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    Dead Morning, America

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    Mercy
    The Master of Horror
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    Location : Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

    Dead Morning, America

    Post by Mercy on Mon Apr 23, 2012 7:25 pm

    “Good morning, I'm Rod Chase, reporting live at NYMNC News. We interrupt this program to bring you this important news bulletin: We are currently receiving widespread reports of random acts of violence and murder all over the city, and happenings of mass hysteria. Details are a bit sketchy right now, and there has been no official statement from the police about the situation, but we will continue to bring you coverage of the story as it unfolds. This has been Rod Chase, with NYMNC News; keeping you up-to-date, and informed.”

    ....


    “Good evening, I'm Rod Chase, reporting live at NYMNC News. For those of you just joining us, we will be remaining live on the air for the remainder of what has evolved into a nationwide crisis. As reported earlier, there have been widespread attacks all over the city by what citizens are describing as bloody corpses in a trance-like state, and the situation has only escalated further since this morning. We still have no confirmed reports as to why this may be happening, however speculations range from a bacteria or virus with a mind-altering effect, to some sort of chemical spill or behaviour disorder inducing mass hysteria. All roads and freeways are jammed with citizens trying to evacuate the city, and the governor has issued the following statement:

    "All citizens are encouraged to remain in their homes until the crisis is contained. Lock your doors, lock your windows, and draw your curtains. Do not; for any reason, answer your door. Remain in your homes, and remain vigilant. CDC and law-enforcement officials are doing everything they can to safely escort and evacuate civilians to a secure location."

    ....



    “Widespread panic has swept the city. Most communities are without telephones, many without power, and some without water. Scientists at the CDC released the following statement concerning the incident in an interview not more than an hour ago:

    "The bodies of the recently deceased are returning to life, driven by an unknown force that enables the brain to function. Whatever it is, the condition is highly contagious, and characterized by a sudden onset of flu-like symptoms; including, but not limited to:

    Headaches; fever; vomiting; chills; myalgia; convulsions, and eventually, expiration.

    If you or a loved one is suspected of infection, it is absolutely imperative to segregate and contain the individual until evacuation personnel arrive."

    "For citizens that are trapped or otherwise unable to evacuate the city on their own, we are providing a list of rescue stations displayed on the screen below. If possible, citizens are encouraged to make their way to the closest collection point, and await assistance. Military personnel have been deployed to aid in rescue and evacuation operations, but because the violence is so widespread, it is impossible for evacuation personnel to respond to every situation in a timely manner. Listed with the rescue points below are points of priority, displayed in red. If possible, make your way to these safehouses, and await evacuation. Barricade the doors, block the windows, and turn out the lights. If possible, mark the roof, or side of the building with a S.O.S. signal so that responders may accurately identify it and expedite your rescue. Again, it is advised to remain indoors."

    ....

    “There are still pandemic reports that the recently dead and deceased are returning to life and attacking the living. Any unburied corpse with its brain intact will still function. The dead body must be deactivated by either destroying the brain, or separating the brain from the rest of the body. Every dead body that is not properly exterminated will kill; every person that dead body kills will get up, and kill, no matter how damaged or mutilated the body is. We will stay on the air for as long as possible, but with power grids failing all across the nation, there is no guarantee. This has been Rod Chase, with NYMNC News. Stay safe, and God help us all.”



    THE INFECTED


    Walkers:


    Slow-moving shamblers; your typical zombie. With limited neural function, they are generally clumsy and awkward, and relatively speaking: fragile - but because of their tendency to interact with objects with a resemblance of memory, it is speculated over the actual intelligence of the creatures. Nevertheless, they are outwardly easy to avoid and kill in sparse quantities, but in large groups, they can become extremely problematic, often bogging down and overwhelming their victims. Drawn primarily by motion and sound, they are driven only by the basic need to feed.

    Weak Point: The brain.

    Runners:

    Much like their shambling counterparts, Runners are identical to Walkers in every way aside from their tendency to pursue supposed prey in large, sprinting packs.

