Realistic or Modern Nᴇᴄʀᴏsɪs

[Lorsh]

Jeb Boyd
SMTFan

The other apartment residents listening in on the debate nod their heads.

"Wish that they'd of come to us, first. Do their goddamn jobs, protect and serve and all that shit. But they're just down the road, so..." Tom sighs. "Couldn't hurt to go find out what's going on ourselves."

"Right," Brayton Knacks says. "We should head down there, then. I'm tired of just bein' chickenshit and stayin' indoors. Gonna run outta food eventually."

Two other people from the apartment, Janice Meadows and her boyfriend Yuri Samson, offer to come along with the gang of safety-seekers. They're unarmed, but possess their own car, a pale gray 1996 Chevrolet Cavalier.



Jaden Darling
Sagey

Jaden manages to cram all the scavenged foodstuffs into a grocery bag. It's a little awkward to carry, but still manageable. Hopefully the handle doesn't snap. Tam Tam accompanies him on the way back to the apartment, and the duo manage to keep low and move fast, avoiding the shambling hordes. A few ghouls end up pursuing, but they are eventually outrun, and the pair return their block safely.

However, Jaden's wound seems to be getting worse... the bandages are already soaked through with blood; the claw mark was bleeding quite badly. The veins around the scratch are starting to become a bit dark and discolored.

Back over on Jaden's block, there is a fresh car wreck just outside, a taxi that somehow ended up flipped. Twenty feet of someone's intestinal tract stretching out the shattered back window. Squelching, eating noises are heard inside the smoking cab, while one ghoul lingers on the outside, gnawing on the guts.



Janus W. Bartosh
logos

So many were probably dead, by now. All one could hope for was that for those who never picked up the phone, that they were simply away... evacuated, even. Still, on the other end of the line, who knew what unthinkable things may have happened.



As fate would have it, Syendstricker is completely jammed up at the intersection with Huntsman Road. There's a red bearded man in an open flannel shirt helping along a limping woman who's bleeding from a poorly bandaged leg. He leans the woman against an SUV, then produces an M1911 from his waistband. He zeroes in on the Bartosh family F-150, starting to jog. Some muffled yelling can be heard as he adopts a weaver stance as he continues approaching the truck. "Oh, oh SHIT! JAN!" Mary-Ann screams, and the kids start to as well.

The guy is wearing a bloody headwrap. "Step outta the car, motherfucker!" He's fat, disheveled, and sweaty - so much so that his hand slips for a moment when he tries to rack the slide on his .45 automatic. The wounded woman screams at him. "NO, STOP! Kyle!"



Elias Kelliman
Lord Bradorian

"Naw, man. We gotta-..." Andrew begins.

Dominic takes out his keys. "Fine. A-1," he says. "I'll just put one in the bitch over by the lawn. She's too close to the driveway. You guys get in quick, and we're outta here. Got it?" Dom asks the group. His revolver was hammerless, but he'd probably have cocked it at this point. Gun in one hand and car keys in the other, he motioned for Elias to get the door. "C'mon, guys. Get ready. Fend off any crazy shitheads if you have to, but get in the fucking car ASAP."

The other boys nod. He unlocks the front door and busts out, raising his revolver and pumping three rounds into the woman that was hanging out on the lawn. The bullets stagger her ever so slightly, but aside from that, she hardly seems to flinch. Mouth open and arms posed akin to a T-Rex's, Dominic briefly recoils as his face twists into a horrified expression. She lunges, but he pistol-whips her straight across the face, making her drool out blood and teeth before slumping over.

The armless kid has closed a surprising amount of distance since the first volley of shots. But Dominic is quick, and his aim is more precise this time - he squeezes the trigger and sends a .38 slug into the kid's head, causing his ballcap to fly off and chunks brain and skull to slough onto the floor.

Two shots left. Already, a bunch of people from the street are starting to turn their bloody, milky-eyed heads in the gang's direction. "Get in the fucking car!" The Century has all its doors thrown open as the guys pile in. Dominic switches on the ignition and floors it before the doors are even closed, one of them smoking a snarling old woman as he pulls out onto the street. He manages to escape the crowd that had quickly gathered in response to the gunshot, but nearly gets everyone killed when he runs a red light and a truck barrels right past.

"Chill out, man, fuck! We're not the last people on earth," Matthew protests.

"Shut the fuck up," Dom says, turning sharply and running over the legs of some chick who was in the middle of being eaten by a bunch of people on the sidewalk, causing a sickening crunch to be heard. He finally pulls up in front of the A-1, swinging open his revolver's cylinder and thumbing in a few more rounds. "Get in, get out, quick!"



Bima Mataram
Nomad13

Bima's attempt to leave is quickly thwarted by the newly-arriving soldiers. A few other people start to kick up a fuss about being shoved into the Holiday Inn, despite its prestigious location and all. One guy in a suit tries to shove past the soldiers, who promptly shove him to the ground with their M16s. "Everybody get the fuck back!" muffles one of the gas-masked soldiers. One might notice 'AIRBORNE' patches on some of the soldiers, though MOPP gear obscures the insignia of others.

There must be hundreds of people in here, now. A few civilians sport bites, scratches, and a plethora of other wounds. The paramedics, along with some soldiers, cops and volunteers start to bring in cots, IVs, stretchers, and various medical supplies.

Back upstairs, Bima's floor is compromised. A housekeeper is clawing and mauling at a woman, who vainly tries to shield herself with her purse as she screams. A few bursts of gunfire are heard erupting from a few floors below, it's unknown how many.



Max Dudek
lemonsnout

After stumbling out into the hallway, Max has a few brief moments to survey her surroundings. The source of the scream is left ambiguous, as the hallway is empty. It gives a chance to look at the poolside area. There's an old guy with wispy white hair being eaten by a pair of women just outside the fence that separates the pool from the street. Also streetside, there's two guys fighting, one of them screaming as they throw the other against the chainlink fence, slugging them in the face a few times. A few cars can be seen driving in the street, swerving around wrecks and staggering, sickly freaks.

Suddenly, a shriek is heard from the end of the hallway. The motel cleaning lady lurches forward in a shambling run, streaks of blood on either side of her mouth, foam gathered at her lips and chin. She lets out another guttural scream, rushing at Max with surprising speed. Considering that she's already covered in blood and gore, it's likely that she's already killed someone. Bubb's screams can be heard from the room. A disemboweled fat guy breaks through one of the thin motel doors, snarling as the charging cleaning lady bumps into him, sending them both down to the floor - but now the second freak has spun to face Max.
​

 

[SMTFan]

Addressing the whole group, Jeb begins laying out his plan, “Alright, everyone who is going, here’s what I need you to do: Pack up everything you are going to need, that being as much food as possible, as many containers of water as possible, and any weapons you might have. Now, hopefully, we won’t need to use any of that, but in the absolute worst case scenario we need to be prepared to make a prolonged journey. Next, we need to figure out the car pool, the streets are going to be a mess and the more cars we try to get through them, the more likely something is to go wrong. Additionally, if the naval outpost doesn’t pan out, we’ll have to make a significantly longer drive, and I can tell you all right now, refueling isn’t going to be easy. Finally, once all that is done, we need to start keeping an eye on that mob out there, to see if it’ll disperse naturally. If that doesn’t happen by tomorrow morning, we’ll have to create a distraction to bait it away. Now, do any of you have any questions?”

 

[Sagey]

Jaden Darling
Sagey

Jaden manages to cramall the scavenged foodstuffs into a grocery bag. It's a little awkward to carry, but still manageable. Hopefully the handle doesn't snap. Tam Tam accompanies him on the way back to the apartment, and the duo manage to keep low and move fast, avoiding the shambling hordes. A few ghouls end up pursuing, but they are eventually outrun, and the pair return their block safely.
However, Jaden's wound seems to be getting worse... the bandages are already soaked through with blood; the claw mark was bleeding quite badly. The veins around the scratch are starting to become a bit dark and discolored.

