Powered by Invision Power Board [ Resend Validation Email ]
Welcome Guest [ Log In · Register ]
Forum Rules HelpSearchMembersCalendar


Pages: 123  [ Go to first unread post ]
Reply to this topicStart new topicStart Poll
[ Track this topic · Email this topic · Print this topic ]
> Curing Traces (Story), Refrain from Stupidity.
-=Chris Redfield=-
Posted: November 19, 2007 01:49 am
Quote Post


Baby Slayer
*******

Group: Members
Posts: 1299

Joined: October 19, 2004



QUOTE (gordon_frohman @ November 18, 2007 06:25 pm)
wait im confused.
irvine is one year approx ahead ? o.O

good writing though ^^

Yup. That he is.


--------------------
User Posted Image
(1) I like to beat women. (2) I like to beat babies (3) I like to beat women while beating babies (4). I like to watch women beat their babies...and then I beat the women.
PMEmail PosterAOLYahoo
Top
-=Chris Redfield=-
Posted: November 24, 2007 01:57 am
Quote Post


Baby Slayer
*******

Group: Members
Posts: 1299

Joined: October 19, 2004



Date: 07 January 2013
Time: 2130
Weather: Scattered Clouds; Cold
Period: +1.2 Year of Completion of Wall


The man held his assault rifle firmly, even after the monsters have migrated past their proximity. The restaurant used to be a fancy, upscale diner that was outfitted with a bar, tables, chairs, and even unlit scented candles for romantic nights. Its only source of lighting were three kerosene lanterns that kept the place alit with still shadows and warmth, a godsend compared to the bitter cold outside. Unsurprising to her, Antoinette found the bar completely devoid of alcohol; she could have really used a brandy or even just a pint of beer. Antoinette sat uncomfortably on a barstool watching the man carefully. It was not much of trust she was worried with, but the entire time she was here he just sat by one of the barred windows and peaked out between intervals of a few seconds.

“It’s been about thirty minutes since one passed. I think it’s safe,” Antoinette murmured sternly, reloading her Glock and setting it down on the bar. The man didn’t even flinch at her words or seem to have even taken notice of her occupancy. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, he could pass off as being deaf. The rifle was held parallel to his ribs, swaying back and forth with his slow and steady breathing. After a couple minutes, a low-pitched sigh was heard through his mask.

“Yeah,” the man said hoarsely through the gas mask, startling Antoinette. He leaned down and rested his rifle against the wall. He moved his hand against the mask and slid it roughly off his face. His head violently to rid his hair out from his eyes, exhaling deeply all the while. His brown hair reached to a little below his eyes and ears, his face had a five o’clock shadow, and the bags under his green eyes insinuated a lack of sleep. He sighed deeply, moved a gloved hand through his hair, and eyed Antoinette for the first time like he just now realized that she was present. The gas mask flopped to the floor with a clank from the filters and he sat down against the wall next to his gun.

“Fancy looking gun,” Antoinette remarked, just to steer away from the awkward silence. She usually dealt with silence well, but this man was different. His eyes looked lost and sad yet at the same filled with anger and resentment. He looked at her with a blank stare, nodded, and responded with a simple thanks. Antoinette noticed what looked like a grenade launcher attached to it and pointed towards it in question.

“Look, if you don’t mind,” he said, his voice cracking from yelling from some time ago. “I’d just rather not speak right now. If you want, you can go up that flight of stairs right there at the end of the room. It’ll take you to a room with another set of stairs which leads to roof access; it’s how I spotted your theatrical escape.”

Antoinette was stunned at his response. She grabbed her handgun, holstered it, and marched briskly towards the stairs, her footsteps echoed softly through the room. She hated it when guys treated her like a mere child and when she turned around to give him a venomous look, he had already rested his head against the wall with his eyes closed shut. She went over to one of the tables and grabbed a lantern to guide her up the dark staircase. She stopped at the foot of the stairs and stared at his motionless body save for his chest rising and falling.

