Realistic or Modern Nᴇᴄʀᴏsɪs

[Mineczka]

Klavdiya Chayka​

13, April, 2003...

A breath of relief would come from the doctor, with at least microbial samples, she could continue to study, and by proxy, continue to fight the disease, battling it at every turn to find if not a cure, a method to suppress it and contain it... Hearing the gunshots, they were sounds she was so familiar with... Miniscule flashes of her childhood came and went as the muffled shots rang out, hearing Doctor Fleming's mention of God, she'd scoff to herself, hissing under her breath, "/There is no God here, Doctor.../" In her native tongue as she turned her back to the direction of the gunfire, despite her objections, she had no real way to defy the men with guns. However the thought of relocation was not a bad idea, getting the doctors and non-combat personnel from the danger as fast as possible was always a good idea, especially if one wanted the disease to be fought...

Hearing her name, Vita however would pause, "You plan to send me?" She'd ask, almost sounding insulted for a moment, before quieting down and listening along, "Right right. How many are coming with? As I'm sure we're going to need a fair detail." She'd ask, turning back to her desk to pick up her jacket, though the day was warm, Vita knew it was to cool rapidly overnight, and were she outside during that, Hypothermia could set in...

Twenty minutes later...

Seated in a small convoy, Vita kept her eyes about, her mind wondered what is happening, wondering responses, thinking to herself why the Soviet Union seemed faster at handling messes like this-- then again, they normally handled it with mass killings... Brushing the thought aside, her mind refocused on her goal, save as many lives as possible. Exiting the truck, Klavdiya would quickly put on her respirator, and threw up her hood keeping it tight over her head before putting on the gloves she wore this morning. Stepping towards the soldiers, she'd present her CDC ID, and speak as loud as she could with her voice muffled, "I'm here to check those within, and we're to transport them to the Navy Yard. Stop containing them in here." She'd say, watching the soldier move out of her way, before walking in to do her job...

 

[Nomad13]

Bima Mataram

Bima moved toward the service area, eyes still scanning for anything useful. The gunfire and shouts from the lower floors were a constant reminder that time wasn’t on his side. Still, he couldn't afford to rush and make a mistake. His hands quickly sifted through the cluttered debris, searching for any remaining linens or fabric that he could use. Extra cloth could always come in handy—maybe to make another rope, or to fashion a makeshift sling if things went bad.

The overturned room service cart caught his attention again. This time, he crouched beside it and ran his fingers along the edges. The frame seemed solid enough, but he needed to know if the material could be of any use to him as a weapon or even as a tool for escape. He leaned in closer, inspecting the wood, wondering if it could be broken down into something he could swing. Maybe a leg, or even a panel.

He pushed the cart aside, still looking for any linen and not finding any. Every second spent searching felt heavier, the urgency building. He didn’t hear the infected nearby, but that didn’t mean they weren’t close, and the soldiers were definitely still sweeping through the hotel.

As he rummaged through the scattered supplies, his mind returned to the stairwell. The elevator was a bust, and the cart wasn’t offering much in the way of escape. If he was going to get out, it would have to be through the emergency stairs. He stood up, his decision made, and glanced once more at the stairwell door. Time to move.

With one last sweep of the area, Bima braced himself and made his way toward the emergency stairs, every muscle tense for what he might find.

 

[SMTFan]

Jeb rolls down the window of his gray Taurus, and begins to speak to the navy man in the gas mask. “Hello sir, my name is Jeb Boyd.” Pointing towards the others in the convoy, “We all were holed up in our apartment building back in the town, but fires started breaking out nearby and more and more of the crazies kept coming by. It was only a matter of time before we would get overrun, the fires would spread to our building, or we’d run out of supplies. So, we’d like to seek refuge here. We’re all able bodied and willing to do whatever you need us to do, and I personally assure you I won’t let any of us be a burden. Just please let us in, staying out there with all the crazies is a death sentence.”

 

[Lorsh]

​

---

Dr. Kladviya Chayka
Mineczka

The convoy pulls out of the CDC building, the surrounding streets and sidewalks littered with body bags and piles of charred corpses. A few fresh ones are still being stacked up by some guys in yellow HAZMAT suits, overseen by armed soldiers. The snipers and machine gun emplacements posted in and around the building—as well as across the street at the Department of Homeland Security—have made short work of the infected that encroached on the perimeter over the past few days.



Federal Protective Service agents remove a few sawhorses and wave the Humvees through. It only takes a minute or so to arrive at the Holiday Inn. "Gotta wonder how it is in Philly," the driver mentions. "Got folks out there."

"I'unno, man. It's probably fucked," mentions a soldier from the back. Conversation for the rest of the short ride is kept at a minimum. Soon, the convoy pulls up to the National Mall's Holiday Inn.



Ambulances, police cruisers and military vehicles crowd the parking lot, while soldiers and cops with riot gear funnel civilians into the lobby. They wave Dr. Kladviya through, and she heads into the lobby where stretchers, cots, and makeshift bedrolls litter the floor. There must have been over a hundred civilians here, along with a mishmash of paramedics, cops, and soldiers. Many of them sport wounds, some of them already showing blackened veins.

A short, but stout man in a maroon beret with a major's insignia approaches the doctor, hands on his hips. His face is covered by a dust mask and aviators, the latter of which he removes before speaking to her. "Check who, and for what?" he asks. "These people here are under my protection."