However, Jaden's wound seems to be getting worse. The claw mark is bleeding quite badly, and the veins around it are starting to become a bit dark and discolored. There is a fresh car wreck just outside, a taxi that somehow ended up flipped. Twenty feet of someone's intestinal tract stretching out the shattered back window. Squelching, eating noises are heard inside the smoking cab, while one ghoul lingers on the outside, gnawing on the guts.

Jade was rather excited when they reached their block, glancing down at Tam Tam before he heard uncomfortable sounds. He looked over at the taxi that was flipped over, not remembering it being there when they had left earlier. Sure he wasn't gone for long, he stepped over a couple feet before he was stopped by Tam. Someone was there, just watching him and whatever was making those noises. It sounded like someone was eating which made little sense to him. "He-" Jaden was quickly interrupted when Tam Tam nipped up at his arm. One handle of the bag snapping in the process. Quickly he picked up the bag, glancing over at the man who started coming his way.

"Tam, greet." Jaden spoke, watching this person continue walking toward him with a smile. The lab didn't move, remaining by Jaden's side as he told her to greet once more. When she still didn't move, he got to his feet, broken bag in hand and quickly went inside the hallway, locking the door behind him. The two of them quietly walked up the stairs and through the hall to his apartment where he quickly locked all seven locks before setting the bag down on the counter.

His curiosity was still there, wanting to grab a better view of what he was possibly hearing so he left the items in the bag and looked over the couch. It was far more grotesque now that he was seeing things properly, not having remembered seeing the person's side out the back window of the taxi. He had been a little too into wondering whether or not he was hallucinating. Now that he wasn't downstairs, there was no signs of the man he saw.

After getting a good look at the scene below, he realized his wrist was throbbing some. Removing the makeshift bandage he threw over it to stop bleeding, he realized it was actually still bleeding and getting worse. "Shit." This made no sense and he quickly grabbed a hand towel sitting by the sink in the kitchen. Likely not the best idea but he hadn't realized how bad this scratch was until now.

He took off the towel to get a look, noticing the discoloring of his veins. "Not good." He muttered, half jogging to his bathroom. Jade moved everything around in the cabinet, looking at every pill bottle for something that might be an antibiotic. "What is going on, I don't need this." The words cracked, his mind slowly spiraling. Tam Tam barked once, coming to his side as he finally found an antibiotic that he had from when he had the flu some time ago. Taking a couple pills and finally giving her attention, he smiled, "It's fine. I'll be fine. Maybe I can call the doctor, hopefully they aren't too bad, right?"

Before leaving the bathroom, Jade grabbed a bandage wrap, using that to wrap around his wrist, hand and part of his arm. He kept the towel nearby in hopes to help stop the bleeding along with the bandage and finally decided to turn on the news for once. Not a single thing he heard was good and he was sure some of these were repeating when he'd change the channel. His wrist was hurting and the bleeding felt like it wouldn't stop, even as he applied pressure to his wrist with his other hand. At least he wasn't going entirely insane, something outside really was not right and it wasn't his hallucinations giving him some weird wild ride.

"Tam Tam." Jaden muttered, his eyes still locked on the news but he could feel her setting her muzzle on his leg. "Something tells me we need to leave soon. Finding a way out of the city might be a good idea." It took a bit to pull himself away from the television and look down at her again, petting slowly along her head and neck. "Time to make a plan, yeah? Cook up the food we have here. Maybe find a better weapon than that bread knife, yeah? They're not that great anyway." Jade smiled, not like there was much he could do but for now he'd get to work on preparing things around the apartment.

Later that night, unable to sleep, Jade spent some time preparing his backpack. Packing his bandages (wrap, 1 box of bandaids and Neosporin), a couple extra facemasks, matches and two lighters, the canned tuna and chicken. He paused, wondering what else he should take. The obvious thing, that he finally grabbed, were some water bottles but otherwise, he did not have much. Jade planned on cooking up some of the meat he had left, opening the freezer to take out the food and let it thaw. He had a lot less than he thought, remembering he hadn't actually gone grocery shopping in a bit. Living off so little, things really stretched out longer than you realize until you're in a fucked situation like what was outside his windows.

While he was doing this, his biggest concern, however, was whether or not the wound on his wrist would stop bleeding. After watching the news earlier, he was sure there wasn't a doctor around and he wasn't sure those antibiotics from earlier would help any.

 

[Lord Bradorian]

Elias Kelliman
​

"Let's fuckin' go!" Elias yelled as his gang piled out of the front door. Listening to Dom's instructions, Elias bolted for the buick, being the first of the boys to the car. Luckily, he'd left it unlocked - throwing the passenger side door open, Elias hopped in, crushing fast food bags and soda cans under his feet. He was always telling Dom to clean up in here, but he never did - and Ely figured it wasn't a great time to nag him about it right now. He whipped his head around in time to watch Dom drop the kid with no arm - one shot to the head and he fell to the floor, lifeless. "Shiit...." Elias whispered under his breath. That was the first time he saw someone get killed.

"There's more comin', man, we gotta go!" Elias called to Dom as Ray, Matt and Andrew piled into the backseat. He saw at least six of those things up the road turning their attention to the shots Dom had fired. Before long, Dom was in and the gang was on the move, leaving two dead in their wake, having ran one of the freaks over on their way out.

"Fuck, look out!" Elias reacted as Dom blew through the red light and nearly t-boned a Ford that came speeding through the intersection, only to be told to shut the fuck up, along with Matt. Elias shook his head. Dom was such a douche, but he was THEIR douche, so they were stuck with him.

Elias had his car door already open as the Buick sped up to the front of the A-1. Wasting no time, he threw the front door open, KA-BAR in one hand and a bunch of reusable grocery bags in the other, with a ski-mask covering his face. Before starting to grab shit, he scanned the small store for any threats inside, moving towards the front counter to loot snacks, cigarettes, and possibly the register, if it hadn't yet been sacked.

"Yo! Anybody in here!?"

 

[logos]

Spoiler

Janus W. Bartosh
logos

So many were probably dead, by now. All one could hope for was that for those who never picked up the phone, that they were simply away... evacuated, even. Still, on the other end of the line, who knew what unthinkable things may have happened.

As fate would have it, Syendstricker is completely jammed up at the intersection with Huntsman Road. There's a red bearded man in an open flannel shirt helping along a limping woman who's bleeding from a poorly bandaged leg. He leans the woman against an SUV, then produces an M1911 from his waistband. He zeroes in on the Bartosh family F-150, starting to jog. Some muffled yelling can be heard as he adopts a weaver stance as he continues approaching the truck. "Oh, oh SHIT! JAN!" Mary-Ann screams, and the kids start to as well.

The guy is wearing a bloody headwrap. "Step outta the car, motherfucker!" He's fat, disheveled, and sweaty - so much so that his hand slips for a moment when he tries to rack the slide on his .45 automatic. The wounded woman screams at him. "NO, STOP! Kyle!"

Janus W. B.​

​

"Mary-Ann, crawl onto the floorboard with the kids. Cover your heads," Janus says, not taking his eyes off Kyle. Using a calm and authoritative voice, Janus partially defuses the situation.

"Kyle, right? Listen, Kyle. I can see that you're dealing with a lot. Your friend is injured. I can help her, okay? Let's just talk this through," Janus says while discreetly shifting the truck in reverse, maintaining his foot on the brake, and pulling the Colt Delta Elite out of his waistband. "I can help you. I can help you both. Just put the gun down; let's figure this out together." When Janus turns to face him, he finally racks the slide on his Colt.

When the other man speaks out, Kyle is rattled and lowers his aim. "You got room in there? You sure, buddy?" He's still pointing his pistol, just more at hip level now... Mary-Ann hisses a whisper to Jan. "It's a fucking disease! You can't let them in - the kids, Jan..."

Janus eyes the lady, trying to determine her condition and whether she is armed. After observing her, he looks closer at Kyle to see if he can find anything else necessary or relevant—concealed weapons, types of wounds, or any information that will improve the security of Janus and his family.

It's hard to ascertain why Kyle's head is bandaged, but maybe they were in a collision? Some of the recent additions to this pileup are still smoking. The woman applies some pressure to her bandaged wound, trying to reapply some dressing - it looks like she was wounded recently and is bleeding.

