}{Mass Hysteria}{ [CLOSED]

Soylent · Jul 30, 2016

Hello everyone, this is the official thread. Go ahead and go post your character sheets in the tab so I can approve of them. If you are interested in this zombie apocalypse RP, read the interest check here:

<a href="<___base_url___>/threads/only-the-strong-survive-another-zombie-roleplay.253899/" rel="">Detailed - Only the Strong Survive-Another Zombie Roleplay!</a>

@McMajestic @Shireling 

<div style="text-align:center;"> DO NOT POST YET </div>

<div style="text-align:center;">SETTING</div>

This RP takes place 6 months after the initial breakout. There has been no sign of life for as long as you can remember. Your goal is to establish a thriving community and find a cure to this unknown virus. Difficult, right? I will provide a map of NYC, but your characters are allowed to start off in different states. I understand that it is practically impossible to survive in a metropolitan city like New York. Just make sure they're able to make it to the state of New York (outskirts or city) sometime in the RP! It'd be nice if they all met up. Things to remember: Call the zombies "Switchers." The switchers triple their muscle mass when they turn. They are slow but fierce. They are attracted to sound. The only way to contract the disease is to be bitten anywhere on the body.

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Soylent · Aug 1, 2016

FIRST LT. ROMAN WOLFE

Location:Ithaca College Campus, 4 Hr drive to NYC. Mentions:

There was a place for them to stay. For the monsters in his head, for the monsters in the streets that clawed at every window and door. For the monsters that he eliminated back in Afghanistan. It seemed that different evil entities entered Roman's life left and right, like they had a right, like they had conquered the world. In a way, they had. Humanity had crumpled under the virus' weight; it had surrendered incredibly and shamefully easily. The switchers had a place to stay, and the human race had no choice but to let them in.

Roman Wolfe stood in the breezeway of the Ithaca College Admissions Building, looking out at the expanse of his own land he had conquered. The sun had begun to rise, illuminating one side of the college campus, sending shadows over the other. As he stood behind the glass, he recalled the wretched night that had changed his life.

It had been a rough week on the job. Really, it had been a rough two weeks. Violent crime in the city had increased in just a matter of days. The NYPD had been getting bombarded with emergency calls: "He bit my child," "My friend has been bitten by a dog. I think it has rabies," "My wife has been beating her brother lately." Roman had been sent out with a small squad to investigate the mauling of a child in Central Park at 10:00pm. When they got there, the child laid on the ground unconscious, his leg completely torn to shreds. The attacker had disappeared. Officer O'Connor had walked up to the boy and knelt down next to him, checking his pulse. Roman remembered watching the boy grow in size. He remembered watching the muscles underneath the child's bloodied flesh ripple and expand, like a balloon. He remembered the kid rising from the ground and swiping at O'Connor, knocking him down, before pouncing on the officer and sinking his teeth into his thigh. A shot rang out as the child slumped to the ground. And then O'Connor grew, and Roman understood.

The next thing Roman remembered was raiding the police department's arsenal. He only took what he needed and rushed home to his apartment, tugging a very confused mother, father, and sister into his cop car before speeding away from the city. They passed switchers without knowing what they were yet. They passed SWAT teams gunning down hoards of sick people with red eyes and missing limbs. They sped right past panicked citizens raiding stores, stray dogs, humans that hadn't been affected yet. Roman didn't stop until they reached the small town of Ithaca, four hours away from the city. His parents had not made it.

Roman sighed as the sun rose even higher over his kingdom of a college. For once in six months, he nearly felt comfortable. After clearing out the small campus of strollers, he had realized the benefits of Ithaca. For one, he could sleep in a bed, and he had an endless supply of clothes, the clothes of the deceased. Of course, he chose to take two mattresses out from a dorm room and set them up in the glass breezeway, giving him a panoramic view of the campus. The college also had a large supply of food and medical items, which the siblings had barely made a dent in. And they had a broadcast system, which used to be used by the communications majors. He was still trying to figure out how to use it.

As the colors of the sunrise dispersed into a bright blue, Roman walked over to his sleeping sister, curled up in a fetal position on the mattress. He hated to wake her, but the barriers lining the circumference of the campus needed some repairs.

"Iz." He nudged her shoulder, "Wake up."

ISABEL WOLFE

Location: Ithaca College Campus, 4 Hr drive to NYC. Mentions:

Isabel Wolfe was probably the smartest person she'd ever known. At least, according to herself. The date was December 10th, and the pre-med student sat on her bed, studying for her last final before Christmas break. Papers and books were sprawled out over the covers, and her back began to ache after hunching over for hours. Everyone else had already been let out for the holidays, but her asshole of a professor had extended the test date.

The only thing that fueled her at this hour, 11:12, was herself. "Don't give up, Izzy," she huffed, "The test is in two days." Isabel never realized how difficult it was to study when police sirens were constantly passing her apartment. She licked her lips, attempting to concentrate on the book in front of her. "Keep goi-" She jumped when her brother barged into her room, barking orders at her.

"Get a backpack and fill it with some food. I'm going to wake dad and mom."

"What's going on?"

"Do as I say, Isabel." He tossed a gun at her, which she later learned was a Heckler and Koch HK45. "Take this in case one of them comes for you."

"What the fuck?"

"Get your med kit." He left the room, calling to their parents.

In twenty minutes, they were in a car on their way to a town four hours away. And in two hours, right after they had gotten out of the car at a gas station, her parents were bitten.

"I can help them!" She rushed over to her crippled parents, her beautiful mother and father, dropping to her knees. They leaned unconscious against the car, staining the metal with their own crimson paint.

"Isabel, get the hell away from them!"

"What is wrong with you? Let me dress the wounds." Before she could touch them, two bullets were lodged in their skulls. They died in the same way the rabid attacker who had bitten them had died. They died like animals underneath the yellow lights of a gas station, at the hands of their own son.

Isabel rolled over on the mattress and looked up at her brother. "I was already awake, asshole." She had never been able to sleep in the daylight, and the breezeway ensured that she woke exactly when first rays of sunlight filtered through the glass.

"We have some more repairs to do." Isabel groaned at his words, smothering a pillow in her face.

"Can we have breakfast first?" The pillow muffled her words, and Roman smiled softly as he prepared two MREs for them.

"These things served me well in Afghanistan," he mused, trying to lift his sister's spirits.

"I just like how they cook themselves." She sat up and watched as Roman prepared the bag, causing a small chemical reaction that would cook the food. The process never got tiring to observe. Or perhaps she just liked to admire the kindness of her brother, the one person who always put her safety first. She looked at his police gear. He always wore it at night, and she wondered if he ever got hot.

"These ones do. Others require boiled water." They ate and prepared for the day in silence, the duty of the future nagging at them.

"Ready, Iz?" They were decked out in protective gear, their weapons drawn.

"Yep."

YOU MAY START NOW FAM

Shireling · Aug 1, 2016

Queens, New York City

While the sun rose in Ithaca, it rose just as mercifully for Peter Yablonski in Queens. Tired from a sleepless night, the haggard police detective climbed up a small ladder to reach the pilot box of the boat he had been staying in moored in the eb of the River. From there, he could see the docks in Queens behind him and the ghostlike waterfront of Manhattan before him. Small fires rose up from between the buildings, but these were most likely burning buildings or cars, as most of the people with wits enough to start fires had left the city. Peter had watched the agonizing transformation of his hometown, the world's livliest metropolis, to a crypt seemingly in slow motion. Days had stretched on for weeks. He wished that he could wake up from what had been a horrible nightmare, but he had accepted by now that this was reality and he would have to deal with it.

The lonely detective started the day, as he always did, with a fresh pot of coffee and a clean shave. Whoever had owned this boat before Peter had moved in was missing a sweet ride. Too bad it had been siphoned for gasoline or Peter would've taken it downriver, maybe to some island somewhere where he could be safe. Where he could sleep for once.

His morning routine taken care of, he went again to the pilot box to do his customary radio check. The boat was equipped with a long-range emergency radio, but he had only recently learned to change the channel and frequency so he might be heard by anyone with a Hamm radio, or perhaps even a regular FM if he configured it to the right band. He always said the same thing on all channels.

"If you're out there, in the New York area, good morning."

He repeated the same message at night before he fitfully attempted to sleep, only changing the morning to "night." It had been two months since he had talked to a human being and it was beginning to take its toll. He needed someone, anyone, to talk to.

Peter sank down with his back against the steering terminal and laid his head in his folded arms, tiredly leaning back and hoping for some sleep to take him soon to make up for the lack of sleep the night before.

Pseudo-nim · Aug 1, 2016

There was blood on his hands, tainted by both the living and the dead. It was a stain he bared when he made those first steps into the medical field. They were meant to save lives, to heal and mend the wounded. Bobby swore the Hippocratic oath alongside his fellow students, to never discriminate and help those in need. Bestowed with knowledge to defy death and give others a second chance, he turned his back on those values. It was all in the name of survival.