Captain Gregory Greaves is following close behind Vita. He brings his heels together and salutes the major, who promptly returns it. "Sir, if I may - this woman's here on behalf of the CDC to relay some information about how the contagion's spread. Go ahead, doctor..."

In the middle of whatever explanation she might have offered, both officers suddenly turn their heads as some ruckus emits from the nearby emergency stairwell.



Bima Mataram
Nomad13

He's able to make his descent all the way down to the lobby floor. However, the exit is being covered by soldiers at the bottom, and Bima ends up with an M249 SAW pointed at his face. "Hold, hold, hold!" the soldier shouts from behind his M40 field protective mask. Another pushes past him, reaching out to grab Bima as he hauls him out of the stairwell, throwing him to the ground and putting a boot on his back.

"Check him! Roll him over." There must have been three guns pointed at him, now. Apparently, they expected nothing good to come from the upper levels, given all the gunfire that was still blaring.

"Sergeant, the fuck you doing?" A man in an oakleaf-flashed red beret asks, turning around to face the scene.

Another guy in a beret and a mask quickly walks up next to him. "Let them check him, sir. If he's got bites, a scratch, splashes blood, he might be on his way to turn."

The enlisted men keep Bima pinned on the floor for a few more moments, looking sheepishly (somehow, through their gas masks) over at the major before he finally gives them a nod.

"He's clear," the sergeant says after the soldiers have practically ripped off his shirt and felt him up.



Samantha Edwards
Sagey

It was a nasty drive to Charlotte. Never had the young vet student seen so much destruction. There seemed to be a totaled car or a deadly pileup for every mile she'd driven. Dozens of corpses became scores, then hundreds. There were people with all manners of wounds, many of them seemingly fatal, who were up and trying to get into the car. Gunfire and explosions ripped through the night, but eventually she did make it to the city.

The lanes leading out of Charlotte were completely jammed by abandoned vehicles, but the other way was relatively clear. The South Carolina National Guard stopped her car along Interstate 85, and escorted her to the Ericsson Stadium. It was filled with hundreds of tents, and thousands of people were sleeping on the terraces. With the stadium already far exceeding its maximum capacity, Samantha was forced to park in the field off of Morehead Street, across from an upholstery shop. Other nearby fields were filled with tents, portajohns, and other vehicles.

It's about noon. Somebody has left a small leaflet on the dash of Sam's red K5 KIA Optima, imploring the reader to accept the love of Jesus Christ and sovereignty of God before the End Times gets into full swing. Your friends at the First Presbyterian Church of Charlotte place great emphasis on the fact that the suffering in Hell will be even worse than it is right now on Earth—even these days...





Jebidiah Boyd
SMTFan

The sailor leans forward, tilting his head as peers into the car through the portholes on his gas mask, before wordlessly waving it through. Jeb is able to pull up the boom gates before he's stopped again, this time by sailors in dust masks, as if the further one traveled onto government property, the less dangerous the risk of airborne infection got.

After the other vehicles in front have driven through, a new sailor - helmet, green fatigues, shotgun - saunters over and motions for Jeb's little convoy to roll down their windows before giving them directions. "Follow the master-at-arms to decontamination," he says as a Chevy Blazer, painted woodland camo, pulls out from the ID office's parking lot. Must be him. "Then, you'll be set up from there. Don't do anything stupid, okay? This isn't something we normally do, but we know what's going on out there. You've got Captain Giaquinto to thank for this."

The Navy Chevrolet leads the civilian vehicles down to the parking lot of a building marked 'Weight House Fitness Center'. Everybody's ordered out of their cars once they're parked, and brought inside for a supervised shower. Some guy that was in a sedan ahead of Jeb starts to strip down, but gets noticed for a bite mark near his stomach, and gets hauled away before he can even get wet.

"Fuck's he goin'?" Brayton asks, nervously folding up his shirt.

"Don't you worry about it. Get wet," the master-at-arms growls.



Max Dudek
lemonsnout

She's able to scale the fence and drop down onto the sidewalk. 20th Street. To the right, one of the brawling men from earlier has already been grabbed by a gang frothing freaks, emitting a blood-curdling cream as the streetlamp illuminates him being eaten alive. There's more of them, too - and some have taken notice of Max instead of the meal that was currently writhing on the sidewalk.

To the left, things are a bit clearer... but there's still an unhealthy-looking figure trying to make its way towards Max. Beyond that, there's some trees lining the stream of Stony Run, and then there's some kind of railway station.

The only clear path is down the alley between the two buildings straight ahead, which just leads to another parking lot.



Mi-Yun Son
Miaow
(Section written by Sagey )

Groans, screams, and the ever constant shuffling of 'people' moved past the cracking windows.

Any noise alerted them in a heartbeat and the smell of the living was enticing. Lorraine shook her head, "There's no other way out." She sniffled, wiping tears from her cheek with the back of her hand.

The crack on the glass spread a little further. A scream could be heard in the distance that had caught the attention of some of them while others continued to move past the store in both directions.
Beyond what they could see, the street was filling up. A mix of living and dead, cars attempting to push through without caring who they were hitting. Distance sirens could be heard and somewhere the smell of smoke would tell them a fire was nearby.