    Weak Point: The brain.

    Screamers/Gargoyles:

    Easily one of the most disturbing types of Infected, this form of infection seems to primarily affect Avian species, to a very precise degree. Primarily identified by their molting feathers, skinless faces, and often rot-pocked bodies, their most defining feature is their voice. With supposed prey in their sights, they will emit a high-pitched, warbling shriek that at close ranges can rupture ear-drums and cause loss of consciousness, leaving their victims virtually helpless against their predator.

    Weak Point: This particular strain of Infected has developed a hardiness against typical forms of extermination, making them harder to kill than the average Walker. Vulnerability is primarily expressed through the pink, bulbous fleshy nodules or splotches that develop in seemingly random areas of the body, but one solid hit will invariably result in death. However, enough damage to the brain will generally have the same effect, and if not, at least silence its voice.

    Hunters/Stalkers:

    How this strain of Infected is chosen by the virus itself is open to speculation, but the result is almost always the same. Sometimes referred to as 'Stalkers' because of their documented tendency to prowl around on all fours like a feral animal, this type of Infected has proven particularly dangerous not only because of its incredible mobility and the distance it can cover with a single leap, but also because of its cunning and hunting tactics. Alone and singular, a Hunter will stalk its victim like a predator to its prey; sticking to shadows and dark areas or lofty spaces where visibility is limited and detection is minimal - but in large crowds, the Hunter has been observed mimicking Walkers and Runners, if only to better close the distance and strike viciously when there is absolutely no chance of escape or evasion, attacking with sharp fang-like teeth, and long cruel talons to rip its prey to pieces. Hunters have been known to stalk victims for days and miles and more, if for nothing but for the closure of the kill.

    Weak Point: The brain.

    Brutes:

    Like the Hunter, basis of viral selection in this strain of Infected is only speculated. Once reanimated, the physical structure of the Infected begins to alter significantly, ultimately leaving them literal giants among the rest of the horde. Because the virus distends and grows the musculature of a would-be Brute, they are invariably some heads taller than a regular person, and despite their often lanky appearance, develop incredible strength. While this alone makes them easily discernible from the rest of the horde, they are notorious for their crazed, bloodthirsty smile, and the extreme and often excessive violence that comes with it, with most cases documenting Brutes using the heaviest thing they can lift to beat, batter, and otherwise pulverize their victim whether or not they actually intend to feed on them. Because of their hardened musculature, they are considerably more durable than the average Walker, and duly, should be avoided at all costs.

    Weak Point: The brain.

    Brains:

    Perfectly identical to Walkers and Runners, the defining characteristic of the Brain is its capacity to learn, often mimicking the living down to a tee through gestures and habitual patterns. It is speculated that the existence of Brains might eventually spark the development of logical thinking in the rest of the horde, potentially making them that much more dangerous. However, because of their extremely restricted speech (limited mostly to grunts and groans and even sobs), and often mutilated bodies, the suspected chance of them successfully infiltrating the living is practically non-existent.

    Weak Point: The brain.

    Sleepers:

    Much like Walkers, Sleepers will move around in a slow, trudging shamble. However, Sleepers have been separated into a different class due to their arguably more strategic tendencies, often moving around and lying back down again in places frequented by survivors to in essence, play possum. When an unwary survivor happens by, the Sleeper will promptly ambush, latching onto ankles and feet and legs in order to bite and cripple their victim so that they can appropriately feed. Survivors should watch for seemingly conveniently placed corpses, or otherwise inanimate corpses that move from one prostrate location to the next.

    Weak Point: The brain.