Kyle explains the situation more; "We gotta get her to a hospital. Please, man. C'mon. We just need-... Just need a ride there, man."

To get Kyle to lower the weapon even more, Janus keeps the conversation up. "Kyle, I get that she's hurt, but I don't think the hospitals are safe right now. We just left Alexandria, and it's mayhem back there. We're heading the other way - towards the countryside. I can point you in the right direction and maybe leave with you some supplies. What's her name, anyway?" Janus says, keeping his calm and tone of voice.

"Yeah. It's burnin'," He stops pointing the weapon, the muzzle shifting towards the ground as he holds the pistol at his side. "Linda," he says, waving her over. She starts to limp over but stumbles. He turns his back to help her over, walking a few steps away now.

With Kyle's back turned, Janus evaluates the pileup before him and the rest of the roadway. "What do you think, Mary?" Janus whispers while he evaluates the wreckage ahead.

"Babe, get us away from these people. Turn us around, drive back - find another way to get to the Burke Lake Dam," she whispers.

"Does that guy need help?" asks Luke, and Mary-Ann shushes him.

Janus mutters, "Merciful Father, I come before you with a repentant heart, acknowledging my sins and shortcomings. I confess my need for your forgiveness and mercy. Wash me clean, O Lord, and create me in a pure heart. I trust in your unfailing love and rely on your grace to restore and renew me. Amen," then slams his foot into the gas pedal to start reversing backward.

"Keep the kids' heads down, Mary-Ann," Janus said, looking in his rearview mirror as he reversed to avoid colliding with anything. As he backed up, he would spin the wheel to get the front of the truck facing eastward. A little while back, there was a side road that they could turn on that would still get them to the right-of-way they were looking for.

​

 

[Chocolate_chip]

Isabella Morgans
Chocolate_chip
(section written by logos )

“Fifteen months with parole. Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women. Dismissed,” the judge said, stamping Isabella’s fate with a rap of her sound block using a sturdy oak gavel. The next few hours were more of a blur than a memory. Shackled. Sitting. Shoved into a bus. The hum of a stationary engine. The slow roll of wheels along asphalt. The screech. The crash. The screams.

The transport was headed southbound along James Madison Highway. They had been on the road for a couple hours. There were thirty other inmates on the bus and four guards, not including the bus driver – who was just a bus driver. Isabella was sitting in the middle of the bus. Not too close to the front, and certainly not to the rear. They had just passed a church a couple minutes ago. It was hard to tell. The bus moved but the time seemed still.

As the road narrowed, the bus began to drive by a hill. Suddenly, a screeching car roared down a hill to the right. “Goddamn!” the bus driver screamed, ripping the steering wheel to the right, trying to travel in the path of the rogue car. The bus hit an embankment and turned on its side.

When the transport rolled over, Isabella was knocked out cold. When she woke up, her face was pressed against the glass and her seatmate was unconscious, bleeding from her forehead. There was groaning and screaming. Someone was leaning over her, some Latina with twin pigtails, wearing the signature prison jumpsuit. "C'mon, c'mon." She produced a key that she used to unlock the seatmate's cuffs, and delivered a slap to her face, but it elicited no response. Quickly, she leaned over and freed Isabella from her shackles. "C'mon, get your ass up! Get the fuck out, quick!" A few other women are attempting to get to the front of the bus, where the doors have been opened - but the awkward angle meant they had to climb on top of each other to get out.

ISABELLA MORGANS:​

The sound of the judge's gavel hitting the wooden desk reverberated in Isabella's mind. It was difficult for her to come to terms with her new circumstances. The silver binds enclosed around her wrists served as a constant reminder of her new reality. Now she sat in a bus surrounded by women who reminded her of different variants of her mother. All that time she'd spent fruitlessly chasing a better life had been pointless. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden jerking of her body. The last thing she remembered was her head slamming into the window as darkness welcomed her.

Isabella's vision was blurred as her eyes fluttered open. Her head throbbed. Focusing on any one thing proved difficult due to her scrambled thoughts. The girl's speech was garbled to Isabella.

"Move!!" the girl snapped. This was the spark Isabella needed to spring to her feet. She stood on shaky legs as she examined her environment. Chaos had erupted within the bus as the survivors of the crash scrambled for an escape. Out of the four guards, only one remained. The other three were unconscious their bodies contorted into unnatural positions due to the crash. The lone guard tried in vain to maintain a sense of order. He was severely outnumbered and soon found himself overrun. Isabella and the other prisoners clambered out of the bus desperate for freedom.

"What now?" asked a prisoner after all the survivors had escaped the bus that had become a death threat. Isabella's analytical gaze swept the area. They were practically in the middle of nowhere. Out in the open surrounded by tall, dense trees that acted as some sort of barrier.

"We need to get out of here!!" exclaimed the Latina girl who'd helped Isabella earlier. "We're practically sitting ducks."

"I think I saw a church higher up, maybe we could go there?" suggested another survivor.

"A church is not a bad idea," agreed Isabella after concluding that they had limited choices. "We just need a place to gather our bearings." They didn't have long. The prisoners' failure to arrive wouldn't be noticed. Eventually, the prison would send people after them. Then their one fleeting shot of escape will be out of reach. Isabella would cling to her freedom for as long as she could.

"What about the other prisoners?"

"What about them," retorted Isabella coldly. "We have to leave them behind."

"So it's settled then we make our way to the church"

 

[Nomad13]

Bima rushes up the stairs, thinking of ways he can stall the soldiers from going up. Being in the middle of a group of panicking people is never a good thing. As he reached his floor, he heard screaming and shouting nearby. At first he wanted to avoid it, but instead he runs to the voice, cursing at his inability to help people if he can.

As he closes in, he saw a women holding back on of them infected with her purse, not slowing down his stride, he aims his pole arm at the infecteds center mass and braces for impact.

With a forceful shove, he slammed the infected off the screaming woman, driving it back with the pole. The infected stumbled, and Bima quickly forced it to the ground, using his makeshift man catcher to pin it down. His heart was racing, adrenaline pumping as he struggled to keep the infected immobilized.

Breathing heavily, he turned his attention to the woman. She was sobbing, clutching her arm, which was covered in blood. He noticed open wounds, scratches and bite marks. His stomach dropped. This was bad. Real bad. He knew enough about the infection to realize what those marks meant.

“Sial,” he muttered, quickly scanning the hallway for more threats. The infected beneath him thrashed weakly, still trying to reach for him, but Bima held firm. His mind raced, trying to figure out what to do next. The woman was already infected, and the soldiers would be here any minute. He couldn’t save her, so he did what he thinks is the next best thing.

First, he slams his foot onto the infecteds head, making sure to aim for the neck to lessen the chance of viscera splashing in to him. Then he turns to the sobbing, potentially infected, woman. "Ma'am. Ma'am!" He called out, his voice firm but not unkind, trying to cut through the woman’s sobbing.

The woman looked up at him, her face a mess of scratches and fear. Bima took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. The situation was spiraling fast, and he needed to stay in control. "Ma'am, listen to me," he said, keeping his tone as calm as possible despite the chaos. "Go back to your room, wash your wounds, and use your sheets to bandage yourself. Can you do that?"

At first, she didn’t respond, just stood there trembling. Bima repeated himself, more urgently this time. Finally, something seemed to click, and the woman nodded weakly. She began to shuffle toward her room, her steps unsteady, as if moving through a fog.

As she walked away, he suddenly remembered the current situation. There could be others with her.

"Wait! Is there anyone with you?" he called after her.

Before she could answer, gunshots rang out from the bottom floor, quickly followed by the unmistakable sound of groaning from the emergency stairs. Not wanting to take any more risks, Bima gently ushered the woman into a nearby room with an open door. A quick glance inside revealed that it was empty, both the room and the bathroom.

"Stay here. Lock the door and bandage yourself," he instructed her. "I'll... look for others," he added, though he knew it was a lie.

As he left the room, he quietly closed the door behind him. The gunshots echoed again, and the groaning grew louder. He didn’t waste any more time and sprinted back to his own room.