Elias Kelliman
Lord Bradorian

"He ran up there!" cries Ray, ducking behind a ratty sofa next to a coffee table covered weed flakes and spent blunts. Matthew puts on his war face. "I've fucking got him," he declares, already charging up the steps. Seconds later, a fusillade of gunshots ring out, followed by an exclamation from Matt. "Yeah, you like that, muthafucka?" One final bullet is fired.



"Way to go, Matt! Fuck yeah!" Ray starts grabbing cash off of the table, stuffing it into his pocket. He runs into the kitchen and starts pulling out drawers, looking for drugs.

Dominic swings his revolver shut, and cautiously approaches the stairs. Matthew victoriously descends the steps, flecks of blood across his face, but he wears a big grin. "I fuckin' got him, man," he says, fist-bumping Dom, who gives him a nod of approval.

Dom walks up a few steps, then peers up past the wooden railing, wincing. "Yeah. He's fuckin' dead, bro," he replies. That's two bangers down.

Matt approaches Elias, reaching behind himself and pulling a Model 19 revolver out of the back of his waistband. "Ow, shit," he winces, the still-hot barrel burning his asscrack momentarily. He offers it to El, along with a fistful of .38 Special. "We're strapped now, yo." He proceeds to put on his best Billy Mays impression. "...but wait, there's more! Everyone upstairs. Hey, get over here!"



On the second floor, there are more guns - heavy artillery that thankfully didn't have a chance to be deployed by the gangbangers, who were caught unawares. Dominic grabs the MAC-10, while Matt gives his still-hot Glock to Ray, grabbing a new one with an extended magazine and fire selector switch. A short pump shotgun is tossed over to Elias, along with some red shells.

Andrew honks the horn from outside. "Okay, boys - we gotta be outta here," Dom says, stuffing a few magazines for the Ingram into his pockets. Ray peeks outside the blinds, down the street. "We're still in the clear, but yeah, we should bounce."​

 

[Lord Bradorian]

"He's out of bullets Matt, just smoke him," Elias advises Matt as he charges up the stairs after the banger which had retreated upstairs. He flinches as the shots ring out, and relief washes over him when he hears Matt's voice at the end of it. As the group headed upstairs to reap their bloody rewards, Elias marveled at the take. In the car outside, he pulled back the pump of the shotgun and counted the shells - full tube.

"Good shit, guys. Especially you Matt. Got that bitch," Elias said, patting his friend on the back. "Okay. We either gotta stash this stuff at the crib, or shit, get out of the city. Take 214 to Davidsonville. Or south to that airbase. It might be safe there."​

 

[Sagey]

It was a nasty drive to Charlotte. Never had the young vet student seen so much destruction. There seemed to be a totaled car or a deadly pileup for every mile she'd driven. Dozens of corpses became scores, then hundreds. There were people with all manners of wounds, many of them seemingly fatal, who were up and trying to get into the car. Gunfire and explosions ripped through the night, but eventually she did make it to the city.

The lanes leading out of Charlotte were completely jammed by abandoned vehicles, but the other way was relatively clear. The South Carolina National Guard stopped her car along Interstate 85, and escorted her to the Ericsson Stadium. It was filled with hundreds of tents, and thousands of people were sleeping on the terraces. With the stadium already far exceeding its maximum capacity, Samantha was forced to park in the field off of Morehead Street, across from an upholstery shop. Other nearby fields were filled with tents, portajohns, and other vehicles.

It's about noon. Somebody has left a small leaflet on the dash of Sam's red K5 KIA Optima, imploring the reader to accept the love of Jesus Christ and sovereignty of God before the End Times gets into full swing. Your friends at the First Presbyterian Church of Charlotte place great emphasis on the fact that the suffering in Hell will be even worse than it is right now on Earth—even these days...

Sam wasn't the biggest fan of having to go over to the field, but there was little choice in the matter. After finding a place to park the Kia she had grabbed her bag and water bottle and left the car. She hadn't been sure how far she had actually parked from the stadium but the crowd was confused. Part of it could be seen moving quickly while another side was slower.
She wasn't sure what exactly was going on but when she glanced behind her, she could still see her car. There was something on her windshield now, a pamphlet it looked like and out of pure curiosity, she pushed against the crowd to get back to her car.

Of course it had to be something related to God. While Sam didn't really believe this was the 'End Times', she certainly wasn't about to pray to some god that probably wanted this to happen.
She wasn't religious but she was well aware of the things that the bible said happened. With a roll of her eyes, she tore it in half and let it fall to the ground, heading back through the crowd toward where she could just barely make out tents. Maybe it wasn't a bright idea to go toward the people, but she would risk it for now. Sam kept her bat close to her, a tight grip on it's handle in case anyone attempted to take it from her, or worse.

She could hear screams in the distance but her immediate surroundings couldn't give her much as to how far away they were. Since there was little panic, she assumed far enough. It took some time for her to reach the area where people were setting up tent and found a small area between two to rest in. Sam took a seat, keeping her bag and bat as close to her as she could while she observed the crowd around her. Her hands dug into her bag, pulling out a bag of chips, keeping them half hidden in the bag so she could shove them back in there in case she had to run. For now, she'd take the quiet before the storm for however brief it would last, unless someone from the Church shows up.