    RULES



    The prescribed starting location for the initial group of players will be in a barricaded safehouse. This is the most ideal beginning to the roleplay, but honestly, your character can begin anywhere in the city. Of course, the idea is to eventually come together and stick together in order to increase chances of survival, which players will sustain for as long as possible. Survivors can be any anthropomorphic species or human ethnicity or gender, within reason (Leave your futa/herm fetishist and supernatural fantasy characters at home, please). Water still runs in most buildings, but electricity is hit-or-miss. Supplies are running low, as well as ammunition. Most local shops are empty due to looting and theft, leaving little scraps for straggling survivors, and because of their dwindling resources, players will inevitably be forced from the safety of their barricaded building and out onto the street. If this isn't taken up pro-actively, then the barricades will disappear, and they'll be forced to move anyway - because fuck idleness, that's why.

    This is an open-form roleplay. Therefore, players are expected to be pro-active, and not just aimlessly follow one player's lead. The infection has become global, and thus, 'safety' is really just a relative thing, and Infected movement, behavior, and encounters absolutely will not be the duty of one person - everyone is expected to take part. You're a small group against an endless horde, after all.

    No starter katana, chainsaws, rocket-launchers, or otherwise overpowered weapons; ammunition is extremely limited, so conserve it, or do without. In that, keep track of how many rounds your character expends, and make notes of it. No unlimited ammo, here. Players are expected to develop characters within realistic levels of badassness (military/law-enforcement, ex-military/law-enforcement, etc - make them believable), and duly, realistic levels of danger relative to the story. In that, we're not looking for heroes; death is, in fact, encouraged. This is not anime. The intent of this roleplay is for the lives of the Survivors to be put in a situation of calamity, even during periods of relative safety. Things like hunger, dehydration, and sleep-deprivation will be taken into account, and should be expressed accordingly. Thus, players will be expected to keep track of these things. If your character hasn't slept in two days, they're gonna be suckin'. If they haven't eaten or drank anything in two days, they're going to be weaker - and if they're bitten, or otherwise infected, then the player in question is expected to play out the symptoms until expiration and reanimation - unless they are properly dealt with. A player will be considered infected if they are bitten, scratched, or come into mucus membrane contact with infected blood, saliva or vomit. Some exceptions in cases of oral contact may apply. Roll the dice, and we'll decide on it. There is a bright side, however: the virus takes a little time to flood the bloodstream, so if a Survivor is bitten on an extremity, for example, amputation is an option - so long as it is done immediately, if not soon after contact. Otherwise, get used to the idea of shuffling around until someone puts you down.

    Progression of infection:

    Headaches
    Fever and chills
    Vomiting and myalgia
    Tremors and/or convulsions
    Death and reanimation

    If your character dies, make another. There is no lockout. Not yet.



    CHARACTER TEMPLATE: Feel free to add more

    Name
    Age
    Species or Ethnicity
    Sex
    Biometric details and/or a brief bio to preferably include background, specialties and prior experience.
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    Mercy
    The Master of Horror
    The Master of Horror

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    Re: Dead Morning, America

    Post by Mercy on Mon Apr 23, 2012 7:26 pm

    Name: Kaylie Thorton
    Goes By: Phoenix [She's from Phoenix, Arizona]
    Age: 22
    Gender: Female
    Sexuality: Pansexual
    Appearance:


    She always wears a Led Zepplin t-shirt -- or Fender, something that resembles the golden ages of Rock N Roll [Guns N Roses, ACDC, Led Z, Motorhead etc], or a flannel shirt, she gets a lot of hand-me-down t's from her brothers. She wears worn out vans and ripped jeans. She has her cartilage pierced, and a piercing on her bottom lip on the right side, she has her belly button pierced and she has a wolf pawprint on her hip [tattoo] and also a music note on her wrist.

    Height: 5'3''
    Weight: 115
    Eye Color: A dark, ocean blue
    Hair Color: Chocolate brown, straight, with side bangs, super edgy

    Occupation: Running from zombies and killing zombies?