The hands that softly caressed a sleeping child now relentlessly tore through flesh, living and dead, with detached interest. Knowledge that was meant for the sake of others was selfishly hoarded in order to further his chances of survival. It was through the several encounters of other survivors did this mentality grow. The realization that it was only to benefit those close to a group and that strangers were merely trying to benefit themselves. Perhaps it could be why Bobby chose the lonesome route. While he did see the safety in numbers, there was always the possibility of betrayal to occur when he least expects it.

These recollections were cut short by the orange sunrise peeking through the window of his current living quarters, a small apartment room near the top floor of one of Chinatown's many closely placed buildings, violently ransacked for food and water before being used as his resting place. It would be another day of running and scavenging the buildings for food, but considering the lack of strollers and people in the area, he was free to conserve his energy and take it slow. The last thing he needed was to be out of breathe in case something bad happens. The strollers were bad, actual humans were worse.

Hoisting the pack, Bobby walked out of the room and towards the rooftop with weapon in hand. The earlier parts of day would be nice and cool. Hopefully he can find food before the temperature gets too high.

DreamsAreForDreamers · Aug 1, 2016

Rena Frost - Location: Binghamton, New York. 3 and half hours from NYC - Mentions: Nope: no slide no slide no slide no slide no slide

Rena was trying sleep in the stolen car again. She was tired from hi-jacking a car and killing a few switchers while turning on that car. She and her sister had decided to leave NYC and go into the state of New York. As she was sad about leaving the only home they had ever had, she knew she had to get out of the city since it was overrun with switchers. She didn't need her little sister getting hurt although that would be hard to do. Her sister Luna, was made of stone ever since 5 months ago when they had to end their parent's lives. She, herself remember the screams and the blood like it were yesterday but Rena was worried about her. She barely talked anymore and was always thinking about something.

Rena didn't know how to snap her out of it. Her sister who used to laugh at her jokes wasn't there anymore. She sighs getting up looking to the driver side as Luna was just staring through the window. Luna also never slept anymore. She was always up thinking "Hey Lun, I can take over driving if you want to, I mean it's no problem and you can get some sleep." Her sister snapped out of her daydream and sighs saying "I'm good Ren....I'm thinking about crashing a college. They should have some supplies that we can stock up on and we can sleep there for the night too. Someone I know used to go there so I know where it is." and that was all she said before turning back on the road. Rena sighs again and sees the sign to the college heading in front of them.

She grabbed her colt and makes sure it's loaded so she can be prepared if there's anything or anyone at this college. The humans they had gotten to know....let's just say they weren't human anymore. Another reason to be glad about leaving NYC. No more humans who are slowing, but surely turning into what they are fighting. Monsters.

no slide no slide

DeadnotSleeping · Aug 1, 2016

Louis Colberton

1472 Bergen St. in the Crown Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn (FDNY Rescue 2nd headquarters)

The young man woke up as he fell asleep; wrapped in a bunch of blankets still smelling from fire and ash, sitting next to a chimney, leaning on the cold bricks. His teeth were still clattering; he knew it was a small wonder he didn’t get hypothermia. The roof wasn’t exactly leeward; still, he couldn’t make himself to stay in the rooms.

Once this rescue station served as home away from home for the entire rescue company. Now he only shared it with rats and pigeons, those repulsive citizens of New York. Not a living soul.

It was strange. The people needed the most were the first to fall, usually. After all, his company responded to emergencies without any suspicion that those days almost half a year ago will be different from before. Louis remembered the shock when he saw a freshly rescued woman biting the doctor who tried to help her. It was strange, but they didn’t think of anything at first, his unit was occupied by trying to dissolve the leaking chemicals from the tanker. Then it happened, and the woman started to change and blow up thrice her (already massive) size. Then the doctor himself started screaming…

Louis shuddered, jerking entirely awake. He slipped out one arm and reached for his canteen, sipping a bit from the cold water. It felt vile, maybe because of the cleaner drops. He didn’t trust the water here, way too many ways to contaminate it…

Well. The officer wiggled out of his cocoon, quickly and thoroughly warming up his muscles. He felt cold, even if most likely the real weather was pretty normal for a June dawn – a bit cool yet but slowly growing hot. Maybe he will cook some tea; he hadn’t looted all rooms and kitchens yet. Even after this long time, there must be a box of tea leaves somewhere…

He was lucky. Even if it was only a cheap and smelly box of bergamot tea, he found it, and the water tank still contained some which he cleared beforehand. He quickly reconstructed the rudimentary fireplace, taking care to lead the smoke into several small creaks to dissolve. Even if the smoke could signal to another group of survivors that he is here, he shuddered from the idea. A few months before, a group managed to find him. It was… a most unpleasant experience, leaving him without most of his supplies and with sore body, and a few broken ribs which took forever to heal… he still wanted company. It is just that he wanted to meet in a more controlled environment, especially since he only had a knife.

While the water warmed up, he checked on the equipment. Sadly, the looters took most of the usable things, leaving him with broken radios which failed to magically repair themselves overnight, again. He took apart most and tried to fix them, but several crucial parts were crushed in all of the handheld ones. Louis also deeply hated the fact that the firefighters themselves or later looters took almost everything useful, only leaving the most well-hidden supplies at first. Which the other group took anyway from him.

The CMS officer sighed, and pulled the water off the fire. Most of it went to a reasonably clean jug with a handful of tea bags and some sweetener tablets, and a small part to a mug, with a small packet of rolled oats. It was quite a luxurious breakfast now, last day he found a few intact packets in a burn out health shop. He still hated the taste.

Louis finished the oats with the tea, and carefully checked on his overcoat and pants. He strengthened every piece with duct tape, and he also wore gloves, with a light firefighter’s helmet – he took it from the unit exhibition, it was old, but still usable. The young man sighed, putting on all of his equipment again.

Time to go and make the signals…

He took the tea in a bottle with him, enjoying the warmth in his pocket, the morning sun’s heat was not enough for him to dispel the freezing feeling. He could never understand how people could say this city is hot; he was always cold. Even the vigorous exercise of walking while trying not to attract switchers didn’t make him sweat. At least this meant his hands weren’t slippery under the gloves as he scaled the fire ladder on the side of a tall building. It was a commercial office building before, and only fifty stories tall; still, Louis had to take breaks when climbing. His stamina was still great but his strength was not ideal anymore… he scaled the fire steps in three etapes.

He sighed when he reached the top, looking around in the morning city. The city that never sleeps…

…it is just dead. The CMS officer sighed, and knelt down next to the bonfire, lighting it up with ease. He always prepared it beforehand. He also checked on the mirrors, which were set up to reflect sunshine to several places. If the switchers were not so sensitive to noise he would have set up a sound signal, too, but without that, smoke and light were the safest bet.

Louis retreated to the small, well-hidden shelter, to keep a lookout. He was still hoping that someone would recognize the signals…

Elephantom · Aug 1, 2016

Pete Macon

This was just another normal, sane day, as he would always put it. Much to his grievance, living in this wonderfully boorish land, was getting more and more of a chore, a nasty, repetitive chore. Pete could already predict his delirium, or if you're feeling frank, death by boredom, and insanity. The latter was something he wouldn't exactly love to experience, or maybe he was already a loony? The most worst thing about insanity, is that you don't realize you're a maniac, and you probably never will. However, he could still appreciate the serenity, but at the same time, he could also feel the growing hatred for it. The usual NY traffic was absent, and whether he liked it or not, everything did seem a bit odd without it.

Despite the weather being rather hot, Pete still felt quite cold, to the point of getting quite an array if goosebumps. It was probably because he was sleeping on the damp concrete floor, right on the floor, or maybe because he was having strange hallucinations. Either way, both of them didn't fare well for Pete, nor did they enthuse him. The only thing that seemed to lift Pete's mood was alcohol, that was just about it. Unfortunately, daily raids to the bar just got more lessened, precisely because of a switcher infestation over there.

Slow motherfuckers

That was, honestly, the only comment he ever made about the switchers, and that will probably be the only thing he'll ever say of them.

He straightened his curled up position, which he used in an attempt to sleep properly, although, poorly would be a better term here, yet it wasn't something he would aim to do. He was getting increasingly compelled by his lingering langour to accept the weariness he suffered from currently, and succumb to sleep, yet he was also plagued by his self-preservation instincts and caution, to remain awake, unfazed and mobile. The latter, he doubted.

Right, you're doubting yourself today. Way to go, Pete.

So stale of a position he was in, that his own mind now reeked of sarcasm. He responded with nothing but a single unenthusiastic grunt, before getting up from the floor. This movement was instantly followed by the distinct sound of bones crunching.

He really was stiff. No joking.

Now, if this was like any other day, he'd really just look at the rats for enjoyment. But, he was somewhat stricken with a sense of wanderlust. He should go about sightseeing some bit, might be refreshing. The switchers were like NY pedestrians, anyway. Brain dead, and invested in mundane subjects. Really aren't that much of a difference, except for the stupid muscle mass, and cannibalism. The latter irked him as much as the former. Both of them were scientifically questionable matters. How are they moving after death? How are they muscular when they're supposed to get some sweet, sweet rigor mortis?

