactly what it was. I hate being right. Being a tiny town, we were unaware of anything until yesterday, the day the place went all to hell. Normal day, normal people. Just a regular day. Until the schools lock down and the entire city goes on alert, due to reports from a policeman half-way out of town that an entire house of eight had been ripped to pieces and its inhabitants mostly cannibalized. No-one had yet to think why the cops had never returned to town, but they never did. Strange that. I'd immediately gone into my battle-plan, having jokingly theorized this sort of thing with my twelve or so group of close friends. We'd all decided that, since the town hall here was basically a miniature fortress, we could hole up in it, with my small supply of arms, and whatever they scrounged up from the nearby gun shops. We'd gotten there a whole of ten minutes before they showed up. I say they, because I don't want to seem too rude to the once-people. We'd barricaded the heavy steel door and had someone posted in every ground-level room, and a few on the second floor. It was amazing how well-designed the town hall had been for just something like this, though I doubt it was -for- this, exactly. This brings me to now, midnight. We heard someone outside the door, banging like hell, but we didn't dare risk a light to see, so we left it go, until it stopped. I went on top the roof, grabbed a flashlight, looked, and damn near slipped. We should'a opened it. . . Someone was down there, dead, gore and blood covered everything around her. It was disgusting. I had went back down into the building, and stayed put until I could find a computer to check up on some kind of help for this situation. |
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| Anonymuzz | Nov 3 2008, 10:02 PM Post #3 |
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Never really been outside of Boswell... never really felt the need to leave my hometown. It felt so nice 'n' secluded from the rest of the world, sorta' like a little kingdom in the middle of the forest. But the things that came in here, they only needed their bloody noses to find us, like goddamn wolves. But now that I'm out here, one of these... rest stops. Kinda' nice really. Parked the truck for a while and took a sleep for once. Didn't even have a single one of those wolves bang on my window. Most I ever heard the whole night is another car passing by, but chasing him down wasn't an option without the ability to even keep my eyes open. I was too tired to even honk the horn. Really, I've lost my cares. Haven't seen hardly anyone alive in a month... I was hoping I'd see someone after traveling to the other side of the goddamn country, or at least hear someone on the radio. Starting to wonder if I'm the only one left on the whole planet. It's a scary thought... but I stopped being scared of these things a long time ago. Can't do shit against a Ford. But I did get one station. Guy kept saying the same thing over and over, telling us what to do against these... "zombies". I'd already figured out the "shoot 'em in the head" part. Either way, it was a recording, but it still gave me some hope. Someone out there was trying to keep us alive, even if he might be dead. He sounds like dad too, so it feels like he's watching over me from heaven. ...I miss dad. ...I need somebody. |
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| NeedyNeedles | Nov 3 2008, 10:50 PM Post #4 |
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11/3/08 I've decided to start dating these things. The last one was two days ago, I think. Look, this isn't a biography. I'll just say what I want to say. Last night I get back to the beach condo Laurel and I had been staying in. Laurel's a chick I met wandering around downtown Huntington Beach a week ago. I think she's in her early twenties. If she told me or if she didn't I don't know. Too much shit going on to care, anyway. I was poking around this shitty little coffee place when I see this short, pale woman wandering around barefoot. My first instinct is to pull out the revolver I'm packing and shoot it's face off, but she yelled for me to not do so before I could, thankfully. Those things can gurgle and spit, but they can't speak. Between then and two days ago nothing happened. I'm not going to fill this with useless shit. Then, two days ago she looks weird. Looks sick, sort of. Too pale. At first she doesn't say anything about it, but she keeps grabbing her right arm as though it hurt. When I come back from getting supplies she's in her bed with a fever, groaning with pain. "I have it, Dimitry," she says. I say she doesn't, it's just the goddamn flu or something, but I know she does. I know for sure when her nose starts gushing all over the place and she can't remember my name. Before everything went dark, the government submitted a list of symptoms that correspond with the virus. Laurel was matching them perfectly. I did what I had to do. Putting a bullet in her head was taking her out of her misery and eventual reanimation. After the fact I gathered the sheets