    Kaylie is a skateboarder, a total punk. She grew up with four older brothers who always pushed her around, toughening her out. She really likes sports, and her motorcycle Zoe. She likes playing guitar, singing -- even though she doesn't sing for anyone in public -- and she has a pit bull named Bosco who she loves more than anything in this world. She is a Scorpio so she's pretty blunt and out there, she seems pretty hard-shelled at first until you get to know her. She is a joker, sarcastic and she loves Marvel/DC comics -- her favorite Superhero is Batman. She loves Buffy the Vampire Slayer and her favorite color is orange. She is open minded and will talk to anyone who talks to her.

    Equipment: Uses pistols, baseball bat, her truck, and throwing knives

    Kaylie grew up with four older brothers [as stated earlier], she had a good life. Her mother and father divorced when she was around 6 months old and her relationship with her dad has been shaky ever since. On her sixteenth birthday, Kaylie spent some time in a mental hospital for about a year due to her depression and anger problems. She was always put in the middle of her parents problems and she was angered by her parents acting so immature and her mother and her would argue a lot about almost every little thing. She was sent to therapy because her grades were declining and she began to get into a lot of fights at school. She stayed there for a year and was put on medication. She found comfort in music and writing songs. She know doesn't let drama phase her too much anymore. She is a calm person, but will begin worrying when the time is right. She cares a lot for her family and her friends and would do anything to help them in times of need.

    Once the virus spread, well... She doesn't like to talk about that.
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    Murdoch
    The Architect of Fate
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    Re: Dead Morning, America

    Post by Murdoch on Sat May 12, 2012 5:35 pm

    Yo ^_^ I wanna join Very Happy



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    Murdoch
    The Architect of Fate
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    Re: Dead Morning, America

    Post by Murdoch on Sun May 13, 2012 10:09 am

    Name: Joshua Spyke
    Age: 28
    Gender: Male
    Species: Cyborg
    Appearance: Josh stands at about 6 feet tall, with a relatively small waist and large shoulders. His muscles are fairly large and toned from ten years in the forces, and his entire left arm is mechanical. His facial features look slightly older than his years, and are chiselled and hardened through service on the front lines. His dark blue eyes hint at being witness to some horrific things. His black hair is shaved short, in military fashion, and two or three scars criss-cross his face. One goes vertically through his right eye, one is at an angle beneath his left eye and the third runs through his left ear. He was detached with the rest of his contingent to try and secure the city, but they are now dead; he's managed to salvage a pistol with a few clips of ammo, which he wears in a holster on his belt. His extremities - legs, arms, etc - are protected by a thin layer of body armour provided to all of the front line troops. In addition, he is wearing a simple layered vest; whilst not body armour, it provides a small amount of protection to anything but the most serious of scratches and grazes. His dark brown cargo shorts are torn and frayed at the bottom.

    Abilities: Josh is a skilled battlefield mechanic ordinarily, and can repair or patch up a lot of damaged vehicles and equipment. He is also capable of using most standard-issue weapons that he is likely to find, since a frontline-mechanic is expected to be able to handle himself if under fire. As well as this, his cybernetic implants give him greater strength and functionality in not only his arm, but in his immune system, senses and other bodily functions. His arm can also hack most security firewalls and systems, as well as give access to some useful gadgets (like a zipline!).
    Weaknesses: These increased abilities have a cost, though; to use his arm (or the temporary augmentation of his senses that he can apply for a short amount of time) or any of his cybernetic advantages uses power drawn from his power cells. Should these run down, not only do his cybernetics shut down, but also anything that they're aiding or augmenting have to struggle on their own. It also means that he has to lug the metal in his body around. Not difficult, but not desirable either.

    Bio: Ok, so...he enrolled in the military at age 18, under suspect circumstances. He spent a few years on rotation as a grunt, until he distinguished himself as a battlefield mechanic. Unfortunately, only a year after he started his first campaign as a mechanic, his arm was blown off by an IED, which also damaged several major organs; one of his lungs, his liver, his immune system, several muscles, four ribs and even his heart, which all had to be implanted with cybernetics to keep them working. He returned to active duty until he was recalled to deal with the outbreak in the city. His squads chopper set down and was almost immediately ambushed by hordes of the undead. As far as he is aware, only Josh made it out alive...barely. Now he's moving towards a reputed "safehouse" further inside the city...and trying to avoid drawing too much attention to himself while doing it.