"If anyone can hear me, lock your doors! More infected are coming in!" Bima shouted as he ran down the hallway. Just as he entered his room, he heard the emergency door slam open, followed by a chorus of groans that filled the corridor. He noticed the infected were stumbling over one another, clumsily making their way forward. With a shrug, he shut his door, locked it, and slammed the bedframe against it.

After a moment to catch his breath, Bima double-checked the room, making sure he hadn’t left anything behind. His eyes scanned the area, focusing on the essentials, water, flashlight, makeshift armor, and the candy bars he had packed with the hope of giving them to his family back in Indonesia. He carefully tucked them into his pack, alongside the other supplies he’d gathered. Everything needed to be in order, he couldn’t afford to leave anything useful behind.

 

[Lorsh]

MUSIC





Isabella Morgans
Chocolate_chip

The Latina girl introduces herself as Elizabeth Morales, and the other prisoner as Felicia Hawkins. Elizabeth, who also goes by 'Izzy' incidentally, has a laugh about how similar her name is to Isabella's. They don't disclose their crimes, nor ask about Isabella's. As the trio of runaways walk along the roadside, occasionally, cars pass by... prompting the other prisoners to duck and take cover. The drivers don't seem to pay any mind to the bright orange jumpsuits, though - they just fly past. One car speeds by at a hundred miles per hour.

"Shit. Man," murmured Hawkins as she noticed the ominous billboard ahead. The prison bus had passed by a small auto shop and gas station sometime after it went past the church.

Elizabeth suggested breaking in. "Maybe we can check around for some cash, supplies. Maybe take a car?" she asked.

"What do you think, other Izzy?" asked Felicia. "I don't want anyone to pop out and blow a hole in me from behind the counter in there, ask me..."





Jebidiah Boyd
SMTFan

Everybody concurs with Jeb's plan, and start to gather up their provisions and bugout gear. Considering that gunfire has been emanating from the direction of the Indian Head Naval Support Facility over the past few days, and continues to do so, hopes are high that it is at least occupied. Still, whether or not they will be receptive to civilians on the premises is a different matter entirely. Regardless, the gunshots at least indicate that the crazies are hopefully being culled in the area.

Over the next few hours, the undead don't seem to disperse. Perhaps a few of them wander off in other directions, but the rest, including what used to be Melissa, continue to linger in front of the apartment.

Tom mentions that another survivor in the apartment, Harold Waite, plans to run out to the parking lot and grab his car. He - suicidally, according to Tom - wants to go look for his son up in Fort Foote. "Said he's leaving today," Tom tells Jeb. "We ought to run out and get our cars after he's gone out. They'll be chasin' him instead of us." Yuri and Janice are nervous about it, but say they're ready."



Bima Mataram
Nomad13

After the injured woman hobbles back into her room and locks the door behind her, the great clamor can be heard as soldiers engage in close quarters with the infected. Shouts, gunshots, groans and screams. It appears to be drawing them down from the upper levels, but they're mostly confined to the stairwells. The sound of the nearby elevator can be heard dinging, and as it opens, a swarm of bloodstained, fish eyed hotel-goers spill out, all latching onto a man in a business suit, who is shrieking as his face is chewed off by a Capitol Bistro server. It isn't long before some of them have checked out the hallway, rushing towards Bima.

Some faint hollers from the army can be heard from below, as well as the sound of doors being kicked in, and M16s chattering.

BR-BR-TAT!

BR-BR-TAT!

"Go, go! Get up there, go!"

"HEY! Move back, move back!"

"Grrrahhhgkkkrf-" RATATATATATATATAT...

"Contact front! Fucking contact, contact!"

RATATATATAT...

After another salvo of automatic fire, a round comes up from the floor, shredding through the carpet and blowing a hole in the wall behind Bima.



Jan Bartosh
logos

The couple begin to exclaim and wave at the vehicle, but soon it turns around and speeds off back in the direction whence it came. "Why did we leave them behind?" Luke asks, sobbing along with his sister. "Baby, they could have gotten us all sick," explains Mary-Ann, caressing his forehead and giving him a kiss. Thankfully, the next turn is clear, and sets the family back in the right direction towards Burke Lake Dam.

The mewling of the children continues.

"Kids," exhaled Mary-Ann, kissing them both. "...That man was pointing a gun at your daddy. He didn't mean to lie to them, but we can't have you two get sick or hurt. You matter more to us than anything," she cooed. Still, her face looks drawn, as if the last three days have aged her three years. She has bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, often staying up all night, glued to the news, or simply tossing and turning next to Jan.



Everyone has calmed down by the time the turn into Burke Dam comes into view, and there is a relief when Lonzo's LeSabre can be seen parked down by the barriers to the water. Lonzo emerges from underneath the car, grunting a bit as he stands up, Colt Diamondback gripped in one hand. "What's up, Jan?" he asks, tucking the gun into his waistband. "Hi, Mary-Ann. Sorry, those things are wanderin' around here. I laid low and let some of them pass, so I think we're safe for now. So, like, what the fuck's going on, Jan? What're we supposed to do now? Not gonna gonna lie," he chuckles grimly, gesturing at his revolver, "I was considering just opting outta this, before you called."





Elias Kelliman
Lord Bradorian

The streets look fucked. It's like there are staggering druggies everywhere, except there's ten times more than usual, and they're ten times as crazy. Dom, however, is able to maneuver around most of the carnage in his Buick and not get into another near-collision.

After pulling up outside the A-1, Dominic stays in the driver's seat and keeps the engine running, passing the gun to Matthew. Ray, Andy and Matt hop out with Elias and rush into the store, broken glass crinkling beneath their shoes. Elias had quickly called out.

"Oh, man, sup," replies an unfamiliar voice. There is somebody in here. Some black guy had been in the middle of filling a duffel bag full of chips and beef jerky. He raises his hands, slowly. "Listen, take it easy there, kid," he says to Matt, who promptly lowers his gun. "Registers are all cleared out, boys. Still got essentials n' shit here, though."

Ray curses, and kicks over a stand of sunglasses. "Fucking bullshit, man. Knew we never should of come here."

"Fucking relax," Matt winces. "C'mon, let's just grab some shit and get out, fast." Andy is already shoving a bunch of snacks and shit into his hoodie's pockets.



Caleb Caldwell
hotsauce

Most of the residents of Caleb's apartment tried to flee, leaving only a handful of people left who were still sheltering in place. Outside, things never really got any better. There were a bunch of car crashes, people started driving on the grass, hitting people on the sidewalk, and shooting each other in the street. On Friday, some Humvees pulled in and drove around the circle, shooting a few people and picking up a couple others, but they drove off before anyone else could really go out to meet them.

More people died yesterday. Someone's entire fifteen-foot digestive tract has been bulled out and wrapped around several trees, and there's probably over a score bloodthirsty hipsters out by the trees and found, and another dozen milling around - or eating corpses - in the street. There's a cop still laying out in the street after his head somehow got run over by an SUV - some little girl is picking bits of his brains off of the asphalt and eating them.

Aidan Trombley, one of Caleb's neighbors, has pointed out that his gun's still in its holster. There was also a shotgun laying nearby, one with a long tube and wooden stock. Nobody's picked either of them up, but there's plenty of those freaks around, with several mutilated corpses - nearly picked clean - being a testament to the danger here.

The bottom floor of the apartment has all of its windows and doors blocked with furniture, although a few of the windows are boarded up from the inside. Occasionally, they'll take notice of the occupants and bash on the barricades for awhile, before being distracted by something else and wandering away, or else eventually having their exertions numb their clouded brains until they simply stand there, swaying slightly.

The TV and radio are constantly relaying hysteria, especially the recent carnage from Los Angeles. They also showcase several vague government statements about the situation, telling not to trust anyone and to stay inside. One channel featured wild conspiracy takes, and mostly religious warnings by guest commentators. Apparently, martial law is supposed to be announced tonight. Everybody is down to eating canned goods, for the most part. There's beer, soda and iced tea, at least. Aidan's got pot, but he's stopped since Friday, worrying the smell might unwanted attract attention.