“There’s food and clean water on the second story,” he mumbled to her, slowly opening his eyes. “Try not to take a shower ‘till tomorrow morning. Trust me, it’s loud.” Then, just like that, he went back to sleep. His shoulders softened and slumped down; he had fallen fast asleep this time. Antoinette turned back towards the stairs and began her ascent. The stairs were sturdy without and hint of creaking or banging, no signs of rot, and the wooden rails looked polished and clean. Antoinette has become habituated with the zombie onslaught, but the immaculate building kept her shocked since most of the places she has visited in the last year have been grungy and grainy at best. Upon reaching the second floor, the lantern scared the shadows and dark away, revealing a makeshift bedroom and bathhouse. The bed was neatly made and smelled of laundry detergent upon further inspection. A nightstand rested on its legs next to the bedside, with another lamp on its top, an opened novel lay next to it. The bathhouse was on the other side of the room, with a shower surrounded by translucent walling. It smelled of a recent shower, its humidity brushing against Antoinette’s face making her eyes close soothingly. She assumed her shooting and escape brought the man’s shower to an abrupt end as she stepped on a fluffy, green towel. She turned around and went up the next set of stairs, with the words “roof access” in dark red letters against the wall that surrounded the staircase. The ascent was long and she guessed it must have equaled another two or three stories easily.

Antoinette forced the metal door open with a simple push and twist of the doorknob. The cool, night breeze brushed against her cheeks, sending chills down her spine and down to her legs. She held the lantern’s handle with a tight grip as she moved outside onto the top of the building. The cement roofing was cracked yet - like the rest of place - well kept. The buildings that lined the restaurant were a few stories higher, blocking most of what was next to her, but what was laid behind her had gasping escape her lips. Unable to comprehend how she didn’t see from her previous ventures to this part of the city, a good mile of the city was no more than a smoldering rubble, smoke was still bellowing up towards the cloudy, night sky. She squinted her eyes with earnest and guesstimated that the devastation was nor more than half a mile away. If she didn’t take the intersection towards the car pileup but kept going straight, she would have reached that part of the city.

“Airstrike from a coupe of days ago,” a voice from behind her. Antoinette whirled around to see the military man wearing a flak jacket now holding a lantern with his right hand and gun slung over his other shoulder. The grogginess and slur in his voice showed the sleepless nights he must have had. He moved closer to her and stopped next to her, viewing the smoking wreckage beyond. Laying down his gun and lantern, he moved to lean his folded arms on the cold, metal railing. Antoinette stood motionless, watching every one of his movements. After a few seconds, the man cocked his head to hers and bit his lower lip before speaking.

“I apologize for coming off as a prick earlier. Been a rough few weeks.”

Antoinette snapped her neck back like a crane and felt her mouth drop open slightly. She shook her head slowly in response.

“No, don’t be,” she started with a whisper. “Don’t be sorry. You’ve saved my life, and I was less than nice to you. I should be the one apologizing.”

The man just stared out towards the devastation once more and closed his eyes. He propped more of his weight onto the railing and rested his head in his folded arms.

“Name exchanging has always been awkward for me, but just to clear the air, name is Benton.”

“Antoinette.”

Benton turned his head to the side to view her once more. He eyed her and propped his body up to stretch his back. The rifle that was lying on the ground was scooped up in his right hand with a fluid motion.

“F2000, by the way,” Benton mumbled, fumbling for something in the flak jacket’s pocket. “You wondered what kind of gun it is, it’s an assault rifle. Thirty rounds a clip, battery powered scope and rail system, attached grenade launcher…”

Benton traveled off and he just started eyeing his working hand in the flak jacket. He stopped for a second and pulled out a blue, cylinder shaped object that was a little bigger than a kiwi fruit. He pulled back his grenade launcher and slipped the blue cylinder inside it. With gun resting against his shoulder now, he aimed it towards the direction from where Antoinette ran from earlier. A few seconds passed by, and a loud whoosh noise with a following blinding light came from the launcher. Out came a screeching, bright-blue object that flew high above the buildings and what looked like quite a few blocks away. Even over the buildings, a blue tint could be seen in that direction. Before Antoinette could ask, Benton already opened his mouth to speak.

“It’s a flare that, once after a few seconds, begins to make quite a clamor. Gets the things below us away about half a mile out that way. Saved my ass a few times.” Benton opened the launcher again and let the casing fall to the floor. It rolled away and onto the ground below. In the distance, the screeching could be heard, and what followed were moans and screams from the zombies. Antoinette could only stare as she saw dozens upon dozens of the things leap out of the windows and doors from buildings around them. Some fell to the ground, snapping their spines and bones while others got right back up to chase down the cacophony. It was a site to behold, that was for sure, but the look in Benton’s eyes still worried her. The look of melancholy ran true in them as if he went to Hell and back. Most people that were still alive at this point weren’t such depressed individuals, not like they were battling themselves mentally like Benton.

“I’ve done terrible things,” Benton started, lowering the barrel of the gun towards the ground. “Terrible things that people should have never have done.”

“We’ve all gone through a lot, Benton. All of us…” Antoinette was saying, but Benton turned around and walked back inside. He stopped at the door and, without turning around, said that a bed was made for her downstairs in the bar area.