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    Faith Wynters
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    Re: Dead Morning, America

    Post by Faith Wynters on Sun May 13, 2012 3:49 pm

    Now that I'm here a little more, I think I might be interested. Let me look over everything and make a new bio. I think I'll be using Mira for this one Smile That okay Muffin head?



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    Mercy
    The Master of Horror
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    Re: Dead Morning, America

    Post by Mercy on Sun May 13, 2012 5:18 pm

    Sounds good Cuppycake <3 I was hoping you'd join
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    Faith Wynters
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    Re: Dead Morning, America

    Post by Faith Wynters on Sun May 13, 2012 9:43 pm

    Name: Mira La’Mar
    Age: 19
    Nicknames: House Wife Barbie
    Gender: Female
    Sexuality: Bisexual


    Visual Appearance:
    Clothing: Clothing Link--Click Here
    Mira has a very wide variety of clothing styles. One day she may be in the brightest colors out there and the next day she might be a grunge kid. She loves clothes and fashion and is quite the shopaholic.

    Weight: 120 lbs
    Height: 5’5”
    Hair color: Black
    Eye color: Green

    Occupation: Mira is a Semi-Pro fast pitch softball player, along with having a Major in Music and a Minor in creative arts writing at Pace University. Her mother and father are temporarily helping her pay for college and she is living in the same room she has been for 19 years.

    Other information: Mira has a very vibrant personality. Her coach in High school called her House Wife Barbie for heaven sakes! On the field she is competitive and rough. She’ll leave players with bruises if they’re not careful. Any man would love to have her as a darling wife! Yeah right! Mira is very opinionated and out there. She won’t trust anyone easily unless they’re on her Semi-Pro team. With the strenuous workout that a soft-ball player endures, Mira’s arms are very strong, along with her legs. Those hundreds of laps around the field finally paid off for her. She can endure very strenuous running for shorter periods of time. Any more than a few football fields and she begins to break a sweat.

    History: Mira grew up in the upper class regions of New York. She was a very bright little girl, and the only child of a cute little couple. Her father, James, was an aspiring chef, and her mother, Daphane, a pediatrician. They had been married only about five years before Mira was born. She grew up in a happy family that allowed her all the creative expression she wanted. When she was about seven, her father started her in T-Ball and that’s when people really saw the aggressiveness of sweet little Mira. She was once seen pushing a little boy off a base just so she could throw the ball at him. (Apparently, tears were shed, and there was a bruise or two) Mira climbed the sports ladder until she reached Middle school and she was selected to be on the girls Fast pitch softball team. She was usually the first one there and the last one to leave. Normally she pitched, and sometimes first, but she really excelled at pitching. She was always first batter and the one called on when needed to get a home run or a triple. Soon, Mira was in high school and playing with the big girls. Rules were more laxed and being rough was the name of the game. Of course there was a bad umpire here and there, but in what part of the country isn’t there a few of those? She was offered a full scholarship to Pace and soon, she went to be semi-pro. Since she lived at home and had books and supplies paid for by mom and dad, she had money to afford her little shopping obsession. She was very bright and invested here and there, keeping money in her pocket all the time. With the obsession of fashion and Softball, she has turned from that sweet little girl to quite the opinion-filled, high on life girl that Mira is today.

    Weapons: Her hot pink aluminum softball bat (It’s pink to humor the coach and the girls on her team), some sort of handgun (she doesn’t know exactly, and she doesn’t care as long as it fires) [14/30], and in her bag she has a few softballs and a Taser that she normally keeps there for the safety on the streets.