​

 

[Nomad13]

Bima Mataram

Bima froze for a split second, staring at the hole in the wall where the bullet had torn through, mere inches from where he stood. The shock of his near death quickly gave way to a surge of anger.

"Hoi Anjing! Lihat loe nembak kemana!" he yelled, his voice filled with fury.
(Hey Asshole! Look where ye shooting!)

Everything he needed was already secured on his body or in his hands, so he quickly crouched down, moving with purpose. He opened the window to the balcony, but before stepping out, he glanced back at the spot where the bullet had struck. The round had punched through at least five centimeters of concrete and rebar. Was it just a fluke? Or were the bullets really that powerful?

"Sialan..." Bima muttered under his breath as he crouched on the balcony, pulling out a length of linen. As he began fashioning a makeshift rope, his mind raced, considering his next move and any other options that might get him out of this alive.

 

[Lord Bradorian]

Elias Kelliman
"We cool," Elias affirms the stranger in the convenience store. Dude seemed cool, so they decided to be cool back - not like the four boys couldn't hit a lick on some old black dude if they wanted, but real recognized real.

After he'd shown such peaceful disposition, Elias paid no mind to the guy or Ray's outburst. Focusing on grabbing the 'essentials' - cigs, chew, lighters, alcohol, and anything him and his boys could eat. He'd even start grabbing canned goods if the store's small inventory wasn't already swiped. Fuck it, the boys will cook if it's that or go hungry - the raviolis you can just eat straight out the can, tuna too.

Once he'd gathered all he could, spending about a minute before deciding he'd overstayed his welcome, Elias would head back to the car. "We out!" he shouted as he left, calling for his gangmates to leave the store as well. ​

 

[americanCaeser]

"Right, man. Not like I got the bullets to spareCliff Owens scratches his bald head, before uncapping the market and doing his best to scribble down a map. He stops to wrack his brain, but Patricia speaks up. "There's a fire escape map around here... lemme see." It isn't long before she's found it and laid it out.

"Owe you one, Patricia. Right... this is what I've got," Cliff says after nodding his thanks to Patty and adding his proposed escape route. "We leave this room, go out into the hallway, pass through storage and through the lab, then leave outta the nearest emergency exist. Once we're out in the parking lot, I might be able to get to my cruiser, assuming there ain't too many of 'em."

A N D R E A
Andrea stood up, finally leaving his spot in the corner of the room to join Patricia in looking at the map. He observed it for a second through tired eyes, tracing the path with his finger, trying to internalise it and picture it in his head. He paused when he got to the storage room, then looked up to face everyone else. He had no idea how bad the situation was out there, but he realised they needed to be resourceful if they wanted to survive getting through the hospital -- and whatever may happen after.
"Do you think I'll have time to grab some equipment from the storage? I have a gut feeling we'll need it. That way we can patch anyone up in the cruiser, should something happen. There are some pretty good first aid supplies in there."

He felt his heartbeat quicken in anticipation of what was about to go down. Leaving his spot by the map, he began to wander around the room -- half to calm his nerves, and half to look for anything -- anything at all -- that might be even slightly worth taking along. His eyes settled on a fire extinguisher, attached firmly to the pale, concrete wall. He detached it, and wondered why there was a fire extinguisher in such an arbitrary place, before snapping his focus back to the task at hand.

Michael James 'MJ' Martin
​

The Veteran re-appeared, holding a fine looking claw-hammer of all things to be found among the maintenance rooms many drawers and boxes.

"Sound about good enough for me." Martin nodded as Owen laid out the plan. "I'll go first. We try and keep as low a profile as we can until we get out. If shit hits the fan we leg it right to the exit."

The older man turned to Andrea, a thoughtful look on his craggy face.

"If we've got time, I don't see why not. But the last thing we need is to risk our lives off on a chance so if the place is already ransacked, we keep moving."

Martin took a moment to propose the marching order, that being him first, then Patricia, then Andrea, followed by Doctor Owens, and Officer Owens holding up the rear.

"If we kick up a fuss, I'm betting the majority of those freaks will come up on our asses. If the army told me anything, you keep your biggest gun pointed at where Charlie's most likely gonna come from, and you've got the biggest one we have. Doctor Harold, Mr Andrea," He gestured towards the two medical professional, "You're in charge of sorting through storage for anything of use. Miss Patricia, you've seem to got a good grasp of this place as a janitor so if Plan A goes belly fucking up I'll need you to point us towards the nearest Plan B, understood?"

A few moments passed as Martin eyed them all up, noting their nerves. They were civilians, but now he needed soldiers.

"I've been to Korea. Fought the Fucking Commies when I was fresh outta high school. I fought in Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos. I've seen a lot of shit in my time. I've led men into battle, and I won't tell you I brought them all back safe and sound and I won't bullshit you that I'll do the same for you here. The moment we step out of that door all bets are off, and any one of us can be taken out." He cracked his neck, turning his head and spitting to the side before looking back at them with a renewed vigor. "But I can tell you this for sure; Our best bet of survival is higher if we stick together and watch each others backs. If and when shit goes sideways, if we keep our cool and work as a unit our chances of collective survival go through the fucking roof. I can't guarantee we'll all make it out, but I can guarantee that the chance is there by God, I'll grab that chance with both hands and throttle it until the Devil passes out."

He hefts up the hammer.

"We all ready?"

 

[SMTFan]

After having gathered his remaining supplies (That being four cans of beans, a tin of tuna, two disposable water bottles (full), a reusable water bottle (full), and 23 shot gun shells) and packed them into an old beat-up backpack from his college days, Jeb stood ready to address his band of followers. “The moment we see Harold drive off and bait away the crazies, we are making a run for the cars. Once everyone gets in, we are driving off towards the naval outpost, slowly and quietly, we cannot afford to get into any accidents or attract any more crazies. When we arrive at the outpost, I will do the talking, my employer, Raytheon, does a lot of work with the military and through the grapevine I’ve picked up a name or two to drop. Once we’re inside, all we’ll have to do is wait for all of this to blow over.” Jeb finished as he turned and braced himself for the trial ahead.

 

[Lorsh]

MUSIC​

---

Mi-Yun Son
Miaow

The pair of siblings' musical shopping trip down in Glover Park, D.C., couldn't have gone more awry. The streets erupted into chaos. There were a few other customers in the store, but none stayed put. Some old guy wasn't quick enough when it came to unlocking his car... It was only this morning that those freaks finished cleaning off his bones, leaving nothing but a crimson-slick, skeletal form inside the remains of a torn windbreaker and pair of trousers. The teeth in his mouth are still unnervingly white... and slowly clacking against each other, although the rest of the body otherwise does not move.

Lorraine Keyes, the cashier at a Middle C Music, is the only one left in the store besides the brother-sister pair. She's been crying her eyes out since the horror show began, and has barely been able to get any sleep.



The windows and doors to the music store have been reinforced with makeshift barricades. The interior of the shop is utterly trashed, with most of the chairs, racks, and bigger instruments piled up upon each other. Lori helped tape up posters all along the windows in order to help block the view inside, but sometimes one of the monsters outside does bash against the entryways.

Everyone is wearing band T-shirts, their original clothes having become sweaty and gross. The snacks from the staff room haven't left anybody feeling particularly nourished, and supplies are starting to run low. Lorraine isn't sure what to do—she's brought up the prospect of suicide. "I don't know if there's anything left out there. Is it worth it...?" She is at a loss for how to kill herself, though. There's no weapons, no pills, nothing, really, but she has mentioned hanging herself with piano wire. All of this ideation started to appear right after she finally stopped crying, suggesting that she really might be considering it. Who could blame her, though? Seeing a woman get cornered and torn apart right outside the store this morning didn't help.



Elias Kelliman
Lord Bradorian

Everybody runs back out to the Buick. Mike gets in shotgun and hands the piece back over to Dom, who immediately stuffs it back into his waistband. "Right, what've you guys got?"