These are questions that'll probably remain forever, without any answers. The genius in him died a long time ago, and he only hoped to make it stay that way. Thinking can be deadly, or to him, it appeared that way.

He grabbed his knapsack, hastily slinging it over on his shoulder, rudimentary at its best. Each movement was followed by a headache. Migraine, he supposed. The building was formerly residing in was an old two-storey clinic. Not really that big, but actually quite secluded. Switcher visits are infrequent.

His exit from the building was made with haste, followed by a dainty, triumphant smile at having trumped the burdensome feel of laziness, only to be attacked by glaring stare of the sun.

He could feel the heat burrowing through his skin, and even under a thin windbreaker, and a t-shirt, he still couldn't find the enthusiasm deep inside him, to appreciate the sun. He always did like coldness better than sweating to a gloriously warm death.

Look at the sun, kid. Bask under its all-seeing power.

Pete didn't find the need to respond to his own mind. However, as luck would have it, a very particular building intrigued him, or to he more precise, the fact that there was smoke coming from the rooftop, or that there was some light sources. Obviously the creation of a human, and the thought of that actually soothed the mind of Pete, who was always a needlessly paranoid man.

Gladness flooded his mind, as he felt, that he could experience sanity again.

Wholesome.

Although, he could just as well use the stairs, there's a slight chance that they might be filled with various booby-traps. Analysing the building, he soon spotted a fire escape. Opportunistic entrance, was what it represented. Mustering up all his energy, he proceeded towards it, before attempting to start climbing the ladder.

Easy as pie.

Nevertheless, it was, indeed, just as easy as eating a single piece of pie, however, that was just climbing the first steps. It would soon move on to be nightmarish at its best.

It was a gruelling duration of time, which were all spent climbing the eternal series of stairs. Sweat steadily streamed down his moist forehead, as his eyebrows furrowed intensely.

He eventually reached the top, exhausted and tired, as he stepped on the dry, grainy rooftop. Still quite annoyed by the height of the building. He fervently hoped that the fruit of his effort, would be worth his time.

Kloudy · Aug 1, 2016

"Well then, this is quite the shit-hole I've found myself in, huh?"

Arkus now found himself standing in the doorway of a large chemists. Odd wires trailed across the room, over doorways, from the ceiling to the wall, often at head, waist or leg height. He looked closely at the points of contact that each had with the room. Each one trailed up and across the ceiling to the back of the room, where the metallic strings were all attached to a steel rod protruding from a generator. That meant that this was once or is a hideout for someone, someone who clearly had a great knowledge for trapping and electronics, and Arkus was keen to meet such a person.

Analysing the wires, he realised they had a distinct pattern about them, nothing a Switcher could ever solve, but easily a matter of self-awareness for one such as the boy. He walked forward, ducking, stepping over, sidestepping and even rolling under wires to get across. They may not be active still, indeed the generator didn't appear to be on, but Arkus knew that his new generation of Silent Power Modules had already reached America. He'd had a hand in inventing it, but it always seemed that others were put on the inventor's label, and he was just a helper. No matter. If people could read accurately, they would soon find most great inventions of this generation were often connected to The Genesis in some manner of speaking.

Soon he'd reached the generator as he jumped over the counter. Fortunately, it was an SPM, and so it wouldn't attract attention if it were to be activated. Unfortunately, it was not and it had long since run out of fuel. He sighed. This whole set up would have been so convenient for Arkus had it all just have been laid out for him to solve. That's what he liked about puzzles; everything he needed was right in front of him, he just had to piece it all together.

"Now if only people could realise how effective this would be if they could supply my puzzle. Incorrigibly selfish fools, just like that time..."

The first outbreak. Arkus had been right there when it happened. The first large group of Switchers to attack a densely populated area, located in the heart of New York. It was a killing blow for both the people there and the rest of the city. They boy had been high in an office building, playing some kind of game on his handheld when screams erupted from the streets below. He looked down from the window to see an army of ravenous maniacs storming the road, dragging people from cars and sinking teeth into pedestrians. And by the hour more and more turned as the numbers grew. Arkus decided against leaving just now, as the manager of the office had suggested. To exit into all that madness would be an irrevocable mistake, as they wouldn't be able to escape such an extensively growing horde such as that. Still, they left despite Arkus's directions and orders, taking the back door to the opposite street behind the building. Arkus looked down in disdain, obviously knowing there were more Switchers on that side too, but failed to warn the office workers as they attempted to flee and were hunted down immediately.

As of then, he had decided that until he could find people of actual intelligence, one brain was undeniably better than many, as was his usual logic. That included his moto that people are stupid, but a person is smart, referring to how groups of people will often make mistakes or fall victim to uneducated democracy. Even now, he shuddered at the thought of such a system, letting those less intelligent than you to dictate everyone's actions. Leaders became leaders because of their intellect, not because they wanted to veto their deciding rights. He had hoped to meet people who shared this view of efficient command, but still has yet to find someone of this calibre, which was fair. Those in the UK and the USA clung to the democracy like a security blanket, hoping for strength in numbers. That was only true if those present had a hive-mind-like mentality.

He sighed once more, rummaging about the back of the chemists. It seems this was a previous hideout, but the owner was nowhere to be found. There was, however, an open window with bloodied hand prints over it. A message was written on the wall next to it, "I've been bitten. It's been quarter of an hour and I feel weak. I don't have long, you who reads this, take my possessions. I won't be needing them. Live on through my knowledge, I hope I don't see you on the flip side." Arkus looked out of the window. There was indeed a body with crusted blood pooled far down onto the street. He wasn't religious, but he put his hands together and gave an almost ceremonious sentiment of thanks to the now hopefully deceased man. He was smart, leaving the door unlocked, giving his things to those who needed it. If there was a God, waste was a sin, inefficiency was a sin and ignorance was a sin. This man would likely have to gone to the long-fabled heaven, if such a place did exist. It was unlikely it did, but now was not the time to consider possible divinity.

Of course, the chemists Arkus was in is located near the NYC & Co Information Centre, high above ground in one of the neighbouring commercial skyscrapers. The boy had been travelling about the city in search of clues to the cause of the infection, as well as continuing his ever-present search for all knowledge in general, noting down everything he'd learnt onto his notepad, despite his photographic memory. Now he'd found himself exploring the tall building in the centre of the city, not too far from where he'd started out during the first outbreak. He'd come almost full-circle.

The door leading to the back room where Arkus now was had steel bars fitted across it with a few heavy padlocks and bolts. The man had obviously come prepared. A few weapons, even a rifle with ammo and some MRE's and canned goods. There was no water except some stagnant mess from the cooling tank in the corner. That was fine, it could be converted to drinkable liquids. It seemed Arkus had lucked out, but for how long? The food and water wouldn't last forever and his way out was blocked. It seemed the survivor had covered the entrances to the building too. Explosives or sorts had been placed on tripwires, which had been triggered soon after Arkus had made it halfway up the building, scavenging. The exits had probably either collapsed or were swarmed with Switchers. How troublesome.

There was a radio on the counter, along with a deck chair for some reason. Arkus sat in it, picking up the radio. Some pieces were loose or partially damaged. It was fine, it seemed easily fixable in theory to Arkus. He'd read many mechanic repair books and guides, the simple radio was an easy enough task for a novice repairman, let alone a super-genius such as himself. He set to work fiddling with it as Switchers moaned and shuffled about on the ground floor, most likely making their way up to him.

Shireling · Aug 1, 2016

Queens

Peter awoke to a sky that had not changed in brightness or intensity since he first laid his head down, meaning that if he had napped, he hadn't been doing it long.

The East River was rising along its bank these days, flooding some of the lower lying islands of the estuary. Peter went down and looked at the nautical map that was displayed in the main cabin belowdecks as he was prone to do and tried to decipher the cryptic series of lines that curved all around and terminated occasionally into small round areas. He could tell it was a map of the currents, but he couldn't figure out just where he laid on the map, or where there would be any suitable islands. If he couldn't find gasoline for the boat, it was a futile attempt to try and relocate to an island. Besides, his supplies were running low. He was down to a satchel full of Vienna sausages, peanuts, and one treasured box of Cracker Jacks. They reminded him of when he would go enjoy a Yankee game, cliche enough. Pete loved baseball.

Thinking he might get lucky, Peter walked very quietly across the gangplank armed with his Winchester and a machete he had scavenged from a dead survivor. Was he really a survivor then? Ha! Pete went first to get a good vantage point, which involved climbing a nearby dock crane, and get his bearings. The marina he was in was designed for small cargo boats or personal small yachts, so it wasn't too terribly big. There were bodies from where he had picked off some strollers, but other than that the dock was devoid of all signs of life. He looked over at a small boat on the other side of the dock, burning. He had actually done that, put a noise machine inside to attract the switchers then kicked the gangplank and tossed a Molotov cocktail inside. It was his last bottle of alcohol, which he would need for cleaning wounds, but the sound of their pained screams was like music to his ears. Kinda. Part of him liked it, anyways. The hull of the boat was still burning, but not for long.

