TheCheshireRP
My safe word is ‘Thicc Alien’
A walking dead inspired RP, aimed at realism. There’s gonna be some spoopy shit ahead, so be ready.
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Realistic or Modern Modern Zombie RP, IC
- Thread starter TheCheshireRP
- Start date
TheCheshireRP
My safe word is ‘Thicc Alien’
JANUARY 23, 2019, THREE YEARS AFTER OUTBREAK. MONTANA.
Dayton Kabreskova
Dayton sprinted through the forest, trees whipping past, and snow crunching underfoot, his rifle swinging wildly on it’s one-point sling. Up ahead, he saw a small stream, It looked clear, as they so often did, but -paranoid or not- he checked anyway. He brought his rifle up as he dove into the powder, taking a faceful as he landed. He popped off the lens caps and chambered a 7.62mm round from the magazine, pulling the stock into his shoulder and shoving some snow in his mouth. As he peered down the sights, he saw a lone walker, shuffling around the entrance to a tiny cave. He scanned around, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He popped back on the sight caps and clipped it back on it’s sling, switching on the safety as he did so. He checked around one last time, and dashed across the open ground, unsheathing his combat knife. The walker heard the trampling of feet and turned, just as Dayton sunk his knife into the space between the Atlas and Axis, severing it’s spinal cord and instantly killing it. He pulled it back out as the walker slumped to the ground, wiping it clean on his pants leg.
After a few hours of purifying snow and water from the stream, Dayton set up his sleeping bag in the uppermost branches of a pine tree, and started a small fire, a small damp cloth above it to catch the small amount of smoke it made, as the shadows drew long, Dayton smothered the fire with the cloth and zipped the sleeping bag up to his chin, as to maintain heat, and as the sun dropped below the horizon, he fell into a uneasy sleep, ready to wake at the snap of a twig, the murmur of voices, or the crunch of snow under even the lightest of feet...
Dayton Kabreskova
Dayton sprinted through the forest, trees whipping past, and snow crunching underfoot, his rifle swinging wildly on it’s one-point sling. Up ahead, he saw a small stream, It looked clear, as they so often did, but -paranoid or not- he checked anyway. He brought his rifle up as he dove into the powder, taking a faceful as he landed. He popped off the lens caps and chambered a 7.62mm round from the magazine, pulling the stock into his shoulder and shoving some snow in his mouth. As he peered down the sights, he saw a lone walker, shuffling around the entrance to a tiny cave. He scanned around, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He popped back on the sight caps and clipped it back on it’s sling, switching on the safety as he did so. He checked around one last time, and dashed across the open ground, unsheathing his combat knife. The walker heard the trampling of feet and turned, just as Dayton sunk his knife into the space between the Atlas and Axis, severing it’s spinal cord and instantly killing it. He pulled it back out as the walker slumped to the ground, wiping it clean on his pants leg.
After a few hours of purifying snow and water from the stream, Dayton set up his sleeping bag in the uppermost branches of a pine tree, and started a small fire, a small damp cloth above it to catch the small amount of smoke it made, as the shadows drew long, Dayton smothered the fire with the cloth and zipped the sleeping bag up to his chin, as to maintain heat, and as the sun dropped below the horizon, he fell into a uneasy sleep, ready to wake at the snap of a twig, the murmur of voices, or the crunch of snow under even the lightest of feet...
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