around her and made it so it looked like she was a mummy or something and carried her out to the beach. God, she was heavy. Rigor mortis, fuck you. I put her down, not far from the dead guy and the umbrella, and poured kerosene over the body. The sheets lit up like wildfire when I flicked the match onto the inert frame, and for a while I just watched. I watched as the flames engulfed the woman I had come to think of as a companion, even a friend. In the end, survival comes before anything else. I will be the first to admit that. Selfishness and apathy are the keys to life in this new world of ours. I left yesterday, riding a dirt bike I picked up raiding a guy's garage. I felt that I was done with this place, my last connection severed. I decided to head to Northern California, where there're less people to become crazy and more mild heat. This place stinks to high heaven. Dead bodies rotting in the desert sun? Ugh. I left with a duffel bag and a revolver. The duffel bag has some food, none of it worth describing, clothes, a razor, an atlas, a couple bottles of water and a box of bullets. In my pocket is my all-mighty and useful Swiss Army Knife. I brought a jacket too, for the hell of it. I'm wearing jeans, a shirt and sneakers, so I think I'm pretty much set for most terrain. Of course, my luck with the crazies didn't last long. Twenty minutes out of Huntington, dodging abandoned cars on Pacific Coast Highway on my bike, I find myself facing a fucking roadblock of them. PCH is a four-lane highway running along the SoCal coastline, with beach on one side and preserved wetlands on the other for a certain distance. At first I think these specks are cars or something, but when they become people-shaped I start to get tense. Soon I can make out basic features. There was about twenty of them at least, thirty at most, standing around on the pavement in the middle of PCH in the noon sun, shuffling about aimlessly. The sound of the dirt bike alerts them of my presence. They pause for a second, before a gut-wrenching howl erupts from the mass and they start sprinting towards me. From the beach more join the mass, spanning distances by foot that normal people could only achieve through extensive training or adrenaline. I had enough time to weave my way through the cars and turn, though I knew that if I went back it would be wasted time. It was a decision made by a mind on the verge of panic: Go around them. Again I went through the empty vehicles, this time heading towards the beach. The mass swerved in their path and steadily began to gain on me. The cars seemed not to be much of an obstacle for them: most just jumped over the cars or went between them. Waddling through the parking lot that PCH had become I was greatly hindered, and before I knew it the crazies were mere feet away from me. A man with a torn face howled and jumped at me. I pulled out the revolver from the back of my jeans and had enough time to blow his face off before he got me. Blood sprayed my clothes. The revolver was an old Russian Nagant revolver with seven cylinders and a manual reload. That meant I had six more shots before I had to seriously haul ass, since reloading would be take too much time. I squeezed between a Prius and a SUV. What once was an elderly woman jumped on the hood of the SUV, and I blasted her through the back window. There was only a few parked cars along the raised sidewalk. A smooth handicapped ramp led up to the raised part. I hit the throttle and drove up the ramp. Once up on the sidewalk I made the bike go as fast as it could. By pure luck I managed to evade the swarm. I spotted a couple here and there as I drove down PCH, but they either didn't see me or I was going too fast. I rode until sunset. A little inland I found this decrepit Mobil station. The place had a snack shack, as well as a cramped, windowless storage room with only one door leading in or out. I filled the tank of the dirt bike, hid it inside the shack, and spent the night in the storage room with the door barricaded with crates of Dorido's and Red Bull. In the shack I found this cordless radio. For shits and giggles I fiddled around with the dial, looking to see if anyone had anything up. I discovered three stations. 93.1 Jack had been taken over by a pious black man who would play weird, old music, read from the Bible, cry, play more music, randomly leave for periods of time, and then cry again. 106.7 KROQ has been comandeered by a group of young teenagers. I think two guys and a girl. They renamed it KOCQ, as in Cock. Ha-ha. Sometimes they'll just bicker, or banter randomly. For a couple of minutes the girl sobbed and begged for her parents. I found this oddball station, WCRM 103.6. For a couple of minutes it was a couple of guys talking, and then they were screaming and yelling. I heard snarling in the background, gunshots, and one of the guys said, "Emma, I love you." There was a last gunshot, and then there was silence. After that, I turned off the radio. This is a different world, now. A very different world. Edited by NeedyNeedles, Nov 3 2008, 10:58 PM.