Scanning the area beyond the gated walls, he could see only the occasional switcher as most had been lured in with his trap, and also a stroller or two. Otherwise, dead. He had raided every convenience store in the area, but turned up nothing. He looked towards Flushing in the east and Brooklyn in the west, both seemed utterly devoid of life save for a puff of smoke rising up in Brooklyn, probably some old smouldering building.

He turned his attention next towards the dock itself. He had raided the guard post for ammunition for his .38 special, and .44 ammunition for his Winchester, as well as the guards' handguns, but he didn't like the model they carried so he merely took them and the ammunition clips to perhaps barter at some point.

On the other side of the dock, the office had been thoroughly searched and turned up very little save a jar of mayonnaise and some leftover Chinese. Pete ate the Chinese, but what was he supposed to do with a jar of mayonaise?

Then that was the dock. He didn't even consider the wait. I'm surrounded by cargo containers.

It was true. Wooden crates, plastic barrels, and small metal shipping containers littered the area. He had never thought to check them. Peter cursed his shortsightedness and slid down the ladder to begin the search.

One crate turned up bootleg Russian porn tapes, which he had no use for. Even if he wanted them, who has a fucking VCR these days?

The rest mostly turned up junk, but some of it useable. He found a tub of baseballs, keeping one. A guitar along with various other personal items, none of which he could use. The crates turned up more useful materials, including some wool blankets, a nice overcoat that was lamentably too small for his muscular frame, some kerosene in plastic barrels, useful for lamps. Another crate contained... Dear god, the rotting remains of immigrants that had been trafficked to New York then forgotten during the outbreak. Peter threw the door closed, sealed it, and then became violently sick. That was a sight even he wasn't prepared for.

Another crate, turned up nadda. He was about to give up searching the docks when he got around to the four plastic barrels that were sitting next to the gangplank of his boat. He opened the lid and looked in. Some unknown liquid was sitting inside. He put his nose to the opening and smelled. The acrid smell of stale gasoline wafted up to his nostrils.

Peter did a silent but terribly excited dance as he had finally found his ticket to the big leagues. Two of these fifty gallon drums should fill up the boat, leaving two to run on. He could go to Florida! Well, probably not that far, but far enough to get the hell out of New York. Then again, did he really want to leave? This was his home after all. He had fought so hard to keep it, it only seemed right to die in it. These were questions for when he had gassed the boat.

Filling the boat with fuel proved exceedingly difficult, as Peter wasn't actually strong enough to lift the drums. Thus he undertook a painstaking process of transferring the gasoline into a washed-out Clorox bottle to fill it up until the drums were down to such an extent he could lift them and pour them out.

With the boat gassed and the other two barrels of fuel stowed on board, Peter again boarded the boat and took up the gangplank. If this worked, he could be safe for the forseable future in the open ocean. Safe, it was an alien concept. He had felt secure in the boat while it was docked, but never truly safe.

But what of the city? Would he go back on his promise to himself and leave? He glanced up at the towering forms of the Empire State Building and the New World Trade Center and muttered softly, "I'll be back." Whether it was true or not, even Pete didn't know.

The moment of truth. Peter held the key in his right hand, stuck it in the ignition, and listened to it cough and sputter. This better work. Finally, after a nerve-racking ten seconds or so, the boat roared into life. Pete smiled to himself and took the hook off the emergency radio.

"This is Captain Pete Yablonski, aboard the Noisy Skipper making a haul out of the East River, and I just wanna say, fuck all you undead sons of bitches!"

The detective reached up and laid on the horn, causing dozens of switchers to come to the dock and swipe weakly at the air in front of the quickly retreating boat. Peter had never driven a boat, but it had an accelerator, a brake, a gear switch, and a steering wheel, what more was needed? As the boat made good speed down the East River he raised his fist in triumph. He was leaving New York and he was leaving in style.

McMajestic · Aug 1, 2016

Harlow had been wandering for days, a meaningless trek in her wake holding no true purpose other than to continue. Though she still didn't know what she was continuing for. Her parents and her brothers were gone. Johnathon had turned, and she was all alone. It was oddly comforting though, with nobody around to breathe her air, to poke or prod at her body or thoughts. It was oddly... peaceful. However all good things come to an end and after four days on aimless steps forward and sipping from her canteen, she found herself beginning to hallucinate.

The heat bore down on her like an overprotective mother and it seemed that her water evaporated before she could enough in her mouth to quench her thirst. Her tongue was dry and swollen, her lips chapped, cracked, and bleeding, the dirt beneath her nails giving her insomnia, and her eyes were bloodshot from a small pollin allergy and her sweat stuck her clothes to her body. She wasn't comfortable. This wasn't peaceful. And as she noticed a blurred image sucking the greens out of the trees and grays out of the bark to become a complete creature she found herself afraid.

Was it a switcher? or worse... a person? But it was neither. It was simply a dog, and the closer Harlow got to the blurry animal, the safer she felt. This could be her next meal. She was quite hungry and she hadn't had proper meat in days. This is what she knew after all. Eat the animals, use their fur for warmth and their bones for weapons. It was what she had been taught.

As the sun continued to pour it's misery rays onto her exposed arms and face, she threw her spear sloppily towards the creature and in the blink of an eye it was twenty feet away yet its position hadn't moved a bit. She squinted, and suddenly the dog became more of a wolf with it's low prowl and guttural snarl. She edged forward, holding her spear towards the beast, prodding at the air in between them. Suddenly, the creature lunged with a ferocious bark and she screamed out of pure fright, falling back against something.

She bounced off the barrier she had knocked into and collapsed on the dirt earth as the wolf seemingly disappeared. Her scream attracted switchers nearby and the slow undead began to creep towards the sound as she struggled to stand but found herself unable. She opened her mouth to speak, to call to some God that she was taught to believe in, but no words came out of her aching vocal chords, and slowly, ever so slowly, she drifted off as death moved towards her like an old friend.

Location: Ithaca, New York

Status: Horribly dehydrated and severely sunburnt

Soylent · Aug 1, 2016

FIRST LT. ROMAN WOLFE

Location:Ithaca College Campus, 4 Hr drive to NYC. Mentions:

?

The barrier had been a bitch to build - but it had saved their lives numerous times, so Roman thought it worthy. When the two finally settled in at Ithaca College, they set straight to work. To begin with, they used wood from the theatre department's set shop and made sturdy stakes, 10 feet long each. Roman cut, Isabel carved. She carved deep ridges into both sides of each stake, outlining spaces where the ends of metal rods would fit. It took a month to dig deep holes and stick the sharp poles upright in the ground. Isabel kept watch as Roman heaved the hulking wood against his shoulder and thrusted the sharp end into the dirt, trembling against its weight. It took a whole month just to get the frame of the fence done, and Roman had gotten enough splinters to last a year.

The next month was filled with collecting enough metal for the barricade. Roman accumulated metal here and there, taking apart theatre props and using trays from the dining halls. Isabel hit the jackpot when she was exploring the Music Department, finding hundreds of music stands. It took a couple of weeks to melt down all the metal they had found, mold them into bars, and fit them between the stakes.

By the time four months rolled around, they had a massive barrier lining the edges of the campus. Roman secured it in place with leftover metal stakes, bracing them against the wall at a slant so if switchers pressed against the barrier, it would hold strong.

The siblings had been finishing off the construction of a watch tower when an exceptionally fierce switcher loosened some of the rods in the North side of the barrier. It had spotted them on top of the wooden tower as they debated whether or not to add a roof, and made its way to the stronghold, lashing fiercely at the metal rods. That's where they were heading now, their bodies already shining from perspiration under the dry morning rays.

"Keep watch in the tower. This should be a quick fix."

ISABEL WOLFE

Location: Ithaca College Campus, 4 Hr drive to NYC. Mentions:

@McMajestic

?

Isabel panted as they passed the Fine Arts building, her soiled shirt sticking to her back underneath the backpack. Before the apocalypse she had relied wholeheartedly on her innate quick metabolism, her genes keeping her long and lanky. In just six months the "end of humanity" had forced her to sprint long and short distances, lift heavy materials, climb to dangerous heights, and exert her body in ways she'd never imagined she would. Even Isabel noticed the definition beginning to line her biceps and triceps, upper back, and stomach. Despite her swift change in muscular structure, she still found it hard to complete demanding tasks. Like walking to the other side of campus.

She complied to her brothers wishes and scaled the tower, plopping herself down on the warm wood, heated by the sun. They should have put a damn roof on it. Isabel had been observing the dark woods while Roman worked on the fence below her for twenty minutes when she heard a scream. Suddenly a girl appeared from the trees and collapsed against the barrier, two switchers tromping towards her. Isabel stood up, pulling her firearm loose from her waistband, and flicked the safety off.

"Roman! There's a girl and two switchers on the other side." Isabel managed to drop one of the switchers with a silenced shot, but she couldn't get a clean view of the other ones head. "I can't get the other one," she called down, moving around the tower, trying to get a better angle.