 

[Nomad13]

Bima Mataram

Bima pushed himself up onto his knees, still feeling the weight of the soldiers’ boots on his back, even though they’d stepped away. His breath came slow, controlled, trying to keep his temper in check as he rubbed at his sore ribs. The jacket they’d torn at was barely holding together, the zipper almost completely ruined, with deep scuffs from glass and debris, and now this final indignity from the rough search.

"You’ve torn up my jacket," Bima said, his voice low but steady, though the frustration was clear. "Am I supposed to walk around bare-chested in a situation like this?"

He glanced at the soldiers, their guns still casually pointed his way, but he wasn’t done.

"My pack. It fell to the ground floor when I tried to come down earlier," he continued, looking directly at the sergeant. "After the grenade you tossed went off in the hallway, I barely made it. I was on the balcony when it went off. Near miss nearly took my head off, and in the chaos, my bag fell. I’ve got a change of clothes in there. Unless you plan to let me stay half-naked, I’d like to grab it."

Bima’s voice stayed even, but there was a quiet challenge in it. He wasn’t trying to provoke anyone, but he wasn’t about to let them dismiss his needs like he was some criminal. His eyes flicked back to the sergeant, waiting for a response.

 

[Lorsh]

Samantha Edwards
Sagey

Things are pretty chaotic, as usual... People wander around, asking for specific medicines, water, food. The rations are all gone, or at least the authorities have stopped handing them out. Gaggles of civilians form near doomsday preachers, supply hawkers selling basic necessities for hundreds and even thousands of dollars, and overworked medics and volunteers.


"Your sins have incensed God, and brought His wrath!"

"Buy water while we've got it!"

"Medical treatment for cash!"


A pair of cops in riot gear are beating the everloving shit out of some guy who was picketing with a few others.


'CARE DONT KILL'

'STOP THE STATE FROM MURDERING THE SICK'

'THEY ARE ALIVE!!'


Counterprotesters are starting to mob the picketers, too. Some throw insults, others throw hands. More cops try to separate the groups to little avail, with the violence quickly escalating. One of the counterprotestors even bites the nose off of the 'CARE DONT KILL' woman. Wait.

A guy in a cowboy hat and handlebar stache pulls out a stainless steel automatic and starts laying down hate on the picketers, before a huge, black cop blows his head off with a scattergun, painting several nearby people red, leading to further confusion as to who is infected and who isn't. People are freaking out, changing from fighting their fellow man to trampling him in an attempt to escape. Shit has met fan.

"Some'n get the FUCKIN' army over here!"



Bima Mataram
Nomad13

The soldiers stare down Bima as he voices his concerns. Slowly, they lower their weapons. "Right, sorry about that, sir," the sergeant says. He taps the gunner on the shoulder, and he reassumes his position as sentry at the stairwell. The sergeant looks over at the major. "He allowed out, sir?"

"Negative," the major replies. "This building's under quarantine. Tell him to sit down."

The sergeant shrugs at Bima. "Sorry, sir. You're gonna have to wait."



Elias Kelliman
Lord Bradorian

Andrew is bug-eyed as the crew returns. "Fuck guys, you're all like, straight up murderers now - hah..." He laughs uneasily.

Dom dumps his revolver in Andy's cupholder. "Shut the hell up and drive, dude."

"Good job, man," Ray says, patting Andrew on that back. "Was lot of heat going in there, you kept your cool and all that shit, good stuff... And uh, Eli, I gotta go check on my mom. I can't leave DC."

"Shit, well - you need a dropoff?" Andy asks. "I think we should go to the airbase."

"They're probably gonna put a cap in our asses, if we go in strapped up," Matthew mentions.

Dom nods in agreement. "Yeah, we can drop Ray off - but I think we should go to Davidsonville. Hit up a place for some supplies first, maybe."​

 

[Lord Bradorian]

"We got everything we need. We should get out while we still can," Elias says in reply to Dom's suggestion to stop for supplies. "Dawg. We should take your mom with us - y'all are gonna have to make room back there. Staying here in the city, both of you guys will be in deep shit. It's not safe." Elias said, shaking his head at Ray. "We gotta stick together, bro. Same shit I told Andy back at the clubhouse. Find somewhere out in the boonies to lie low. Take over some old farmer's house or some shit - I agree with heading to Davidsonville, the airbase might be bad news."

Elias watched out his window as they passed a narrow street with small businesses up and down it's winding length - there were silhouettes of bodies lying all over the pavement. A car in the distance was rolling over them, jostling every few meters. "God have mercy," he whispered to himself. This shit was starting to get scary.

 

[Sagey]

Things are pretty chaotic, as usual... People wander around, asking for specific medicines, water, food. The rations are all gone, or at least the authorities have stopped handing them out. Gaggles of civilians form near doomsday preachers, supply hawkers selling basic necessities for hundreds and even thousands of dollars, and overworked medics and volunteers.


"Your sins have incensed God, and brought His wrath!"

"Buy water while we've got it!"

"Medical treatment for cash!"


A pair of cops in riot gear are beating the everloving shit out of some guy who was picketing with a few others.


'CARE DONT KILL'

'STOP THE STATE FROM MURDERING THE SICK'

'THEY ARE ALIVE!!'


Counterprotesters are starting to mob the picketers, too. Some throw insults, others throw hands. More cops try to separate the groups to little avail, with the violence quickly escalating. One of the counterprotestors even bites the nose off of the 'CARE DONT KILL' woman. Wait.