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    Murdoch
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    Re: Dead Morning, America

    Post by Murdoch on Wed May 16, 2012 4:29 pm

    Sooo....how many people are we looking to get before we launch this thing? Smile



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    Mercy
    The Master of Horror
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    Re: Dead Morning, America

    Post by Mercy on Sun May 20, 2012 3:45 pm

    We can start. Smile

    -----

    Kaylie glowered at the TV as the reporter spluttered out bad news. Everyone was watching intently, shaking in their boots. Kaylie?

    Well, she was just baffled how Oprah got out of the US so fast. She was pretty convinced Oprah had some serious bank left over from those shows and probably had enough money to buy out NASA so she could live happily on Mars. Kaylie takes the last swig of her drink, sighing as she leans back, the crinkling of her movement against torn rubber stool made a harsh squeak. The bartender stares at her for a moment.

    "Care for another?" He asks and Kaylie sighs with a shake of her head. She pulls out a cigarette and pops it in her mouth, then puts one behind her ear for later. Whipping out a white lighter she lights her cigarette, taking a long drag and chuckles.

    Poor sucker, she had stolen this pack of Newports off a dead biker who's head was viciously ripped off by zombies.

    She heard the whir of helicopters overhead and sudden screaming of people on the street and her head whips towards the sound.

    "What the..." She grumbles as a zombie comes stumbling towards the bar. She takes out her pistol and shoots it right in the face.

    "No one's gonna ruin my cigarette break."

    "Everyone evacuate! We need the area cleared!"

    Kaylie walked outside, squinting up at the helicopters for a moment then she saw what they were referring to. A hoard of homicidal villagers coming towards the bar and Kaylie begins to make a run for it.

    She throws the cigarette down in gasoline residue pooled on the side of the street and a small wall of flames burst through, burning some Zombies that were running after her.

    Kaylie turns her head as more zombies come in from the alleyways and she shoots a few down and then turns her head, almost running into a much larger zombie.

    Without much thought she takes the gun and pulls the trigger, hitting right in between his eyes. He falls down and she keeps running, bursting into a worn down warehouse and she takes a breather. She looks up slowly after catching her breath, realizing she wasn't the only one who had this idea.

    Kaylie sighs, looking at some people huddling in the corners. Now she'd seen a lot of things, from men who had grown dread locks out of their top lips, to children who look like cigarettes. Nothing seemed to phase her much anymore. With a sigh she hears the helicopters outside and the whir of guns.

    "Please... Help us!" A begging hand reaches out and Kaylie slaps it away, there was no time to be falling to other people's needs. It was an extreme Darwin world, only the best survive. She walks towards the back and heard a whimper.

    "..Bosco?" She asks, turning slowly and he wags his tail, she knew that face anywhere.

    "BOSCO!" She lets the 75 pound pitbull jump up on her and she tears up a bit, "I thought I lost you..." She had thought she lost Bosco one night because he ran off. She lets out a sigh of relief and checks him for any bites or scratches. A sigh of relief escapes her lips and she ruffles his ears.

    "No more running away." She scolds and he whimpers. But she couldn't be mad.

    "Come." She says, standing and reloading her pistol, holding it up as she pushes open the door.
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    Murdoch
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    Re: Dead Morning, America

    Post by Murdoch on Tue May 22, 2012 12:33 pm

    The streets are dead. All life, all activity has ceased in this part of the city; discarded bags flutter across the street, dust and dirt spill out of the alleyways and no movement can be seen down the roads. Cars are parked - if you can call it that - haphazardly across the road, abandoned where they sit, stuck in a perpetual traffic jam, doors swinging in the strong breeze. Traffic lights flash uselessly, and bodies lie strewn across every flat surface, blood splattered across walls, cars and the ground, the blood dried in massive rivers headed to the drains, which themselves are clogged with clots of blood. Lifeless eyes stare up from the ground at the sky...where the eyes remain, that is.