"Cover me," he answered, slipping through the nearest exit with a metal rod gripped in his hand. He didn't want to risk attracting any more strollers.

Roman raced along the side of the barrier until he came across the young stranger, lying in the dirt as a massive stroller drew nearer and nearer. With a guttural grunt, Roman intercepted the stroller's path and drove the rod through its eye, growling as the monster clawed a deep gash into his left forearm. After a short struggle, its knees buckled and the Lieutenant shoved it away, leaving the rod in its skull.

Isabel watched as he turned to the stranger on the ground and aggressively lifted her off of the ground by the shirt collar, some of the blood from his forearm leaking onto her. Iz winced, feeling sympathetic for the girl. Now she'd have to face her brother's wrath, which was relentless.

"What the hell were you thinking, screaming like that?" He berated the girl as he pressed her against the barrier, examining her for any bites.

McMajestic · Aug 1, 2016

Harlow had been drifting in and out of consciousness, her gaze transfixed upon the spot the wolf had disappeared to. She watched the desolate ground, waiting for a footstep or a deliberate growl to be the last thing she heard before teeth sank around her neck and ripped her jugular out. All animals struck to kill. Anything less would be ignorance, but then again wasn't ignorance bliss? Harlow wished she could live in bliss instead of in the tragic nightmare of reality, of death, of the uncertainty of a single breath.

She weakly crept her arm out from underneath her body, her fingers pressing into the dry soil and clawing at it, as if attempting to grab hold of the earth, to have a hand to hold onto when death found her. Closer, closer, it came and she felt tears swarm her eyes as the groans grew louder and the shuffled steps echoed towards her ears rather than away from them. Papa had always told her not to cry, not to be weak when the rest of the world was being strong. Natural selection got a hold of the weak ones. There was no mercy in the twisted game of life and so there would be no mercy in death either.

"Johnny..." she whispered, the single word a healing agent to her mind yet her body was weak, broken, destroyed. There was no more forward or continue. There was only lay down and die. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the wolf pounce on her. She wanted to be a surprise. She hated surprises but she hated death as well. Perhaps they were the same thing, in a way. She had never gotten a good surprise and death was not good.

Noises crept up around her. The pitter-patter of footsteps, the sound of death right before her ears, the inevitable movement of something coming her way. For a single moment, time was frozen and all she could think about was a dark blotch in her childhood- the first time she had ever killed an animal. Her father had told her that animals were meant to be eaten, but her science textbooks classified humans as animals. She wasn't allowed to read those books, but her older brothers did frequently, and told her all the horrifying truths they learned.

"Just an animal." her voice was weak, perhaps inaudible, as she was yanked upwards. The wolf was here. It had come to eat. She was but an animal, and as such she was meant to be eaten. She kept her eyes closed and thought a prayer, that perhaps on the other side of life was a death not so tragic. But then she heard muffled yelling, and realized that the wolf was attempting to communicate.

Her eyes open as she looked at the wolf, at his dark eyes and dark hair, at the scowl on his face, at his sharp teeth closing in on her neck- no, no wait. This wolf was no wolf, but rather a human- the terrifying alternative. He growled at her like a beast, treated her like a rag doll, like something beneath him. Perhaps he was a wolf then, for they were strong creatures who led and never followed.

Although a human wolf, a much nastier breed, and as her exhausted mind took this man-wolf in, she felt herself begin to panic. her breathing hitched and grew shallow as she went limp, truly a prey about to be destroyed by her predator. Silent tears began to stream down her face and she forgot how to breathe as easily as a child forgets their bedtime. Suddenly, there was no life. This man-wolf was death, he was sucking her soul away. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe, she could only fight. She could only wait for the inevitable light that would claim her as she walked with death, away from her body and away from this horrifying man wolf who was drinking her life away.

Location: Itacha College Campus

Status: Having a panic attack, severely sunburnt and dehydrated

Tags: @Soylent

DeadnotSleeping · Aug 1, 2016

God this was high.

Chie had to stop and actually sit down on the stairs, staring up at the seemingly endless stairway. He was panting for breath already, and although he usually liked warm weather, this heat was not helping.

The man looked down, trying to measure up how many levels did he scale already. Maybe twelve – which means there is still eight more before the roof. Hopefully, it won’t be locked, or it would be easy to open… the door leading to the staircase was open, though, so Chie had to check every turn beforehand. He had his axe strapped to his backpack, within reach, but he didn’t feel any power to wield it right now. He was tired, he couldn’t sleep last night…

…maybe if the roof is clean and the water tank actually contains clear water he will be able to sleep a bit there. He simply couldn’t rest without a light, and last night, the solar-powered battery somehow run out more quickly. Yes, most likely, that would be the best; making sure he is safe, obtain water (he was down to his last pouch), set out the charger to the sun and sleep a bit.

If he reaches the top.

The man stood up, grabbing the railing. He was hoping quietly that no switcher would be on the upper levels, either. Even he, with an almost completely destroyed sense of smell, could detect the death all around him. In the lobby, he found more bodies than he would prefer, and the worst (that even made him throw up) was the infant in the baby carriage, body triple of the usual size, and head smashed by something blunt. Someone might have been there before him. Most likely, several people, judging by the bloody boot prints, which littered the corridors and stairs, but maybe they only emptied the levels’ water tanks. People usually forgot about the rain cisterns on the top of the older buildings.

Chie sighed, and touching his inner pocket, dropped the flag and headed up the stairs again. It was difficult, he kept getting lightheaded, but he was moving with a bit more determination now. He wanted to stay alive. He wanted to find out if anybody else was alive, and maybe help them.

The man was smiling, bitterly. He was left behind when the soldiers who collected the patients from the hospital moved on, with another guy they deemed dying. The old man really passed next dawn, he got a rare gift in these days; his death was natural. Chie lived, even though he looked like a monster, but the supplies one of the unit left behind helped to survive the fever and lasted for a few weeks until he was able to move around and loot more. Thankfully, he was trained for this, and was able to avoid or slay the switchers he met, purely by luck. Well, and maybe because of his experience, even if he realized quickly his strength was lacking. Before the injuries, twenty stories wouldn’t reduce him into a trembling mess… Well, something must have been given up for staying alive.

Seven. Six. Five. Only his soft footsteps echoed slightly in the emptiness and silence of the building. On the upper levels, not even flies zoomed anymore. Maybe people got evacuated from the top first…

…it was scary how fast the vast city’s mass of people was reduced into shambling messes or bloody heaps on the streets. Chie always thought the firefighters, police and military was prepared better. Maybe they were, and most of the people was simply evacuated; he never found out, when he was rescued he was delirious, and even when they left him in the barricaded building he could barely comprehend his environment. He only puzzled together what might have happened later, prowling the ghost city’s streets, trying to avoid the hulking switchers, from the wind-gathered newspapers. He still couldn’t understand how that might had happened, but it happened nonetheless, and in the last few months he slowly grew accustomed to the idea.

The idea of loss and grief. He knew that most likely all of his beloved was dead or worse by this time – or hopefully, alive and well, only far, far away. Even if he would have any idea where they are, he would never see them again…

…most likely, Ida wouldn’t want to see him now. She couldn’t bring herself to visit him, and reasonably stated that she wouldn’t let Francine to see him until the surgeries actually had results, too. But Chie still missed her daughter singing to him over the phone, or just talking to his ex-wife. Or sitting with Tim. He was so grateful that the other man didn’t leave him after the accident, no matter how monstrous it was, or how mean Chie was to him, bitter from the pain and horror…

He hoped all of them was alive and well. Maybe even together somewhere, they were on surprisingly good terms…

The man sighed as he reached the door leading to the roof. It was locked. No scratches. No blood. Not even footprints since a story.

Well…

Chie pulled out the multitool from his belt and started working on the lock, carefully so he wouldn’t damage it. Maybe he would be forced to use it later…

Kloudy · Aug 1, 2016

When Arkus had looked out of the window from his skyscraper, he'd noticed several plumes of smoke dotted around the city. Most were burnt out cars or homes and not much else of interest. However, one such home, nearer to the coast, had a much more distinct and controlled cloud of grey. He squinted, it appeared like someone had built a type of bonfire, perhaps as a signal. From across the distance, Arkus raised an eyebrow at it questioningly. It was a bold move, especially considering the amount of bandits in the area right now. The people of NYC were nowhere near as kind and compassionate as those in the UK, although maybe he was a living contradiction of that. Whatever, he was bored right now, so Arkus decided he would draw some attention to himself too.

Rummaging around the dead survivor's supplies, he found a flare gun. He pointed it out of the window towards the general direction of the bonfire and fired, sending a bright red flare soaring across several streets before dying out. Perhaps someone will have seen it and gravitate towards his building. He chuckled softly for a moment, 'His building'. It was hardly his at all, he was trapped in it for one and it was unsecured as well. Thankfully there were no Switchers or Strollers among the top floors, but he imagined they'd probably have penetrated at least the first 20 floors. Walking to the 51st via the stairs had been a terrible experience for Arkus. His lack of strength and stamina meant he did not handle the climb too well, making it up the first few floors before he started sweating and panting.