Another car pulls up, a gray Lexus, and a black guy with a TEC-9 sticks his muscled arm out of the passenger side window, pumping a litany of gunshots into some homeless guy that was making his way towards the car. As he's shot, he does nothing but stand there, eating every single bullet, even as they open up flowering wounds all along his ratty jacket.

PRT! PRT! PRT! PRT! PRT! PRT! PRT! PRT! PRT! PRT!

He only loses his footing a little bit, then keeps dragging his feet towards the car. The other guy from inside the store rushes out with half a dozen bags slung over one arm as he goes about producing a Glock from his waistband using the other, laying into the homeless dude.

POW! POW! POW! POW!

Something must have hit his spinal cord, because he finally flops down to his knees... but he keeps going.

"YO, GET THE FUCK IN," the driver hollers. The looter from the A-1 slides the bags off through the open window on the passenger side, before hopping in the back seat. The car tears out of the parking lot shortly after Dominic does.

"What the fuck, dude? What the fuck?! How was that guy still alive, man?" Ray asks. "He got fuckin' chopped in half back there!"



Michael J. Martin / Andrea D'Agostini
americanCaeser / JudasMichael

Patricia, Cliff, and the doctor all nod, preparing for their breakout alongside Michael and Andrea. After a brief stop at the supply room, Dr. Radley manages to secure some extra gauze, bandages, painkillers, and disinfectant. Cliff thumbs the safety off of his M9 before slowly opening the door with his free hand... A lab tech that's missing her face snarls and starts to make for Cliff, who immediately puts a bullet in her chest, followed by her lab assistant, who must have been the one to have eaten it.

BANG! ... BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

The first round drops the lab tech, who gurgles on the ground. "Fuck," Cliff mutters, putting three extra rounds in the male, but they only seemed to slow him down. Still, it knocks him to his knees. Despite Mike's prior urgings for the VA cop to be conservative with his bullets, he can't think of anything else to do, not wanting to touch the plague-ridden monsters. Neither do the others.

Patricia panics and tries to run past, seizing the opportunity while they're on the ground... only to have her ankle grabbed and bitten by the ghoulified assistant. "Aiee, HELP!"

"Oh, God! Grab her - quickly!" Dr. Radley shouts. He plunges his scalpel into the eye socket of the gurgling tech, pushing it all the way into her head with a flattened palm, leaving himself unarmed, but she's stopped moving... Her assistant is still eating Patricia's leg, though she's kicking him in the face as she screams.



Klavdiya Vita Chayka
Mineczka

The Ukrainian-American epidemiologist was called upon by the CDC to assist them with their D.C. operations, currently located in the David Nassif Building, just down the street from the National Mall and Capitol Holiday Inn. The building was compromised several times on day one, but the military has since regained control of the area. The doctors and scientists that were assembled were ordered to study the horrific pathogen that was rapidly spreading across the United States and the world; it was dubbed various things. 'RNV', 'necrosis filovirus', and just 'the plague'. Nothing was set in stone, yet.

The prognosis of the disease isn't promising. The majority of the initial infected test subjects have since died, or succumbed to overwhelming aggression. There appears to be conflicting evidence on whether or not the subjects are alive, at this point. Either way, they do not appear to have retained man's capacity for reason or compassion, and viciously pursue cannibalistic advances.

Dr. Daniel Fleming, the head of the ad-hoc research project, received some limited access to a CIA dossier on 'Strain X'. While speaking to a few other scientists, he says, "I have good news, and bad news. We've received the order from the government to terminate all of our test subjects, but we've got the 'why', at least. This disease - and resulting condition - can be spread orally, and they all have a propensity to bite. Homicidal aggression occurs no later than three days after initial infection... keep in mind, it's been roughly three days since this thing has hit critical mass," the doctor days. "People that were infected in the first wave are turning now - we need to relay this information to the military contingent immediately..."





Bima Mataram
Nomad13

Bima manages to dexterously fashion the rope, though who knew if it was 100% reliable? Still, it was made quickly and efficiently enough. The infected had continued chasing after him, but before they could pursue him to the balcony, they were distracted by the appearance of a fireteam of soldiers in the hallway.

"Fourth floor, we got more of 'em!"

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT...

Glass sharps fly as windows are blown out when the bullets rip down the hallway, eliciting a red spray and blowing some chunks off of some of the infected. Doors are heard being kicked in, a woman screams, gunfire continues...

"Alpha two-one, this is alpha two-three; we have infected con-"

BRATAT! BRATAT! BRATAT!

"Die! Fucking die, motherfucker!"

BANG!

An ear-ringing explosion goes off in one of the nearby rooms, blowing out the windows and peppering Bima with glass. Some muffled screams are heard over the sound of inhuman moans, followed by renewed gunfire...

RATATATATATATAT...



Ilo Orocobix
DamnThatsCrazy

Alongside their Puerto Rican friend, some folks from the rez volunteered to go along on a scouting and supply run into the nearby town of West Point. There was Jacob Littlepage, who had come down with several families from the Mattapony Indian Reserve in order to rendezvous with their Pamunkey counterparts. The tribes were safer together, and the chiefs were figuring something out. Jake was in his late teens, wore his raven-colored hair long, carried an almost comically large bowie knife, and had a Richmond Renegades ballcap turned backwards on his head.

Tecumseh 'Tec' Holmes, who was twenty, had just buried his namesake great-great grandfather a week before the outbreak began. It was a blessing more than anything, really - at least the centenarian didn't have to see how evil and brutal this world was about to become. Tec was decently muscular, and brought along a crowbar in case anything needed to be pried open. His hair's kept short, and he's got a little pit of peach fuzz. He's the driver of the 1998 Cherokee that's currently puttering down the road.

"Right, almost there," says Sophia May from up in the passenger's side. Yesterday, she cut her shoulder-length hair down to her ears. Short enough to not be able to grab a handful of. Luscious-locked Jake Littlepage said she looked 'dykey', though.



"I think I see hitchhikers. Normal-looking kinda guys," Jake says. "Do we help 'em? People."

"I don't know, man. They could carjack us. I don't wanna have to shoot anybody," Sophia says.

"We could point them in the right direction," Tec says. "Our mission's frigged up if we start being a taxi, though. So, what are we gonna hit up first? If they give us any trouble, you'll just shoot 'em, right, Soph?"

She sighs. "If they're... you know, those things, yeah."



Jebidiah Boyd
SMTFan

Harold Waite says, "Wish me luck, folks." He produces his car keys, remotely unlocking his car, which already begins to turn a few heads as it beeps. "Aw, shit," he curses, quickly running out. He evades the swipes of the lurching crazies in the parking lot, although a few from the street are starting to run at him, snarling. He throws open the door, hops in, and slams it. Some people start to slap against his windows, and he quickly throws it in reverse after turning on the ignition.

"Get your scattergun ready, Jeb. Alright, alright," Brayton says, running outside, followed by Janice and Yuri. They manage to make it to their respective vehicles thanks to the valuable distraction provided by Harold, who has since sped away, taking much of the mob of crazies with him. Still, everyone mounts their vehicles with only moments to spare before more of them run over. Brayton's Camry clips a blood-splattered guy in a business suit, sending him spinning onto the ground.

Aside from the dent in Brayton's car, everyone manages to escape unscathed. The drive to the navy facility doesn't take too long. The closer to the base the three-car convoy gets, fewer infected appear. Evidence of them having been culled is present, with what must be a hundred smoking, charred bodies piled up in the street, all recently burned.



The cars eventually come to a halt behind a small lineup of half a dozen other civilian vehicles, all of them waiting outside the gates to Naval Support Facility Indian Head. There's a sandbag fortification with a fifty-caliber machine gun emplacement, manned by U.S. Navy sailors in surgical masks. Another pair of sailors, maybe marines, start to walk out of the guard booth. They're walking at first, but then one of them points at something... they break out into a run when they realize that some of the crazies had followed the newcomers from a distance. They take up positions behind the line of cars, raise their rifles, and start to put them down.

POW! POW! POW!

BRATAT! BRATAT!