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| Anonymuzz | Nov 6 2008, 01:07 AM Post #5 |
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Allison awoke uncomfortably to a melodious rapping on the door of her truck. The sun hadn't even come up over the hillside, and she still only had about 10 hours of sleep under her belt over the past week, but she was suddenly wide awake. Someone seeking shelter? Target practice? She fumbled in the darkness and turned on the interior lights to see herself face to face with... "Get outta the fuckin' car!" A kid. Probably somewhere about fourteen or fifteen, and probably didn't even have a license. His idea of "enforcing a threat", though, was something worth laughing at. In fact, Allison did just that. "A steak knife? What are you doing playing around with that thing, kid? Didn't your momma' tell you not to play with knives?" She tries to sustain her laughter. The kid however, doesn't seem to find this as amusing. The little amount of light shining out the window onto his face makes his redness almost like the rising sun. He lifts the dirty knife close to his face, obviously trying to appear fearsome. It's more creepy than frightening, but more saddening than anything else. The first true signs of humanity she sees in a month, and it's holding a knife to her car window. She clears her throat and gives the child a cold glare, "Get out of here." The child stutters for a moment, obviously lost in a state of fear and madness, "N-no! I need your car! I can't stand living in this fucking bathroom anymore! Now get out of the car or I'll make you get out!" Her giggles subsided, and a frown spread across her face. The kid's been sitting in the bathroom with a knife for god knows how long. Family's probably dead. In fact, the car she saw flipped over in the corner was probably theirs. She gestured over to the flipped minivan. The kid knew what she was hinting at, and began to tear up. He did his best to restrain these tears by shouting again, "God damn it! Get out of the f-fucking car lady! I'll cut you up so bad you wish the zombies had gotten to you! I know how to use this thing! I've carved up hundreds of these shits already!" Now she was getting curious about this boy, but she couldn't get any answers out of him spouting his liar mouth with the rusted cutlery in his hand. She pulled the Smith and Wesson from her belt, "Knives don't pierce glass. So go ahead and--," and was cut off by a screech coming from the distance. The boy immediately turned tail and ran back for the bathroom, while Allison quickly turned off the lights. The kid's shouts must've attracted them. She heard the rustling of grass outside. It wasn't too thunderous, possibly a couple of curious zombies that wanted to split from the pack. They really were like wolves when she thought about it. Pack animals, uncanny sense of smell, and ruthless. These wolves just weren't as smart. Allison kept as still as stone in her truck as soon the "wolves" hit pavement. Judging by the sound of their movements, they were headed straight for that bathroom. Her heroic side took hold as she grabbed her pistol again and hopped outside. She lit a cigarette and held the lighter up in her free hand as a light source as she stealthily strode over to the bathroom. By now, she could hear the wolves banging on the door, which almost drowned out the kid's screams from inside. The bathroom light flickered on and off, it was obvious the boy was trying to get her attention from inside. It only made the zombies angrier. But they quickly began to catch onto the stealthy assassin creeping up behind them. There were three, and they turned around and charged at her. She crouched and flicked off the lighter, putting both hands to the revolver. She squeezed off all six shots. She'd almost gotten used to the kickback of the gun by now, but she still felt the recoil go up her arms. Three hit the first wolf, a heavyset Hispanic woman in the upper torso. Their strength had been enough to kill it. The second zombie, a tough looking black male, took a blow to the head, spraying blood against the outer bathroom wall. The third zombie, a lanky white guy, took it to the chin, completely taking off the malnourished head. The rest of the body fell lifelessly only feet from her. With the battle won, she plopped down on her butt let out a sigh. Allison didn't feel the need to reload her gun, got up, and walked over to the lavatory bunker. She knocked on the door, "They're dead." The door unlocked inside, and the kid poked his head out. His face was coated in dirt and tears, he must've taken a fall while running from the truck. He took a moment to survey they area before opening the door all the way. He stared at his feet for a moment, the knife still grasped tightly in his hand. With a better look on the kid, he was wearing a Los Angeles Dodgers T-Shirt and torn black jeans. His bare feet were so dirty, they almost looked like black socks for a moment. The kid bit his lip and trembled momentarily before grabbing for the knife again and flailing wildly at Allison. She grabbed him by the arm and smashed him over the head with her revolver. The blow didn't knock him out, but it put him out of his stupor into a mad crying fit. Suddenly feeling no remorse for the child, she shoved him back into the bathroom and closed the door. It seemed like a long walk back to the truck. She quickly turned her truck back on and left the rest stop behind. Eventually, she pulled over the sky began to regain its color, and napped a cold, dreamless nap. |
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| Saithis | Nov 7 2008, 09:18 PM Post #6 |
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It r teh KLAOWN. FROM "IT". OSHI-! RUN AVAY!
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It was terrible, the perfect plan, the best place to use it. It was highly improbable that anything could possibly go wrong. (This from the resident nerd.) Noone had figured the zombies smart enough to think of going into the sewers, but apparently, they did. The entire building was a blood bath. Filled full of gore, empty cartridges, and mangled limbs, still twitching. They'd came so fast, so frenzied. . . it was impossible to stop their numbers. Even if they'd been commando's, they would have run out of ammo long before. Phill, as he was often named, had grabbed as many guns as he could carry, and ran to the roof, leaping from it onto the roof of the police station next door. It had been easy to jump into one of the abandoned cruisers, shove the now re-dead dead cop out of the way, and drive through a crowd of the undead. A couple of flips of the Radio Station dial, and hearing various different ramblings by dipshits, moaning from some dead thing, and the sound of three or so people praying, he'd flipped it off, and sighed. Well, there was always this plan some friends of his online had mentioned incase something like this ever happend. . . Hell, why not. He put his foot on the pedal, shoved it in with force, and drove through the farms of several different places, humming Midnight Sonata to himself quietly. |
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3:41 AM Nov 26