“In the morning we’ll sit down and have a nice breakfast, I’ll cook, it’s on me. You can take a warm shower, and afterwards, I’ll treat you to ammo and clothes. Until then, I bid you a good night.”

This post has been edited by -=Chris Redfield=- on November 26, 2007 04:51 am


--------------------
User Posted Image
(1) I like to beat women. (2) I like to beat babies (3) I like to beat women while beating babies (4). I like to watch women beat their babies...and then I beat the women.
PMEmail PosterAOLYahoo
Top
Security Corporate
Posted: November 26, 2007 03:44 am
Quote Post


Gore God of Massacre
**********

Group: Old BB:S Betatesters
Posts: 3115

Joined: April 28, 2005




+1.1 Year of Completion of Wall? That be wrong man! For the previous entry to this one it was 1.2 years. Either way, that's the only error I saw. Everything else was cumtastic.

Well I know what happened to Benton, but the fact that I'm... I mean Serenity is not with him troubles me. Does she die? unsure.gif sad.gif
PM
Top
-=Chris Redfield=-
Posted: November 26, 2007 04:51 am
Quote Post


Baby Slayer
*******

Group: Members
Posts: 1299

Joined: October 19, 2004



Damn, that is definately something I need to watch out for, especially much later in the story. Thank you for pointing that out for me. Fixing it now.

QUOTE
Well I know what happened to Benton, but the fact that I'm... I mean Serenity is not with him troubles me. Does she die?

Maybe, maybe not. Nobody knows...


--------------------
User Posted Image
(1) I like to beat women. (2) I like to beat babies (3) I like to beat women while beating babies (4). I like to watch women beat their babies...and then I beat the women.
PMEmail PosterAOLYahoo
Top
-=Chris Redfield=-
Posted: December 05, 2007 01:01 am
Quote Post


Baby Slayer
*******

Group: Members
Posts: 1299

Joined: October 19, 2004



Date: 21 January 2013
Time: 1300
Weather: Cool; Sunny
Period: +1.2 Year of Completion of Wall


My opens closed lazily as the boat rocked back and forth over the bright, green-blue water. Was a magnificent day to just relax and get some sunlight without a worry in the world. A simple radio rested on an end table playing soft ukulele music. A sigh of relief escaped my lips; it has been awhile since I have been this carefree and mellow. A slight tug on the fishing pole that rested in-between my legs jolted me forwards, eyes opened and filled with alert.

“Ah-ha!”

I tugged at the fishing pole, watching the splashing water from the silver fish fifteen meters or so away. With a right hand rotating the lever, other hand joggling the pole to the boat, I reeled in the fish slowly but surely. Once flopping around on the deck for awhile, I took out a carving knife and poked it a bit with caution, making sure it wasn’t like a few of the others. Some of the fish that I pulled onto the boat had awkward body dysfunction’s: some had multiple eyes that bled pus, tiny ligaments, or teeth that resembled razor wire. However, it was rare and the recent fish that lay before me was normal…or it appeared so.

“Maybe it has a giant tumor that squirts folic acid when light reaches it,” I mumble, scoffing at the thought of it. It did trouble me why some fish were coming up with abnormalities. I was sure evolution didn’t take place in the matter of a year. “Even if it did, evolution should be used for a beneficial adaptation. Don’t see how tiny fins that litter its body is going to help it.”

***

I cooked the fish and consumed it quietly inside the cabin of the boat. I looked out the window and at the residential area that I set anchor near. Land was roughly thirty-five meters away with privately owned docks jutting out. A few boats were still in place, but most came without keys. The houses that connected to the docks were middle-class, maybe a step up, but that was not the best part; no zombies were around. I took a gander at the theory that they were attracted to the clamor that took place in the major cities a few miles away. The residents weren’t exterminated as not a single body was in the streets, which was odd as the neighborhood he was by was gated, blocking anyone from coming in and out. There were a couple of decayed bodies in baby cribs inside the houses, but nothing more.

It could also be that maybe these people were rescued via helicopters or boat. There was a large circular turn-around at the end of a road where a single UH-60 Blackhawk could land and evacuate the locals. However, a few months prior, I have met a few of the military that came to the rescue.

“Or the lack thereof anyway.”

I still remember the bullets that whizzed by my head as I peeked around the corner. The lad suited in urban fatigues and issued an automatic rifle almost had my head if another oddly dressed citizen had not of sniped him from a building across from me. A Little Bird landed in the street adjacent to mine, opening fire on anyone or anything that was moving. I had to admit, once I reached the top of a building and began to observe their voyage, they got pretty far until the dead maimed their bodies. Thankfully, they were not immune to the bites so they changed quickly after, not having to feel the pain and torment that would have ensued.