A gas mask-wearing guy with 'JOHNSON' and 'U.S. Navy' tapes on his uniform taps on the driver's side window of Jeb's truck, while another guy. Another sailor keeps a stainless steel pump shotgun at the ready, warily regarding the new cars.
​

 

[Nomad13]

Bima Mataram

Bima quickly covered his head with his gloved and wrapped arms, shielding himself from the spray of glass. Thankfully, the glass didn’t do much damage, but the shock of the explosion left him frozen on the floor for a moment. The noise, the screams, the gunfire, it was all overwhelming. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus.

Once he’d shaken off the shock, he wasted no time tying his makeshift rope around his pack. But as he lifted it, the rope frayed and snapped once he get it over the balcony.

"What the...?" he muttered in frustration, staring at the broken rope. A quick inspection revealed the problem, cuts and frays all over it, likely from dragging it across the glass-strewn floor. He hadn’t thought to protect it, and now the rope was useless. He looked down on where his pack has fallen, he didn't have time to swing it at the 3rd floor balcony as he planned so it was all the way down.

"God damn it," he cursed quietly, the sound of gunshots still echoing in the background. With no other option and no desire to risk making another rope, Bima almost resigned himself to waiting until he noticed the curtains on the window, he made his way to it to check its condition, maybe he can use it.

 

[lemonsnout]

Max Dudek
lemonsnout

After stumbling out into the hallway, Max has a few brief moments to survey her surroundings. The source of the scream is left ambiguous, as the hallway is empty. It gives a chance to look at the poolside area. There's an old guy with wispy white hair being eaten by a pair of women just outside the fence that separates the pool from the street. Also streetside, there's two guys fighting, one of them screaming as they throw the other against the chainlink fence, slugging them in the face a few times. A few cars can be seen driving in the street, swerving around wrecks and staggering, sickly freaks.

Suddenly, a shriek is heard from the end of the hallway. The motel cleaning lady lurches forward in a shambling run, streaks of blood on either side of her mouth, foam gathered at her lips and chin. She lets out another guttural scream, rushing at Max with surprising speed. Considering that she's already covered in blood and gore, it's likely that she's already killed someone. Bubb's screams can be heard from the room. A disemboweled fat guy breaks through one of the thin motel doors, snarling as the charging cleaning lady bumps into him, sending them both down to the floor - but now the second freak has spun to face Max.

Max surveys her position and makes a mental note of each of the freaks. She then makes the deduction that the best thing to do would be to remove herself from this narrow walkway. I could try and run past the three in the hallway, but to me that's more risk than I think I can take right now, Max reasons in her head, thoughts still feeling like they're going miles faster than the (assumedly long gone) band van Jupie had made off with. Looking to the pool below and trying not to focus on Bubb's screams, she throws her purse off the balcony walkway and to the concrete poolside. As Max quickly begins getting on top of the metal railing of the second floor of the motel, she hears her purse hit the concrete. Damn, Max thought, this is going to really, really fucking hurt if I don't make this. With a deep inhale through her nose, Max jumps off the railing, holding her breath as she desperately hopes to land in the pool below.

 

[Nomad13]

Bima tossed his makeshift spear down onto the balcony below, hearing it clatter as it landed. Moving quickly, he ripped down the curtains and folded them in two to create a sturdier rope. After securing the makeshift rope around the fourth-floor railing, he gave it a quick tug to test its strength. Satisfied, he began lowering himself down to the third-floor balcony.

Just as his feet touched the third-floor railing, the sound of tearing fabric and creaking metal reached his ears. The curtain rope had started to rip where it rubbed against the sharp edge of the railing, and before he could react, the weakened rope gave way entirely. At the same time, the fourth-floor railing, already strained by his weight, snapped with a loud crack.

Gravity took over as Bima plunged downward. He slammed into the glass-covered balcony below, the fall knocking the wind out of him. Only reason he didn't fall of the edge was because of a last ditch swing and his feet hooked on the third floor railing. His leather jacket and welding gloves, now marked with shallow cuts, had protected him from the worst of the glass shards. Groaning, the man rolled to his side and laid there for a moment, clutching his ribs as he tried to catch his breath. The combination of the tearing rope and the collapsing railing had made for a rough landing, but he was alive, not bleeding, and can still move... After the pain is gone.

 

[Mineczka]

Klavdiya Chayka​

13, April, 2003

It had been a few days since Klavdiya had come to DC, sent by Hopkins, she was asked to study the virus that appeared to spread like the Spanish Flu of the 1920s... So far, only basic information was able to be gathered by the Pathology team, working around the clock, trying to get as much information is possible... Looking through the microscope, a small hiss could be heard from the usually stoic Pathologist, "пиздец (Shit)..." She'd grumble watching the virus battle with the cell sample, it seemed to act much faster than expected, as she noted down the actions, followed by an addition of Human Rabies Immune Globin, testing what she could on this novel virus, to just try to see what even could offer a hint of resistance. Watching under the microscope, it was easy to see the treatment used was as ineffective as any other treatment. A deep sigh came from the Ukrainian, who leaned back from the microscope, Klavdiya would slightly, as one does in a Type A hazmat suit, turn to the nearby glass, "HRIG test failed. I do not think there's much left we can test right now... Not until we receive more possible treatments from Atlanta." Taking a small breath, she'd continue, "At this point, I am ending all trials, and will proceed to Decontamination."

Stepping from the room, Klavdiya found herself in a smaller room first, with multiple shower-heads above and to the sides of her, a precaution as this disease was being taken as serious as possible. As the door closed with the plastic film within sealing the gaps, the shower-heads would come to life, spraying a mix of cleansing agents over the suit. Holding her arms out, Klavdiya would slowly turn clockwise several times, allowing the spray to get everywhere possible. After a few minutes of it, the shower heads stopped, as the bleach slowly settled on the floor, swirling around the drain, before the door ahead of the blonde opened, with a guard allowing her through. Squeaking with each step, the pathologist would sit on a bench, it would not take long for another aide to come in, before slowly working with the Ukrainian in removing the suit around her.

After several moments, Klavdiya would emerge from the locker room, walking down the hallway into another room, and sitting at her desk, listening to the other doctors share notes and the like. Everyone was scrambling... Some few minutes later, Doctor Fleming would enter, speaking loudly over all. Turning her head slightly, Klavdiya would listen along, though her eyes remained fixated at the data of the disease, 'If only I had more time...' She'd think, before hearing the mention of terminating test subjects, quickly turning in her chair, Klavdiya would call out over the ruckus, "Does that termination include cell samples? As there's still more we could do." She'd ask, plain as ever, quickly crossing her arms soon after, expecting a response to come quickly.

 

[Miaow]

Mi-Yun Son
Miaow

The pair of siblings' musical shopping trip down in Glover Park, D.C., couldn't have gone more awry. The streets erupted into chaos. There were a few other customers in the store, but none stayed put. Some old guy wasn't quick enough when it came to unlocking his car... It was only this morning that those freaks finished cleaning off his bones, leaving nothing but a crimson-slick, skeletal form inside the remains of a torn windbreaker and pair of trousers. The teeth in his mouth are still unnervingly white... and slowly clacking against each other, although the rest of the body otherwise does not move.

Lorraine Keyes, the cashier at a Middle C Music, is the only one left in the store besides the brother-sister pair. She's been crying her eyes out since the horror show began, and has barely been able to get any sleep.

The windows and doors to the music store have been reinforced with makeshift barricades. The interior of the shop is utterly trashed, with most of the chairs, racks, and bigger instruments piled up upon each other. Lori helped tape up posters all along the windows in order to help block the view inside, but sometimes one of the monsters outside does bash against the entryways.

Everyone is wearing band T-shirts, their original clothes having become sweaty and gross. The snacks from the staff room haven't left anybody feeling particularly nourished, and supplies are starting to run low. Lorraine isn't sure what to do—she's brought up the prospect of suicide. "I don't know if there's anything left out there. Is it worth it...?" She is at a loss for how to kill herself, though. There's no weapons, no pills, nothing, really, but she has mentioned hanging herself with piano wire. All of this ideation started to appear right after she finally stopped crying, suggesting that she really might be considering it. Who could blame her, though? Seeing a woman get cornered and torn apart right outside the store this morning didn't help.