A guy in a cowboy hat and handlebar stache pulls out a stainless steel automatic and starts laying down hate on the picketers, before a huge, black cop blows his head off with a scattergun, painting several nearby people red, leading to further confusion as to who is infected and who isn't. People are freaking out, changing from fighting their fellow man to trampling him in an attempt to escape. Shit has met fan.

"Some'n get the FUCKIN' army over here!"

Sam wasn't at all sure what the hell was going on, but she knew damn well that whatever was happening to people was not normal. Some of the things she had seen on her way down here was enough to convince her that these people weren't 'alive' in the way the people here were protesting. Someone having their throat ripped out would hardly survive. Sam slowly got back to her feet while she watched everything unfold. The chaos she expected but on a level she hadn't really thought of. It was easy to expect a situation to go one way or another, but when you were in the middle of it, it was always a lot worse than you'd think.

She slowly backed away, keeping her bag and items as close to her body as she could. Maybe staying near the tents was a terrible idea after all. She probably could've found somewhere else to park the car and just sleep in it. Or an apartment building might be clear enough? Not that she agreed with the protesters but the rioting was getting out of hand at this point. The moment the cowboy decided to start shooting at them is when she turned and started leaving.

Sam pushed her way through the crowd, shoving her snack back into the bag and keeping a grip on her metal bat. Maybe she could get to the car and drive out of here, somewhere where she wouldn't be lost in the crowd when they all decided to start eating each other. She eventually could see the car, barely over the sea of people as someone yelled for the army to come over. Sure that wasn't going to help deescalate the situation at all, the veterinarian just refused to look back, deciding she'd start running when she heard people screaming and growling following suit.

 

[Mineczka]

Klavdiya Chayka​

April 13th, 2003...

Taking a moment to measure the situation, Vita would make stern eye-contact with the narrowly shorter captain, obviously not impressed as she spoke, her tone accented by her still prevalent Slavic accent, "We're to detain those infected here, transport them to Navy Yard for further testing. But. We cannot be housing any more infected civilians here. Any further information will be on a need-to-know basis." She'd remark, glancing at two people as Captain Greaves spoke a moment, watching the inky black colour flow through their veins, looking to her watch a moment she timed the movement of the blackness, 'Time of total infection appears unchanged from the first hypothesis of Twelve Hours dependent on location of infection...' She'd think before turning back to the Captain, whispering, "Those two likely won't make it to the Navy Yard at the rate of infection." Before her eyes flicked to the commotion at the Emergency Stairwell.

Watching with Caution, Vita would slowly distance herself from the two soldiers, taking a moment to look over another patient's wounds, trying to glean what she can from the field as possible, even if she couldn't take any samples, she wanted to at least leave with some more knowledge of what she is battling, to at least get some form of cure, some antidote, some means to fight back and save as many lives as possible, all the while, she kept an eye on the stairwell, watching several police and soldiers approach it, weapons ready...

 

[Nomad13]

Bima Mataram

Bima let out a sigh, his frustration visible as he nodded. "Yeah, alright," he said, his tone resigned but polite. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tension building there. "But if any of you happen to see my pack on your way around, maybe grab it for me? Not really keen on showing off my chest all day." He added a small grin, hoping the joke would ease the tension.

After a pause, Bima's expression turned more serious. "By the way, when you guys shoot the infected... do they keep moving after that? I saw one with its neck twisted all wrong. Like, completely broken, but it was still trying to take a chunk out of me." He leaned forward a bit, his curiosity mixing with concern. "Another one stopped moving when I stabbed it in the head. You seen anything like that?"

 

[Lorsh]

​

---

Elias Kelliman
Lord Bradorian

"I'll take it around to Ray's mom's place," Dom begins, having switched back into the driver's seat. "But we gotta fill up before we head to Davidsonville."

Following Ray's directions, a few minutes later he pulls up outside Ray's mom's apartment. "Shit, there's fucking—they're everywhere!" cries Andy. He gets out and pops two of them in the head with Dom's revolver.

Dominic fires his Ingram from the hip, and cuts down a few, but they keep coming. Matthew puts a whole clip into the chest of a bloated woman, sending her staggering backward in a spray of red-yellow putrescence.

"FUCK!!" Ray gets grabbed and bitten on the left wrist before pulling away and jamming his Glock into the offending ghoul's maw, breaking a few teeth before squeezing the trigger.

When the crew busts down the door of the apartment, there's even more of them. Bloodthirsty and already alert, thanks to gunfire they've been hearing. Dom's Ingram jams almost immediately after stepping inside, but Matthew pumps lead down the first hallway, slowing them down. Andrew is quick to empty the cylinder on his revolver, fumbling with some shells as he reloads. One of them lurches out to Matthew, but he sprays it down. His gun locks back empty. "Fuck!" he screams. "We gotta get the hell outta here!"

"I'm not leaving my fucking mom!" Ray pushes past his friends, firing his Glock until empty at the ghouls... He manages to get one or two, but he's soon grabbed by a dozen greenish hands and pulled down.

Dominic racks his Ingram. "Get back to the car!"

"RAY!" cries Matthew. One of the ghouls tries to latch onto him, but he's able to throw it to the ground and curb stomp the thing. Andrew puts a bullet in its head. "Go!"



Samantha Edwards
Sagey

Sam is able to push her way through the crowd and reach her car. There's so many panicking people and unpredictable drivers in play that getting behind the wheel could prove dangerous... still, probably not as dangerous as sticking around to get trampled or eaten.