My shoulders came up, shrugging my conspiracy theories and memories away. None of it really mattered anymore as far as I was concerned. Loneliness was public enemy number one in my book and coping with it was a struggle. Hell, just tying a zombie to a chair onboard “my” boat would have suited me just fine, but reality derailed that train of thought. Grabbing the dirty plate, I started to wash it off the side of the boat, using the salt water as aid. The clean plate was then set to the side and I looked to the fridge for refreshments. Before I stole the boat, the refrigerator was filled with hot, stale beer, moldy food, and a dead kitten. The cat killed me on the inside as I remove its pathetic carcass off the shelf and into the depths below. Now, it was filled with ice, water, lemony-fresh sweet tea, and freshly picked berries that were culminating on the fences of nearby houses.

The tiny freezer that accompanied the refrigerator had to be emptied along with the fridge as well. Contents ailed with melted and spoiled matter, so I had to make room for the red gas cans that I filled to the brim with petrol to get the boat started. Needed a place that was dry and airtight and I didn’t know of anymore frozen foods readily available, so a freezer was a sensible candidate. My legs carried me over to the gauges and checked the gas: full. I proceeded to check the food supply: twelve bottles of water, two gallons of tea, and three pints of berries. Smiling to myself, I swore to myself that I was going to survive this, that once I stock up a amble amount of petrol, food, and water, I was going to sail towards the mainland. I stiffened my body up and checked towards the shore, to marvel at the cleanliness of this peninsula.

A shadowy figure stood in sight in the backyard of a house, directly perpendicular to my boat. I speedily walked out of the cabin and onto the front to squint through cupped hands, just to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. Sure enough, a man - or could be a woman - stood in black robes, with some instrument in his right hand. Could be a crossbow, gun, trumpet, but I couldn’t come to a concrete assumption; did it matter though? I started waving my hands in the air like a baboon, trying desperately to get his attention, despite the fact that he was facing my direction. With all my efforts of waving and hollering, he didn’t even flinch. After a few seconds, my arms lowered cautiously, and a feeling of dread began to creep up my back; something wasn’t right about this fellow. As soon as this thought crept to my mine, the man turned his back and began to walk slowly away in-between two houses.

“Wait!” I cried. “Wait!”

Without hesitation, I briskly moved to the controls, pressed the button to pull up anchor, and began the engine. The throttle was slammed forward, and through gritted teeth, I knew I had to catch this guy - or, once again, woman. I reached over to my Kevlar and rifle, setting them both down against my legs, preparing for the worst.

“It’s probably nothing…”

***

Date: 21 January 2013
Time: 1522
Weather: Cool; Sunny
Period: +1.2 Year of Completion of Wall


After tying up the boat, I hopped off the boat and onto the rigidity pier, eyes scanning the area for trouble. The air was still, no birds singing their chorus, no insect or toad sharing their songs of contempt, and not a sound of a single automobile or person abroad. It still, even to that day, gave me the chills and felt like an abnormality. I raised my Winchester and began walking down the pier and to the side of the house. The gray and brown grass crunched heavily under my boots, a clamor of noise that rocketed through the air around me. Once passing the moldy-white, stucco houses, I stepped onto the black tar, lowering the gun to observe everything around me. Pictures of children running through people’s yards, mothers cooking away in the kitchens, fathers coming home from a hard day at work stretched through the neighborhood in my mind. I could almost hear the sound of the imagined ice-cream truck rolling around the corner and stopping to pass out the delicious treats for the kids. I waded through these daydreams and pressed on into the middle of the street.

To my right lay the front entrance exactly four houses down, cinderblock and titanium gates blocking anyone’s path from getting in. I knew the cloaked figure didn’t get through there, and couldn’t have by water as he would of have to pass my position in the boat. What lay to my left was a three-way stop sign three houses down. From there, you could take a left and come to the roundabout, or take a right which led to a back entrance some thirty houses down. I had to thank the builders for completing the walls but never completing the actual neighborhood. Must have been quite a close-knit community. Deciding the best course of action was to scan the streets and back entrance, I made my way left with gun ready. I looked at my Rolex and noted the time. I had three or so more hours of light left, and I have yet to explore this place at night. Even when you think a place is safe, nighttime was still an interval you would want to abstain from your schedule. As of late, the zombies were moving slower during the day, almost to just a fast paced walk instead of their quick run, but nighttime was a whole new ballpark. Before I reached the marina two weeks back, I came across another hotel that was breeding some funky-