    Nothing moves, save for the occasional scuffle of a bird feasting on the deceased, ravens and crows circling overhead, ready for a rich dinner. All of the undead have gravitated inwards, heading for the center of the city and the fresh, warm, living meat, attracted by the smell and sounds of more people. It has been a while since humanity has been the prey of anything, and the behavior of the civilians betrays that fact; they run, screaming and panicking, like child animals with no defense mechanism at all. It makes one wonder if the civilians would be the dominant species if all of the inventors and warriors weren't around. By all accounts, humanity is the least suitably equipped for life on the planet; their nails aren't sharp, their teeth aren't strong, their bones are fragile and the bodies remarkably unresilient. The only saving grace is the thumb, and the ingenuity to make up for their shortcomings; without that, humanity would have barely survived infancy. And that vulnerability is being exposed for everybody to see; with a new link in the foodchain, the civilians are being killed in staggering numbers. Nobody is sure what's happening in neighboring cities, let alone other countries. Nobody has any clue where the military is or what it's doing, and many political leaders have completely disappeared. Without meaningful leadership, without cohesion and communication, the world has reverted to a tribal state; it's every city for itself. What will happen now is that people will initially wander around on their own, stealing and killing to get what they need to survive. Then small societies will form, groups of people with diverse skills who attempt to survive in this barren wasteland that was once the Earth. After that...who knows? Will the virus run its course and die off? Probably. Will that be before humanity dies off? That's another matter entirely.

    But those are concerns for another day. Right now, Joshua needs to get somewhere safe; most of the zombies - for that is what they are, no matter how many people would have you believe otherwise - are further inside the city, but most is not all, and Joshua is in no condition to fight off a horde of the things. He has maybe twenty bullets left for his handgun, a pair of knives and his juice is running low. His provisions are almost depleted - there's only so much you can salvage from a burning helicopter while trying to avoid the wandering, searching undead, after all - he hasn't slept in a good day or so, and he has no backup, no squadmates and no line to command to request a pickup. He's on his own, in a deserted city full of zombies and desperate civilians...he's not sure which one is worse.

    He reaches up with his right hand, and brushes some dirt and dust off of his flack jacket absent mindedly, returning it to his side as he surveys the street. Nothing moving except the birds; damn carrion. If they burst upwards and outwards as he walks by, that's all but announcing that he's there...he just better hope that people - and zombies - aren't paying much attention to birds right now. He shakes his head, sighing; he needs to find somewhere safe to rest and recharge, maybe stock up on some provisions and work out his plan of action. He needs to get to a radio or an area that has reception for mobiles, though the latter is unlikely given that almost all networks shut down in the pandemonium. If he can find a working landline, though, maybe he can make it work.
    He adjusts the tattered, brown piece of fabric acting as a part-veil-part-cloak for his left arm, and begins to walk. He doesn't bother looking in the shops and houses he passes; by now, they'll all either be looted or locked, and the locked ones will be guarded. In his condition, he can't risk a prolonged fight. Right now, his only hope will be to make his way further into the city and find some form of communication; going out of the city would be suicide, given his limited resources and dwindling power. At the very least, maybe he'll be able to find a working section of the power grid, or at the very least a few thousand batteries to drain. Maybe a cattle prod, if he's lucky.



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    Faith Wynters
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    Re: Dead Morning, America

    Post by Faith Wynters on Mon May 28, 2012 3:48 pm

    ooc- I am so sorry. I had a trip come up that I didn't know about until the day before and I've been gone awhile. I'll be posting, just give me a moment or a day, not sure yet.



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    Faith Wynters
    The Cuppycakecreep
    The Cuppycakecreep

    Posts : 2776
    Join date : 2010-12-12
    Location : El Dorado, Arkansas

    Re: Dead Morning, America

    Post by Faith Wynters on Tue May 29, 2012 5:41 pm

    It probably wasn’t the best idea for Mira to decide that today was the day for practice. Sure, she didn’t have much to worry about inside the metal and concrete walls that surrounded the practice field, but she did have to worry. When she had gotten here almost three hours ago, only the slow ones followed her. It was easy for her to set up the pitching machine and get to hitting. Of course, her bat made a known ‘crack’ every time she struck the ball, and soon, it drew more of those damn things to her location.