Neither sibling were particularly good at emotional support. Mi-Yun had learned the hard way that, when you needed a shoulder to cry on, her family was the last place you needed to look. Paying for therapy? In-patient care? Sure, they'd throw as much money as they needed to avoid talking about Mi-Yun's feelings, as long as it meant she came out of the loony-bin mental health facility well enough to look normal at family dinners.

Watching Lorraine contemplate offing herself took her back to the facility. Mi-Yun had considered suicide, briefly, but her parents had never let her have a pet, and she'd be damned if she died before owning a cat. That dream was probably a little unrealistic now. Did cats reanimate too? She'd never actually read Pet Sematary, but it was a Stephen King novel, so she assumed there were some gnarly zombie cats in it. Imagine dying because you tried to rub a zombie cat's belly... That's probably how she'd end up dying.

She sat on the brand new, barely touched stool of a CTK 671, the freshest Casio keyboard on the market. She'd unwrapped a sparkling pair of Quietcomfort 2 BOSE headphones and plugged them into the keyboard, turning the volume up high to drown out Lorraine's sobbing... Ji-Yeong seemed to find it somewhat annoying, but Mi-Yun was more concerned about joining in... She'd had a psychotic break over her finals, she didn't exactly have the best track record when it came to mental fortitude. The keys thumped with each chord she played, the music playing in her ears. She wasn't sure how long she'd been playing for... but the sun was still rising when she started and now it was almost at it's highest point.

She flinched as she felt a tap on her shoulder, her hands freezing on the keys as her head snapped to her left. There stood Ji-Yeong, wringing his hands. She set the headphones down on the keyboard.
"Don't sneak up on me!" She scolded him, though her voice remained soft and subdued.
"Sorry-- You had headphones on! What did you want me to do?" He argued, to which Mi-Yun simply sighed.
"Look... We need to make sure Lorraine doesn't... you know." Ji-Yeong whispered, leaning in to avoid being heard.
This seemed like an empathetic gesture... but Mi-Yun knew empathy wasn't her brother's forte.
"Why does it matter to you?" She asked with a frown. Ji-Yeong huffed, as if frustrated she hadn't simply read his mind.
"Because the dead come back, and if she hangs herself in the back room, one of those things is gonna be in here." He explained, "and I don't wanna get fucking eaten."
"What are we meant to say?" Mi-Yun asked.
"I don't know! You're the one who went to therapy!"

Mi-Yun huffed at this response. Ji-Yeong was a stubborn man... either she was speaking to Lorraine or no one was. She got to her feet, tugging on the hem of the oversized t-shirt that she'd plucked from a sale rack. She had no idea what band it was trying to advertise, she'd certainly never heard of them, but a shirt was a shirt and she doubted any undead would be calling her a poser. She headed around the counter and towards the back room, though paused before heading through the door... What if she was changing or something? She glanced over her shoulder, glimpsing Ji-Yeong watching anxiously from behind the keyboard.
"Uhh... Lorraine?" She called out, fidgeting with her hands, "You okay?"

 

[Nomad13]

Bima lay on the glass-strewn balcony, his breath coming in short, painful gasps. Every inch of his body ached, but he knew he didn’t have time to lie there. His jacket held up. Which was a relief, but he didn’t want to push his luck any further.

Groaning, he rolled to his side and slowly got to his feet, wincing at the dull ache in his ribs. His eyes scanned the room through the balcony's shattered glass doors. Thankfully, no infected were inside, and several suitcases lay scattered around. He grabbed his makeshift spear from where it had fallen and cautiously stepped into the room, each step causing a faint crunch beneath his boots as the glass cracked underfoot.

Looking down at his leather jacket, Bima finally noticed the cuts. They weren’t deep, but they were enough to worry him. The jacket had protected him so far, but if it took much more damage, it might not hold up in another close encounter. He resisted the urge to collapse onto the bed and rest. He couldn’t afford it. His supplies were still on the bottom floor, and without them, surviving would be a lot harder. He needed to figure out his next move.

Bima moved toward the door, quietly stepping over the scattered suitcases. His hand hovered over the door handle before he bent down to peek through the peephole. Pressing his ear to the door, he listened intently. Gunfire still echoed from somewhere in the building, along with the occasional thudding footsteps. But nothing seemed too close, at least for now.

For a moment, he stood frozen by the door, debating whether it was worth the risk to retrieve his gear. The ground floor was chaos, infected, soldiers, and who knew what else. But those supplies were critical. Without them, he wouldn’t last more than a couple of days.

He tightened his grip on the makeshift spear and steeled himself. Staying on the upper floors might feel safer for now, but without the essentials, it was a death sentence. He’d have to make his way down and retrieve the bag somehow.

"Alright, one step at a time," he muttered, forcing himself to focus.

Listening through the door once more, Bima determined it was still quiet enough to move. He eased the door open, careful not to make any noise. The hallway beyond was dimly lit, dust particles drifting through the air as the sounds of distant gunfire and groaning infected echoed through the building.

His mind raced as he tried to figure out the safest route. The stairwells were probably teeming with infected or blocked by soldiers, so he needed to find a creative way down. The idea of scaling the balconies again crossed his mind, but after what just happened with the rope, he wasn't too keen on it.

Instead, he decided to try the service elevator shaft. If it hadn't been completely destroyed, it might offer a less direct but quieter way to get down. Keeping his spear at the ready, he moved down the hallway, every sense on high alert as he searched for a way toward the elevator. His supplies were waiting, and he have to get them back.

 

[ForlornObserver]

Ricardo struggled to catch his breath, the whirring of the ceiling fan and the sound of his beating heart drowned out everything else around him. He tasted blood on his lips and the smell of copper invading his nostrils nearly sent him into a frenzy. He gripped the hammer in his left hand so tightly, that he could feel his fingers starting to go numb. Opening his mouth to take a deep breath, he nearly retched as putrid air filled his lungs. Taking a step back as he gasped for air, his back foot collided with something behind him and he found himself sprawled on his back on the floor, his head hitting the ground unceremoniously filling his vision with stars.

He welcomed the pain, it helped calm him down.

A wet, gurgling sound brought him back to reality and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he opened his eyes. Leaning forward into a sitting position, it took a couple of seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. When his vision finally cleared, he smiled brightly as he surveyed his handiwork. A man sat before him tied to a wooden chair, naked from head to toe. The man's tongue and his manhood lay in between his feet, each pale foot having a nail embedded into it. Ricardo looked over the man's body with a mixture of disgust and admiration, he wasn't surprised that the guy hadn't bled out yet, every wound had been cauterized. Most people would have passed out by now, so the fact that this man was attentive enough to spit, gurgle, and beg for his life was rather impressive.

The middle-aged man whimpered as Ricardo rose to his feet, the eye that wasn't sewn shut watching as his tormentor chuckled to himself as he nearly fell on his ass again but caught himself at the last moment. The man began to shudder uncontrollably, as Ricardo lowered himself until the two of them were at eye level.

"Thank you for making this fun for me hermano," Rico cooed, whispering into the man's ear seductively. "Between you and the undead, I couldn't think of a better way to kill time." the man began to wheeze, spittle and flecks of blood flying from his mouth as Rico gently placed a hand on the back of his head, leaning in and kissing him on the forehead. "When was the last time you washed your fucking hair?" he asked, although it was more of a statement than a question. "I know the worlds gone to shit but damn, even I find the time to wash my balls." Rico chuckled, taking a glance between the man's legs. "Well, I guess that's one less thing you'll have to worry about."

"Nose, ears, teeth, fingers..." Ricardo giggled, ruffling the man's grey hair before pulling away, wiping sweat and blood across the leg of his denim pants. "Where should I end this?" Rico asked, picking up the hammer he had dropped earlier before dropping to his knees and scooting over to the man. Staining his once-pristine Jordon 1's as he moved through the pool of puddles of blood at the man's feet.

"I'll let you decide," he whispered, nose-to-nose with the man, never breaking eye contact with him as he raised the clawed end of the hammer high above his head and brought it down with an alarming amount of force...