Now he looked over to the other rooms on his floor. Aside from the chemists, there was a bar, a news agents and a cafe. Not a bad place to be holed up in then. He walked over to the news agents, not bothering to dodge the wires too hard, and began to scavenge for anything of value. It was a boring, arduous task and Arkus wished he had someone else here to do it for him, but alas no one had yet been smart enough to make it out of anywhere with him alive. They either couldn't think for themselves or they couldn't follow orders. Or both. Maybe it was just bad luck that he got all the stupid people, perhaps it was a divine law that the intelligence of a group was to be split evenly, and it all went to him. He chuckled again, picking up a telescope from a box on one of the shelves. It was a silly notion, he knew, but it was an entertaining one at that.

DreamsAreForDreamers · Aug 1, 2016

Rena Frost - Location: Ithaca College Campus. 4 hours from NYC - Mentions:

@McMajestic @Soylent: no slide no slide no slide no slide no slide

Rena looked to Luna who nodded at her as they came near the campus. She turned off the car parking it hidden so no one else would hijack it like they did. It was a simple red pickup truck, but it was seemly the only one that has gas and works and they hadn't seen any more cars since they left their house. She grabbed her rucksack and her other gun carrying it on her back. She had her colt in her right hand as they made their way to the front of the college campus, as she walked she heard a scream and a gunshot. They ran up to the front, she noticed a hottie man yelling at a girl and holding her up against the wall, but she notices he had a switcher cut on his arm. She immediately knew what had occurred, but she couldn't help, but try to defend the girl.

Rena looked at Luna who already knew what she was about to do and was about to say something, but Rena already was walking forward as she gave Luna, the back me the hell up look. "Let her go. Just let her go, and go about your merry way " She looked behind and sighs as Luna already had her crossbow up aiming it at the dude. She was trying to do the calm approach not the I want to kill you approach. Damn Luna always jumping the gun.

"And she won't do anything maybe. I can't get her to put her weapon down, but she won't harm you unless the person from your watchtower shoots. " She already had done a quick look over of the amount of switchers and his weapon was a metal something which was fatal to one not all. She saw the shot switcher and tracked where the shooter must have been like her dad taught her. Rena was smart, and she knew it, but in this world, she doesn't need to be smart. She needs to be funny because there isn't a lot of funny people left in the world right now. And they all needed someone funny.

no slide no slide

DeadnotSleeping · Aug 1, 2016

Louis Colberton

The officer was starting to get bored.

Waiting was always the worst part of the day. Even if he kept a schedule, needing to feed the fire and sometimes flash the mirrors around, taking care of sending signals of every direction, it was so indifferent. Anything, even spotting switchers would have been a welcomed change. He even left his post to look around and gather more flammables from inside of the building this time, as the stash was starting to deplete a bit. Looting was always a difficult task, but he checked his building numerous times before. It has been evacuated right at the beginning, so it was devoid of bodies, and he already switched off the remains of the security. It was really simple, after all, and he could explore the rooms and corridors freely after that.

Now he was lucky. Maybe it was an extremely good day, but he found a hidden stash of chocolate and liquor in one of the offices he checked randomly. When he took the drawers out for breaking into firewood, the box was there, sitting under the lowest one. Granted, it was mostly filled with empty little bottles and dirty chocolate papers, but there was six intact bars, a whole packet of those little coffee treats, and four mini bottles of vodka and two chocolate liquor. And several pills; painkillers and relaxants. He wasn’t really keen on drinking, but the vodka would still be useful in the case of an injury, and maybe if another survivor founds the signals, they would appreciate the sweet liquor… he took everything, satisfied.

Louis wandered back a little more contentedly, hiding again. And this day, the miracle happened.

Iron creaking. Heavy steps on the fire ladder. The officer peered out, careful to not to be seen at first, then grinned as a maniac for himself.

It was another human, sweating and panting, but still very much living. He was alone, and didn’t seem too threatening… he was old, sure, and quite gruff, but wasn’t everyone here…? He failed to notice any guns, although he wasn’t particularly looking for them. He was simply too overjoyed by the fact that this was a real human, and momentarily, he even forgot about his usual restraint. Surely an older guy wouldn’t hurt him, right? He would be wiser than the looters who robbed him.

Louis waited until he was sure the man was alone, before deciding to speak; he stepped out of the well-hidden shelter, keeping his knife at hand, though. He made sure to clink it on some metal, creating a sound quite similar to cocking a gun, but then stood clearly visible.

“Good day, sir. Would you like a welcome drink?...” he asked, grinning, just for the sake of actually speaking, even if it sounded nonsensical…

@ Elephantom

Shireling · Aug 1, 2016

Hudson River, Albany

The Noisy Skipper made good time north against the current of the Hudson towards Albany with very few boats to block Peter's progress and most of the debris flooded downriver in recent rains. He stood in the pilot box with his rifle unslung and dangling in his right hand, glancing warrily about as he passed under low bridges in the old state capital.

So far, most of the switchers in any given neighborhood had come out and watched him as he putted down the river, but as he was forced to come closer to the shore to navigate between abandoned cargo ships, he was growing increasingly worried about their encroachment.

Up ahead, he could see a ferry boat filled to the sidewalls with shambling undead. His boat was drifting uncomfortably close, and as he attempted to cut the wheel away, the current dragged the Noisy Skipper against her hull, which allowed three of them to drop down onto the deck.

"Fuck!" Peter exclaimed, turning and sighting the closest one, letting loose a round that shredded the creatures' skull. He worked the action and fired again, shooting the farthest one center mass and knocking it into the water. The final one fell off into the river as the boat rocked as it passed through an increasingly rapid current under the bridge.

Peter stopped to collect his breath as he moved out into the open river and left Albany behind. He did fear, however, that his transport was taking on water from its collision with the ferry. Hopefully she would make it a little farther.

Up ahead, Peter could clearly see some obatruction. He found a spyglass near the steering terminal and extended it, aiming it at the obstruction. Sure enough, an iron ore tanker was listed belly-up in the river, blocking the course of the Hudson south and creating a huge flood plain from the diverted water. He searched ahead and found an alternative route, which he corroborated on the map as the Mohawk River. It wasn't a direct route to Canada, but it would work. As he reached the fork, Peter gently steered left and into the dark waters of the Mohawk.

Soylent · Aug 1, 2016

FIRST LT. ROMAN WOLFE

Location:Ithaca College Campus, 4 Hr drive to NYC. Mentions:

@McMajestic @DreamsAreForDreamers

?

Roman groaned guiltily as he released the girl and retracted his hands from her, wiping them on his jeans. After inspecting her teeshirt laden body, he determined that she hadn't been bitten, or she would've been unconscious. How could he threaten someone who couldn't even defend themselves? It was if she was a baby bunny, her paw stuck in a trap. The girl in front of him hadn't been killed by the switcher, but it seemed that something else much more ominous tugged at her sanity. Quite understandable. Everyone had their demons.

"Sorry," he said gruffly, not only apologizing for his actions, but the blood that now stained her shirt. "I'm Roman. It's been a long time since I've seen any outsiders." He observed the girl, the first stranger he'd seen since the outbreak. It was surreal, really. After half a year without running into a stranger, it felt foreign to socialize with a new face. So the Lieutenant took her in, memorizing every feature, for no one knew what the future held. He memorized the color of her skin, the strong bridge of her nose, the fullness of her eyes. In one glance he learned how high she came to him, how in his 6 feet and 2 inches, he towered over her.

During his tour in Afghanistan, the beauty of sight was one of the only things that kept him sane. He had seen many awful things. He'd witnessed his brothers losing limbs and flesh from their faces; he'd witnessed enemies slaughter sick children in the dirt streets. But the horrific sights taught him the beauty of living. Roman grew to hate the stale orange color of Afghanistan, but he learned to appreciate the small things it had to offer. Whenever his squad had the luxury to come across a beautiful woman, a loyal hound, a healthy child, he ate it up. It was better to see many things than to not see at all.

In the midst of admiring her health and presence, he also noticed how beat up she was. Her skin had a dry look to it; it was cracked, dehydrated, and abused by the sun. Roman was about to pull her into the base camp when two girls approached them, one with a weapon pointed at his chest. He put his hands up in surrender, hoping Isabel was keeping watch.

"Put the weapon down." Now, this kind of sight was not pleasant to see.

ISABEL WOLFE

Location: Ithaca College Campus, 4 Hr drive to NYC. Mentions:

@DreamsAreForDreamers @McMajestic

Isabel had been watching the scene below her intently, a small sideways smile appearing on her face as Roman stepped down. The military had changed him, hardened him. It warmed Isabel's heart to see him controlling his anger, a disobedient emotion he had picked up on duty. If it weren't for his rage, they probably wouldn't be alive. But it still didn't excuse him for treating his colleagues at work like they weren't worth anything. Roman hadn't been anything other than a seething mess when he returned home, and Isabel found herself becoming disappointed in her brother, despite what he had been through.