Movement ahead of me brought my attention back to full alert. I clicked the lever of the Winchester down then up to cock it, ready to fire at anything that posed a threat. My eyes trained onto a scrawny, orange cat. It was cleaning itself off the side of the road and once noting my presence, it scurried away at full blast, taking a right at the stop sign ahead of me. Maybe loneliness drove me to grab that cat, or sheer curiosity as to how it was surviving. Either way, I charged in its wake, gun rocking with my hips as I made long strides. Once my body turned towards the road the cat was on, I saw an orange blur dive underneath the front-deck of a house to the left, five down. In an instant, I worked my body towards it, falling to my knees to peer below the wooden work. Smells and odors of ammonia and death filled my nostrils, but I suppressed the growing urge to gag.

“Come out,” I mumbled with a soothing voice. “I won’t hurt you, please? Please…”

In response, the cat meowed hoarsely and hissed in my direction. I bit my lower lip, thinking of all the people that chased this thing around. All those zombies that must have tried to feast on this things fur and flesh. After a few minutes, I decided that maybe the cat was a lost cause, but when it stopped hissing and moving I stood my place. My hairs stood up on the back of my neck and slowly I tightened my grip on my gun, knowing that something was behind me. My eyes rolled to my left and without thinking I twisted my body around and aimed my rifle at the figure closing in on me. I fell back as the cloaked figure kicked the barrel of my gun away from him. In a nanosecond he was on me, shrieking madly with a bowie knife in his grasp. The Winchester fell out of my hands as they shot up for the man’s wrist to draw away the blade. His left hand struck the side of my head roughly, but My hands still held his other, afraid to let go. My legs shifted to place my boots between this crazy son of a bitch and me. As his left fist came to strike me once more, I kicked off, toppling him away from me. He staggered back a couple steps, yet it didn’t take long for him to try and charge me again. I reached to my side holster and grabbed my Desert Eagle.

Without aiming I clicked back the trigger and felt the powerful recoil strike back against my hand. The large bullet pierced his stomach, into his intestines and out his back. I fired another round, aiming a little higher towards his ribs. The bullet flew to the bones, splintering each one it came into contact with. A yelp escaped his lips as he went crashing down next to me wit his knife inches away from my face. I rolled to my side and went for his knife instinctively. The knife was taken from his grasp without much struggle, but my animalistic nature took hold of my brain, unable to stop me from sending the blade deep into the man’s heart. I pulled it out and drove it another time into his chest, bringing blood up with the metal. I backed away as I watched his breathing slow down to a near halt, his eyes watching mine. Even though his death was upon him in the matter of seconds, a slight grin ran across his face as his head went limp.

I backed away slowly, holstering my Desert Eagle, and grabbed for my Winchester that lay snuggly in the weeds and dead grass. With gun in left hand and knife in right, I crossed back onto the road to look back at the rear entrance. The blood in my veins chilled to ice, my heart stopped beating for a second, and the dead came swarming through the gate.

“Oh my God. That son of a bitch.”

I discarded the knife indelicately and brought the sights of the Winchester up. I counted a nine of the dead and my gun only held seven rounds. They shambled towards me, balance and equilibrium resembling that of drunks and the homeless. I took careful aim at each one, and measured them approximately one hundred meters and counting down. The first one’s forehead exploded in a firework display of gore, dropping him like a bag of potatoes. Feeling cocky, I fired swiftly at each advancing one to the head. When my gun ran dry, I set it down and brought my handgun back out. I dispatched them with ease and could almost compare that to target practice. While I reloaded both of my firearms I made my way back to the gate to lock it from the inside, checking my flanks to make sure the guy’s friends or any more surprises were not lurking around any shadows.

The roads were congested with zombies. I dropped my guns and grabbed for the gate to bring it to a close.

“God…damn…steel! Fuck!”

Inch by inch, the gate was coming closer to the fortified wall. The shambling figures were nearing closer and closer to my proximity, bring sweat to my pores and anxiety ridding my thought process. I would have been doomed if I couldn’t get that gate closed. I would not fail where others have. When the gate was barely ajar, an arm from one of the zombies shot between the gate and the wall, and my fingers clenched tightly against the bars.


--------------------
User Posted Image
(1) I like to beat women. (2) I like to beat babies (3) I like to beat women while beating babies (4). I like to watch women beat their babies...and then I beat the women.
PMEmail PosterAOLYahoo
Top
Pages: 123
Topic Options Reply to this topicStart new topicStart Poll