    Most people would call her stupid at times like this. Most people would thing that she was insane for deciding on heading out into the danger zone just for a stupid game. The game wasn’t stupid to her, and she would need the best swing she had once she got out of this damn city. She was going to the pros baby, and she could taste it. So, yes, this was a little stupid, but she was full of idiotic schemes that unfolded in her mind. What was the fun of life if you were stuck inside all day because of these things?

    Mira’s problem wasn’t just going to be getting out of the field. No- a few bodies littered the ground around her. Some of those leaping ones were jumping the fence to get to her, and the chances of one of them jumping upon her and tearing her to bits was likely if she stood at home plate. She couldn’t see around her as well as if she was at the mound, but she didn’t bother with it. She could hear them coming by the loud screech they emitted when they saw prey. Not only did she have to worry about the jumping ones, but the larger ones were posing more and more of a threat as they pushed against the chain length fence. Yes, the poles were based in cement, but that didn’t stop them from trying to rip the chain off. She had to be vigilant if she was going to stay out there, and she always knew where the second exit was if she needed it.

    There were only about twenty lining the fence now though. The larger ones just short enough to not be able to look over the fence. If they had, they probably would have been trying to climb over, if their half-decayed arms would allow the weight on them. Mira had killed the ones that came over and now, they posed no threat. She feared that her bad would be dented by the skulls of these things, but no- they seemed to cave in at her will.

    She was still thinking over the same route home she had taken for the last few days, to meet her mother and father still in the house, fearful of their only child’s life. They knew that Mira could handle herself just fine, but there was always that chance of something happening. What happened if their beloved daughter never came home? They would be left with a constant pain and fear, tugging at them. That wouldn’t happen though, Mira was sure of that.

    She had parked the truck right outside the opposite gate. She had to make her way up the stand wall and down the ramp to the concession area to get to it. None of the infected were over there she didn’t think. Yes, the truck would get her a little bit a way, but the rest of the trek she had to make on foot, the cars lining the streets assured of that. The street that jutted in front of their house was lined with cars. Luckily, however, there was always another way to get to the house which made the walk not as long and strenuous as it could have been. The truck would be parked down the hill from their home, in a grassy area that was hid their truck by a few trees. It was a nice little place, since it was right next to the house. She could leave it there and not have to worry about anything happening to it. It wasn’t to say that the gas in the truck would take her very far after today. It was almost empty and she wasn’t going to dare going to the stations around down. Looters had set up shop in them, and shot anyone that got near, unless you had thousands of dollars to pay for the gas. People were taking advantage of the crisis just as much as they were running in fear from it. Mira wasn’t stupid though, and knew that she was never going back to a station to fill up her tank. She had barely gotten out of there bullet-hole free the last time.

    The balls had ran out on the machine and now it was time for her to retrieve them. Afterwards she would make the trek home and wait. What she was waiting for, she didn’t know. These people that thought the government was going to help us were stupid. Why would they risk more people to save a few? No—they were lucky if they all didn’t get a fire bomb dropped on their heads. Mira sighed, and began towards the yellow balls that littered the ground. The chance of her dying because of humans was more likely than a death by zombies. She didn’t want to think about that. She just wanted to get her softball bag, her balls, and leave.

    She could hear the fence shaking behind her as she walked and the moans began to grow louder. Then, another loud shriek emits from the crowd. Mira raises her head, turning to look back at the fence. There’s another one of those jumping ones out there. She continues her jog. If it jumps over the fence, then she’ll turn around and face it. Her jog turns into more of a run as the sounds increase in volume. She doesn’t want to be here when the fence collapses beneath the weight. So, with one more look around the field, Mira turns, and heads back toward the stand wall.

    ooc- Sorry about the lengthy wait. I tried to post this morning but it wouldn't let me. I had to leave for lesson and only got back just now.




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    Re: Dead Morning, America

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      Current date/time is Sun Oct 22, 2017 7:42 pm