It seemed that Roman had come back from the war. Finally.

When the younger sibling saw two more strangers approaching, she stiffened. And when one of them pulled a crossbow on her brother, her blood boiled and blistered. Now it was her turn to become venomous, and she quickly descended the ladder, exiting the camp.

"Hey!" She growled at the two female strangers, clutching her gun tightly in her right hand. Isabel kept it by her side in an attempt to not start a scuffle, but its small grooves on the handle reminded her of its presence. "Who the fuck are you, huh?" If looks could kill, these two girls would be completely, utterly decimated. Their blood would stain the leaves on the trees, seep into the canals in the bark, hydrate the plants beneath them.

Elephantom · Aug 1, 2016

Pete Macon

"Ay, fellow human being."

The words were short and brief, followed by an even shorter sigh, as his panting subsided, rather abruptly. Due to lessened interaction with 'social' entities, he found it rather hard to communicate properly with another normal person, in terms of humane expression, seeing that he neither smiled, nor did he even smirk, in the past 5 months. Yes, he was actually entirely smiling for the initial one month, however insane it might seem like, at first, or maybe not so much. Exaggeration serves a key attribute here. He forced an odd smile, way too sharp to be wholesome in nature, and quite stressed to be actually natural, but he was, in fact, gratified by the knowledge that he wasn't the last human on Earth, which is surely the most debilitating curse to bear. On the brighter side, formalities would cease to exist, completely!

Although, Pete could probably assure himself, for the current moment being, that the guy in front of him wasn't a villainy hooligan, he didn't even look like one, but the thought somewhat remained in his head, or perhaps it was the fact that the guy had a knife, a knife he was subtly flaunting, and was speaking nonsense. The knife was more visible than whatever other weaponry he had stored with him, or at least to him it was, further increased by the sound he may have intentionally made. Not exactly a robust, original act, but acceptable. His shotgun, was rather open to viewing from the point of view of the person, as it was slung on his back, assisted with a sling he had early scavenged from a gun shop, a ridiculous notion at its best. His other piece of weaponry, his revolver, was safely stashed away in his backpack, along with ammunition and his exceptionally large, and useful, canteen.

First impression's always weird.

"A good day, ain't it, kid? I like drinks. So if ya' have drinks. And I suppose ya' have drinks. Then I'd like a drink, to drink, for freedom. And for further weather appreciation."

He spoke the words, without either thinking beforehand, or actually making fair coherence. Although the last sentence was spoken with a less raspy, informal tone, a reminiscent of his more older self, an accomplished financially secured man. To top off the weird vibe he almost certainly represented, which is what he would basically describe as the most absurd entrance he ever made to a single person, he raised his eyebrows, as if awaiting an answer, or an action.

He ruffled his hair, and then wiped the sweat odd from his face, silently cursing the height of the building, before finally relaxing his sharp grin a bit.

@Surantum

PsychoticOne · Aug 1, 2016

Location: Albany, NY

It was late morning with a warm weather. Riley had plenty of sunlight left. Unfortunately for him, he's been traveling with less rest than needed. That's the consequences of traveling alone perhaps. The car Riley used was already ditched. It was out of gas, but the alarm still worked. That helped distract the switchers.

His apparel was a dark brown jacket over a light gray t-shirt. He also had on white running shoes that aren't so white now and black jeans with a pistol holster on his right side and a knife sheath on his right calf. Lastly, the backpack he had on had his machete's sheath attached to its right side.

Right now Riley needs to find a place to rest at. Thankfully there was a apartment building nearby. The question was whether it was empty or not. Before breaching the building, Riley made sure to unsheathe his machete. Slowly and quietly, Riley opened the door. The light in the lobby was all sunlight. There weren't many covered windows to begin with. A couple dead bodies were laying on the floor. As Riley got closer to them in a stealthy manner, he noticed that these were switchers. Normally Riley would have stabbed there heads with the machete just to be safe, but there was already a huge stab mark on the heads.

In a careful and cautious manner, Riley decided to advance upstairs. The hallway was dark. It would have been too dangerous to continue without any light. Riley decided to just choose the closest room to him. Before entering, Riley crouched down and pressed his ear against the door. Something was flickering. While armed with his machete, Riley slowly entered. He was greeted with a small fire and a tin can over it. As Riley approached it, he noticed that the can was filled with water. Oddly, the water wasn't even boiling.
The darkness in the hallway was very quiet. That would be thanks to Tristan. He dropped a random metal pipe he found in the room he planned on staying in. He'd make his way back to that said room. What he was doing was trying to clear out the majority of the building. His goal was completed with ease. There weren't any other people. Just switchers.

Tristan entered his room and saw that the small fire he created was still burning. A starving stomach helped Tristan decided to keep the fire. He would hang a can filled with water over it and leave the living room towards the bedroom. Tristan spent his time refilling his 9mm magazines.

After finishing up, he'd put on his bulletproof vest and a dark blue jacket over it. Under the vest and jacket was a simple black compressed tank top. His bottom apparel was dark blue jeans and black combat boots. His right side had a sheath for his karambit and his pistols were kept in his jacket.

Since all his preparations were complete, Tristan would exit the bedroom. He then stopped after seeing a figure. Quietly, Tristan pulled out his karambit and approached this figure.
If the water wasn't boiling yet, then it would have been put on the heat source recently. Riley immediately turned around. By that time, Tristan was already attempting a stab with his karambit. Riley may have had his machete, but he didn't have enough time to use it. As a response, Riley used his free hand and pressed his forearm against Tristan's. While holding him back, Riley tried to slash at Tristan with his machete. Fortunately for Tristan, he saw that coming. Tristan grabbed Riley's wrist and kicked him back.

Riley stumbled backwards and dropped his machete in the process. There was distance between the two. They also both had the same idea. Riley pulled out his USP while Tristan unholstered an M9. Riley was the first the shoot. The bullet hit Tristan's thigh. The impact caused Tristan to pull his trigger without aiming. Riley got hit in the stomach. Both fell down and were suddenly very sleepy.

Later...

"Didn't the gunshots come from here?" a voice in the hallway asked. Riley and Tristan both opened their eyes. They slowly moved their heads until their eyes met. "Hey, help me check this room out! The others will check the rest" the same voice said. Riley and Tristan both closed their eyes and layed their heads on the floor. The door swung open.

"Wow. I wonder if they were fighting each other" a different voice was the one that spoke this time. It must have been the second guy. "I'll check this one" he pointed at Riley.

Tristan already had one of his hands on his second M9. The scavenger crouched down right in front of him. By the time he reached for Tristan, he made a huge mistake. Tristan quickly pointed the pistol at the guy's forehead and pulled the trigger.

The scavenger that was searching Riley looked over at his partner. Riley took this chance and stabbed the guy's neck with his knife. The guy's blood was covering Riley's face. However, Riley wasn't fazed at all. As Riley got up, he looked over and noticed Tristan up too. He was pointing his M9 at Riley. "Gunshots came from over here!" A voice from outside of the room yelled. Tristan pointed at Riley's pistol which was on the ground. Riley nodded and picked it up. They then both pointed their weapons at the doorway. The footsteps were getting louder.

McMajestic · Aug 1, 2016

Harlow began to shake violently as yet even more creatures cast their shadows against her, the dark splotches clawing at her body as she fell back against the floor, curling into a ball and drifting into a severe state of shock as her body twitched as a rabbit's nose did when it sensed danger. She had, in some surreal fashion, drifted out of her body and watched as the shell that kept her alive turned into a shriveling, terrified bunny, about to scare itself to death, all the while the wolf prowled, apologizing yet still a wolf. He could not change who he was, he could not change his desires, and so she was now in horrible danger. Wolves needed food, and what better snack than a bunny?

The other creatures weren't as strong, weren't as humble as the wolf who attempted to dampen his hunger. These creatures were snakes, snapping and hissing, their venomous tongues tasting the air, noticing the bunny and the wolf, aiming their fangs at them, threatening to sink their teeth through flesh, to feast on them from the inside out. She whimpered slightly, the only sound she had made since the wolf had touched her so roughly.

Too many... Too many... Too many... Her mind began to think and think and think and think until a headache sprouted and a weak cry left her lips. Her hands moved to grab onto her head and she curled tighter. Another one. Another creature. Not snake nor wolf. Something fierce- something horribly feral. A panther, one that prowled in the night, one that stunned her victims with her golden eyes in the black of night and then pounced, turning their existence into a memory, then a myth.

Harlow's vision began to blur and her body began to quiver and spasm. She was no longer just terrified, but rather she was now falling into something like a seizure, something like her fear choking her. It was now obvious that she couldn't breathe seeing as she was desperately gasping for air but couldn't quite gulp it down. The snakes were choking her. The panther had stunned her. The wolf was going to rip her limb from limb. It was how being an animal worked. Survival of the fittest, and at the moment she was anything but fit.