The 2000 K5 KIA Optima pulls out, and gets lightly rear-ended by a sedan, jostling her forward. Curses fly and horns blare, and a few people get bumped by Sam's car, but thankfully the only body she rolls over is already dead - almost completely flattened by other fleeing vehicles by the time Sam skirts over it. If any blood got on the car, at least it's already red.

It's easy enough to get out of the field, since it's relatively open-ended. Cedar Street is completely jammed up at first, but it's able to be driven around. Sam is able to make it across Morehead Street just as several Humvees pull up to the field, getting tangled up in all the chaos. There's maybe a dozen cars heading in the same direction as Sam down Cedar Street... most of the motorists ended up jammed on Morehead, or else Highway 77. There's also a good number of pedestrians, people either coming or going from the stadium. Many are covered in blood.



Klavdiya Chayka | Bima Mataram
Mineczka | Nomad13

"Crossfire!" hollers an officer of the U.S. Capitol Police, raising his AR-15 as several of the crazies burst from the stairwell. The M249 goes off, shredding a tuxedo-clad woman and an old, naked guy, painting the nearby wall red, but they keep coming. One soldier fires a burst of his M16A2 from the hip, managing to cut down a Capitol Bistro server by severing her spine. The sergeant hollers out for Bima's advice to be followed; "Shoot them in the head!"

MOPP suits are splattered with gore as more of the infected are shot down, but Bima is standing far enough away to not get any on what's left of his shirt. Vita's suit completely protects her, but it doesn't stop Captain Greaves from nearly tackling Dr. Chayka to get her away. "Ma'am! Get down!"

The last freak hits the floor, twitching after being nearly cut in half by the SAW. In one fluid motion, the Major produces his M9 and discharges a round into its skull. Sighing, he turns. "Okay, fellas. Gather up everyone that's infected; we can't have them in here." Turning around, he offers a hand to Vita. "What's the maximum number you can take? What should we do about the... serious cases?"



Nix Griffin
CommanderNecro

The chaos started three days ago, on April 10, when something bad started spreading. Almost everyone's dead, and there are dozens of them outside... most milling about or crouched around badly-mutilated corpses, feasting. Some are, however, more curious... or hungry, as they're pounding on the doors of buildings or cars, occasionally breaking a window or setting off a car alarm, somewhere.

The apartment is built relatively sturdily, with few windows reachable from ground level. Neighbors have banded together. At first, they burned the bodies in the parking lot, but eventually they were forced into the building on a permanent basis. The undead were too thick outside for the doors to even be opened. All the windows have the curtains closed or have had blankets affixed, while others are boarded up or covered with sheet metal.

Tons of furniture is piled in front of the main entrance, with the other ground-level doors leading out of the building being similarly reinforced.

A meeting of the able-bodied apartment residents is called by John Paul Jones. JP packed a double-barreled shotgun, while his friends Jamal and Caleb both had snub-nosed revolvers of meager caliber. He had at least six other supporters in his 'posse' that had melee weapons of some kind, mostly baseball bats, crowbars, or two-by-fours. There were a dozen or so other residents that fought alongside him on a more informal basis, out of necessity... but they definitely deferred to JP's crew.

"Alright, y'all," JP begins. "As you all know, the power went out this morning. Water's still runnin', but we don't know how long for. Since we ain't gone crazy, at least we know it isn't the water. It's day two of being sieged by those sick motherfuckers outside, and we don't know how long it's gonna be until the army comes in and cleans up. So, I say that we start to ration all of our food.

"Wow. Fucking bullshit," complains Gerry Mendoza.

One of JP's men makes him flinch by brandishing his pipe briefly. "Shut the fuck up, bitch!"

"Easy, folks. We're just gonna take stock of what we've all got," JP explains. "Some of us here are already down to our last bit of food."

Jacklyn Meyers scoffs. "So much for stocking up my pantry in advance." A few others mumble about the rationing, while those strapped for food begin to hoot and holler their approval.





Sen. Curtis Roland
Sistros

Morale took a plummet after the newly sworn-in President's flight from the Capitol, yesterday. Even though thousands of soldiers, police officers and other security forces were left behind to secure the perimeter of the National Mall and all its associated buildings, many of the stranded members of Congress feel as if they've just been left out to dry. The President took with him the Secretaries of Defense, Homeland Security, and State, as well as the Speaker of the House and the Surgeon-General.

The inside of the Russell Senate Office is crowded with political figures, their staff, and aides. Most people haven't had time to shower. An emergency session of Congress had been convened on April 9th, and most had been stranded in D.C. ever since, had they not already owned a home there. Those with property in the D.C. area were forbidden to leave, and the generals promises to rescue families in the area was hardly fulfilled.

Most of the senators and their staff wear medical masks, and do their best to keep to themselves in their suites, if they've got one. Among the entourages, few showers have been taken, and most have had to sleep on the floor in committee rooms. Explosions and gunfire started erupting last night in Stanton Park, and haven't stopped.

"Getting fuckin' sick of this..." murmurs a friend, Senator Graham Lundy of South Carolina. "I've got so many folks who—who I don't know if they're alive, and they ain't letting me find out. Except, my son's dead, they told me that much," he says, running a hand through his sweaty gray hair, seeming to focus on that fact for a moment, before looking up. "He was in Charlotte. I don't know, Curt. I'd like to get a bigger picture, but with them declaring martial law tonight, what's the use for us?"

In the atrium, instant coffee is being served, along with bagels, eggs, and bacon. Secret Service agents with sharp suits, medical masks, and slung MP5 submachine guns are standing guard at most entrances and exits, interspersed between machine gun nests manned by U.S. Marines.





Ted Connery
Sir Monsieur

The windows of Flat Ridge Coffee are beginning to crack. For the longest time, the ghouls outside seemed like they would never disperse. Whenever one of them shuffled out of sight, two more seemed to take their place. However, the survivors in the coffee shop were now able to hear gunfire emanating from down the street. There's dozens in the street, many of them relatively limber... rigor mortis had already passed on most of them, being casualties from a few days ago. A streak of dripped blood and errant guts followed the path of the shambling horde of undead, along with a cacophony of horrible moans.

Somewhere in the distance, beyond the rowhouses and shops, automatic weapons are being fired. That's what the ghouls seem to be drawn to, at least. "We gotta make a break for it," says Joshua Howard, another local businessman, a few years younger than Ted. "We just gotta wait until they're down to a trickle, then book it somewhere else before more of them show up."

"No, no! Fuck that!" cries Sandra Perkins, a redheaded barista in her early twenties. She'd once worked at Josh's business, among other things... "They said to stay inside. I'm not opening the door and getting their attention. Are you crazy?" she snapped.

"You guys going to jack off all day and wait until they take these windows out and kill us all?" scoffs Josh. "That gunfire's drawing in way too many of them for my liking."

Sandy looks like she wants to pull her hair out. "You're fucking stupid. The shooting—it's a good thing! Listen, buddy, the army's out there, and we're gonna get shot if we go out there. Wait until they're done mopping this thing up..."

"Nobody's coming for us!" Josh groaned.

​

 

[CommanderNecro]

Nix Griffin​

She is just coming down the stairs from the 2nd floor. She stops when she hears the others discussing food rationing. Which honestly was the best decision JP came up with. She keeps walking down the stairs. Right now she's wearing leggings, and a tank top. She also has a leather jacket wrapped around her waist. The mass of people all in one place makes it hot, well at least for her. Well that and just the pure anxiety of seeing zombies eating corpses not more than 30 feet away. Besides no clothing is gonna stop a bite or scratch anyway. At the sound of all the hollering she puts her index finger to her mouth. And whispers "Shut the fuck up, if your too loud they'll hear you." Her voice is soft but stern. Just loud enough to be heard over the hollering. She then points out to one of the windows with her thumb.

She is holding a pair of binoculars in her left hand. It was her turn for overwatch, keyword being was. There are a few that are a bit too close for comfort. She motions to a few of the armed men and then to the window. Indicating "Watch for infected". She then motioned to JP and spoke in a whispered voice "We have 25 people, we need to ration food. But we will have to venture out at one point. With this many people food is gonna run out quick." Despite JP being kind of a bitch or more specifically his crew, he was useful. Most of the time anyway. He has one thing going for him, he's smarter than he looks. And actually wasn't half bad leading. Granted he was no Napoleon either so it could be better. "Jacklyn your turn for overwatch." She hands him the binoculars. "I counted 8, they shouldn't have wandered too far."​

 

[Alisutte]

Virginia Audrey Baker

Audrey's eyes fluttered open and her hand twitched with an experienced motion as it descended on the alarm button, silencing it's beeps. With groggy energy, the blonde teenager sat on the edge of her bed with a frown. Her sleep has been disturbed the last several days due to the present crisis and the crumbling aspects of normal life Virginia was so used to.
Never before had the girl a feeling that her safety was endangered. It was certainly a new kind of emotion for her. It was claimed as conventional wisdom of a sorts that novelty helped keep one's mind healthy and sharp; somehow it seemed doubtful that the return to the ancient human ways of fearing for their lives would classify as a healthy novel experience. She worried about the fate of her friend Venice and the Ackwings family ever since they seemingly disappeared and wouldn't pick up their phones. Especially, her brother Eiden's absence worried her and she hoped that he was already back and she just had to go outside her room downstairs to see him safe and sound.
Audrey stood up from her bed and her frown changed form to another, one of a steely kind as she forced her attention to God's ever-present presence. Surely, there was no reason to be afraid of death and pain. All Audrey needed was to keep faith in Him. Her anxiety eased a little. She heard the familiar sound of their car's door being shut outside. She stood up from her bed and walked to the windows to look at the ground below. She saw her dad walk back towards the house entrance.
After a short while, Audrey walked down the stairs. She now wore a white long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans. She went into the living room and saw a bunch of boxes. "Hello?", she called. She saw no one at first and started to feel just a little nervous, walking towards the entrance door. "Oh, hey, good morning" she said, relieved, to her parents, who were apparebtly hugging. But something seemed rather off about this whole situation. She didn't understand what were those crunchy sounds, as if of someone munching on a bunch of fried chicken? The answer to her question didn't make Virginia wait long and she dearly wished then she hadn't asked in tye first place. Her dad was moved to the side heavily, which also opened partial view to her mom. And blood. Virginia stood there in the corridor, quite unsure of how to react to this obscure development. "..? Mom? Dad..?.." Genevieve's face was almost unrecognized to what appeared to be human flesh sticking to her mouth and generous application of blood everywhere. Her dad's face was heavily mutilated. A terrifying realization occurred in VAB's mind as her heart seemed to freeze and her face contorted in terror. Genevieve locked unfocused eyes with the young girl. Her eyes indicated nothing but mindless hunger. It was clear this was no Genevieve any longer. She seemed to look between Virginia and the man on the floor with some calculation, perhaps wondering whether it should continue it's meal or prepare a second serving.
VAB stood completely still for the last few seconds. She tried to think of what she should do in the face of this but found her mind unable to think. She tried to make her body move but found herself unable to lift a finger. The zombified Genevieve appeared to have made her decision as she fully dropped Ezrya to the floor and lunged at her daughter.
VAB shrieked shrilly and leaped out of the way, falling on the floor on her back. She saw her mom hit the floor behind her. Virginia's eyes darted to the shotgun lying on the kitchen table nearby and she dashed on her legs to grab it. She wasn't sure if it was loaded already but didn't have any more time as she again stood face to face with Genevieve. VAB aimed the shotgun at her mom's head with hesitation. Her voice trembled as she spoke while she took slow steps back, "Don't come any closer!"
Genevieve growled with apparent anger at being ordered around and she again leaped at her daughter with great speed, arns outstreched for a grabbing maneuver.
Virginia pressed the trigger just as Genevieve was about to reach her, Genevieve's jaws, open and ready to take a delicious bite out of her only daughter, were mere centimeters away from the barrel.