Location: Ithaca College Campus

Status: Having a partial seizure

Severely dehydrated and sunburnt

Tags: @Soylent @DreamsAreForDreamers

DreamsAreForDreamers · Aug 1, 2016

Rena Frost - Location: Ithaca College Campus. 4 hours from NYC - Mentions:

@McMajestic @Soylent: no slide no slide no slide no slide no slide

Rena sighs as all hell breaks loose. Then, one more person joined them, but at least this one was another cute girl. "She won't respond to you." She was tired and grouchy. Rena needed to stop this all from happening. She places her gun on the floor that she had in her hand and turns to Luna "Luna I don't like it when you point stuff to people that haven't done anything and you know that! Put the damn crossbow down before I go all karate kid on your ass. Luna stared at her sister and groans putting the crossbow down slowly. Rena then turns to the girl who just showed the hell up out of nowhere.

"First of all, are you the person that was up at that watchtower because I don't like it when I have the possibly of getting my head blown off. Second, my name is Rena and this is my overprotective twin sister Luna to answer your question. Finally, please don't try to talk to her. She again won't respond." Rena was tired and looked the man and girl, but didn't pay any attention towards them when the girl who they were originally defending starting to gasp for air and shake. She recognized this as a seizure hurried up placed the girl on the ground softly and putting her on her side to keep her from choking.

"It's ok. It'll be over in a minute." She had a friend who had constant seizures and she learned how to help people like that. She controlled her breathing so she can stay calm and focused. She was ignoring everyone else knowing if someone tries to touch her, Luna would handle it. Rena doubts though that, anyone will. They probably saw what she was doing and was letting her try to help this girl.

no slide no slide

tsuneni · Aug 1, 2016

Frederick Douglas BLVD., Harlem

At times, Christella wondered if she was the only person left. But everytime her thoughts drifted to that topic, Christella decided against it, sure that she wasn't the only person left.

Harlem used to be so busy. Christella would drive there to meet up with friends, and they'd meet up with friends of her friends in Harlem. Now, as she walked through it--one hand holding onto the left strap of her book bag, the other stuffed in the pocket of her trousers--she didn't recognize Harlem at all.

Shops and buildings that lined up the street sat empty and broken, shattered glass laying by the walls. She saw one building that sent a wave of déjà vu. In between a boutique and a bar, sat a diner. Christella couldn't count the number of times she walked through the bright red door. Christella would've smiled, staring at the broken building, but she couldn't because the sound of retching and howling made her jump.

Switchers.

"Shit, shit, shit," Christella muttered, her head whipping around in search of them. The last time Christella had an encounter with the zombie-like creatures, was also the last time Christella saw another human. With no weapon to protect herself, Christella had to run. The young man appeared out of nowhere, killing the Switcher. Christella thanked him, then ran off.

That's what she planned on doing right now. Running. Christella bolted away from the diner, her book bag pounding on her back with each stride she took. She kept running until she turned a street corner, her strides slowing into a steady walk. She brought her arms up above her head, taking steady breaths.

In through your nose, out through your mouth.

Six months. Christella had been on her own for six months. The last human she ever saw was about a month or so ago. Was she really the last one?

Soylent · Aug 1, 2016

ISABEL WOLFE

Location: Ithaca College Campus, 4 Hr drive to NYC. Mentions:

@DreamsAreForDreamers @McMajestic

Isabel had opened her mouth to respond to the twins before she noticed the strange girl's body beginning to convulse violently, and she tugged Rena away. "Move." Isabel hated to admit it, but Rena had reacted to the seizure correctly. By putting her on her side, the girl evaded the danger of choking and injuring herself.

Either way, being out in the open with switchers lurking behind the trees was not a suitable place for a convulsing human. And being a pre-med student, she could tell when a seizure was severe. Isabel had witnessed many seizures at one of her internships at the Mount Sinai Hospital. They all fell on some sort of spectrum, and this girl's was on the more critical side.

"Roman, let's head inside." She motioned to her brother, silently ordering him to pick up the stranger.

Then Isabel snapped her fingers at the twins, "Follow me." As much as Isabel despised the idea of being graced with their presence, inviting them in was the humane thing to do. They looked as if they had something to offer, so it couldn't hurt to add two extra players to the team. After checking her surroundings, Isabel slipped through a secret entrance in the barrier. "Watch your step," she called back at them, "Roman, set her down here." She waved to a soft patch of grass, shaded by the watch tower. The shade would make all the difference.

FIRST LT. ROMAN WOLFE

Location:Ithaca College Campus, 4 Hr drive to NYC. Mentions:

@McMajestic @DreamsAreForDreamers

?

Roman didn't know what to do. All of a sudden, the mysterious girl had entered into some kind of attack, and he nearly panicked when her muscles began to contract and jerk. Completely forgetting about the new strangers in front of him, he turned to his sister with alarmed and questioning eyes. As she took control, he thought of how fortunate he had been to have a sister interested in medicine. With a quick nod, he followed his sister's directions, only hesitating slightly before taking the seizing girl in his arms.

She was light enough to carry, but the fact that she was moving uncontrollably made it harder to hold her tightly. Being as gentle as he could, Roman carried her bridal style while supporting her neck on his bicep, watching her closely for any signs of choking. As he hurried to the entrance with the girl against his chest, he wondered where she came from and what had triggered the sudden seizure. He made a note to himself to feed her, show her to the showers, and treat her burned skin with some cream he had found in a dorm. They had much to learn about each other.

"You're going to be okay." Roman spoke with a quivering but hushed voice, attempting to calm the girl. He didn't know if she could hear him, but he thought it was worth a try.

Roman ducked into the base camp and eased himself to his knees before setting her down in the grass carefully.

Shireling · Aug 1, 2016

Seneca Falls, New York

As the day wore on towards evening, Peter had grown increasingly tired of the monotony of fields, woods, and abandoned New England villages along the riverways. As Cayuga Lake turned northward, the scattered lights and muttering buildings of the small town of Seneca Falls rose up before him. It seemed a natural place to stop off and look for supplies, and a calm area to moor the Noisy Skipper so that his trip could continue in the morning.

As Peter tied the boat up by the canalway, he was struck by the odd quietness, yet lack of any real signs of a struggle or battle. The town looked pristine, but empty.

Walking down the street, the first place he looked, naturally, was a convenience store. The Lucky Seven gas station stood out on the end of a road between two banks. The contents of which did not appeal to Peter anymore. As he entered the store, the bell on the door chimed and he was met with a very odd-looking old man. The man showed a toothless grin which unnerved Peter and said with some difficulty, "What brings you to our town, traveller?"

"Business." Peter replied curtly. Why the fuck do you think I'm here?

The detective grabbed a fair helping of canned goods and some sodas from the shelves and laid them down on the counter.

"What do I owe you?" He asked, putting his left hand down on the counter and reaching for his wallet. Maybe this old guy was dumb enough to still take cash.

"Two." Said the toothless man.

"Two what?"

"Fingers." He replied with another unnerving grin.

"Wha..?" Peter's questioning was cut short as the old man grabbed his wrist with surprising strength and jammed a knife into the back of it, pinning him to the counter. He went for a handgun, but Peter, dazed but still prepared for a fight, slugged him across the face hard enough to break his jaw. He crumpled to the floor behind the counter.

Peter took the knife out of his hand and winced. The wound had been clean through and it was bleeding in a worrisome way. He grabbed a scarf off a nearby rack and tore off a thin strip to bandage his hand, but not before another person, this one an old woman, entered the convenience store brandishing a shotgun. She shucked the weapon, but by then Peter had already drawn his sidearm and put a .38 caliber hole in her chest.

Peter burst out the door, ignoring the pain in his hand and the supplies he had gathered, just wanting to get out of town. Two women appeared in a doorway brandishing a club and a rifle and shouted, "Get out of here, you filthy outsider!" Peter raised his handgun and fired at them, causing them to duck back behind the door. He took the opportunity to run down the boulevard and hang a right. He needed to get back to his boat.

He ran down to the canalway and beheld a horrible sight, the Noisy Skipper engulfed in flame. A crowd of about ten townspeople were crowded around the burning refuse. He ducked behind a wall and holstered his revolver, unslinging his trusty Winchester and running back in the direction he had come. He needed a set of wheels.

He saw the red Toyota truck coming down the road about a split second before it narrowly missed him and ground to a halt. The driver got out, brandishing a shotgun, at which point Peter raised his rifle and splattered blood and bone against the interior. The driver's body had fallen before the passenger had come around to Peter's side, at which point he had brought the weapon to bare on him and fired two through his chest. He stepped over the dead driver and climbed into the cab of the truck, shutting the door hard enough to break glass. He had to get out of here. The tank was half full, it would do.

He whipped the truck around and began driving south, meeting on his way the two women who had harassed him before. One of them ducked out of the way, but the other was too slow and he unintentially ran her down, wincing as he felt the bump and the sickly crackling of bone snapping. Clearing Seneca Falls, he floored it and headed south towards Ithaca. A million thoughts flooded his head, but right then he was lucky to be alive.

}{Mass Hysteria}{ [CLOSED]

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