 

[Nomad13]

Klavdiya Chayka | Bima Mataram
Mineczka | Nomad13

The cacophony of gunfire, the smell of gunpowder, and the splatter of blood everywhere felt surreal. A world apart from any movies he’d seen on TV or even imagined. He steadied himself, swallowing down the tension coiling in his chest.

His mind raced, replaying the sergeant’s command to go for headshots. It wasn’t just an order; it was a lifeline in this nightmare. Shooting them in the head, that seemed to be the only way to make sure they stayed down. He could almost feel the collective sigh of relief from the soldiers around him as the gunfire ceased, their weapons lowering as they reoriented.

The soldiers around them began gathering any wounded civilians, pulling them away from the gruesome scene. Bima’s thoughts cleared as the immediate danger faded. He still felt the weight of shock, but his instinct for survival urged him to make a mental note of what he’d just witnessed. Headshots, and a wary eye for anyone showing even a hint of infection.

He was tempted to ask again about getting his stuff as he really don't want any viscera on him. But seeing how tense everyone is he decided to keep quite for now. He'll ask again later.

 

[Lorsh]

Bima M. Mastaram
Nomad13 / Mineczka

"Alright, everyone - check for bites!" calls out the Major. The shouts of other officers and NCOs immediately follow.

Airborne soldiers, U.S. Park Police, and D.C. National Guardsmen start manhandling civilians that look wounded, prompting struggles from the crowd almost immediately. One guy throws a punch at a soldier that was in the midst of tearing him away from his loved ones, and he is promptly answered by a burst from an M16, sending him to the ground with three holes in his chest.

Most people recoil from the gunfire, ducking for cover. Others hardly looked fazed, having seen far worse today, apparently. Once the screams subside, any would-be 'rabble rousers' no longer feel like making a move. The trigger-happy killer is shoved off to the back of the formation, but there doesn't seem to be any real reprimand given for gunning that man down.

People are examined for bites and scratches in an ad-hoc manner, with many injured having their bandages torn off. Most of the wounds do seem to be bites or biteesque, though. The infected are funneled along by fully masked soldiers, shepherded onto the backs of army trucks.



Nix Griffin
CommanderNecro

The celebration is over quickly, and the residents quiet themselves after being chastised by Nix. Some of them shoot her dirty looks, but she's right—in fact, the sound of moans is already growing closer. People start to panic quickly, but JP and his men remain mostly unfazed. "Fuckin' chickenshits. Get out of my way," JP says, throwing aside a man that bumped into him.

The router staggers and nearly falls over. "I forgot my shit, man! I'm goin' to get it!" he tries to explain, continuing to run.

"Get out of here, you bitch!" JP called out after him.

The freaks start to pound on the doors. Nobody knows if they're going to make it in this time... but the front entrance is at least decently sturdy(?).

Jamal pointed his .32 gun at the main doors, while CJ brought up his double-barrel. Caleb had little more than a dinky Saturday night special, chambered for .22. A nervous gaggle of men and women with melee weapons formed behind them, not wanting to get in the way of any bullets. The fact they had guns did make them feel a few inches braver. Caleb was decently drunk from an earlier attempt to drown his apocalypse sorrows, and JP himself was a bit high. Whatever. He didn't give a shit.

Snapping hinges are heard, and one of the doors falls ajar. A ghoul seized up by rigor mortis is the first to flop into the apartment, followed by about four more of them... who look a bit bloated, but are much more limber. A right-arm amputee happens to be the quickest.



Virginia Audrey Baker
Alisutte

The report of the Remington is ear-ringing, especially indoors. Vab's mother is instantly decapitated by the blast, skull, teeth, and buckshot pelting the wall behind her as the wallpaper is painted red. Sirens wail in the distance, and gunfire erupts every few seconds or so, though most of it is relatively distant...​