Character

Name: Andrew Syria

Appearance: White Caucasian, short brown hair, about 5'9"

Age: 30

Nationality: English

History: Andrew was born in Denver, Colorado. His mother died shortly after he was born, and was raised by his dad until he was 13. By 14, he was taken in by the government on suspiction of murder. He was found guilty of assassination and put in prison for 9 years before facing execution. But he was traded for another criminal and recruited by the FBI as an assassin. By 24, he let go of his assassin-career and moved to the city. Five years later, he saw, in front of his eyes, his father's corpse.
Looking back to the FBI for guns, ammunition and survival equipment, he set back out to the city. But there are more questions that need to be answered rather than just about his father's death...

Bio: Andrew's self-assigned job was to neutralise everyone with a criminal record. His job has led him to Bostyork, which eventually got him tangled up in the mess that looms around Bostyork.

Weapons
Primary: None.
Secondary: Pair of Beretta 92FS Elites.
Equipment: Backpack, C4 (7 Bombs), Lighter, 9mm Teflon-coated ammuniton.

Nick

Nick lifted his hand to push the elevator button, before he did, he remembered the packs slung over his shoulders, he needed to put them down, but what if he needed to stay up top for a couple days? He was torn between keeping them or leaving them.

He pushed the button.

A slight ding made him uneasy as he stepped into the lift.

"Tell anyone who looks like they could help to come upstairs, I'll need the help!" Nick screamed the the mall cop.

The lift door closed, Nick hit the emergancy button to freeze the lift. He unfolded the barine's stock, checked his pistol and redistributed the wieght in his packs. He suited up, zipped up his jacket and redied his rifle as he held the "UP" button.

(In emergancy mode in a lift, you hold down the button's up or down to move up or down, fire fighters use them.)

He went past the secound floor a little past the secound floor, the opened the door. The steel of the elevator shaft was black with the lack of light. He lowered the elevator untill there was an opening about 1.5 feet high on the bottom of the elevator door opening and the top of the shaft opening aroung 7 feet off of the floor.

He squeezed through the hole and dropped down on to the seocund floor. All the zombies where on the other side, someone must be over there, need the food court. He ran to the gun shop and closed the doors, once inside he lowered the metal gate.

He check for zombies inside, found none. He put his packs down and grabbed some gun racks and began taking the nails out with a hammer he found, then he nailed the wood onto the door frames to create a baracade.

He move the counters that werent locekd into the floor in front of the doors and then secures them with some more gun rack wood.

Nick was exausted after this, and decided to put together one of the cotts for sale and took a nap, gun under the pillow.

Roger Myers


Could everyone here really be dead?
I slid a .44 shell into the underbarrel of the rifle while looking around. The creature had gone as fast as it had come. Anctious about overstaying my visit I began searching for a new pointer to the armory. A metal plate directed me towards the left. Holding the rifle tight I walked as quiet as I could.

A dripping sound was barely audible above everything else. I took no notice until a crimson red droplet hit my shoulder. Looking up, I saw an officer hanging from the roof. Almost bitten apart.

Massive chunks of flesh were missing from his body, and the few threads of clothing left on him were torn beyond recognition. If my sense of smell had not been knocked out already I would have fainted. Even so I began gagging, my stomach revolting against the situation it had been put in.

Stumbling forwards I found an armored door forced open. The door was completely covered in dents from bullet impacts and richochets. Inside there were heaps of bodies, both dead and undead. I couldn't get a good footing becauseof countless casings.

Time was running out. I picked the closest gun rack, and found a sub machine gun. "Heckler&Koch Mp7-PDW" it said on the stock. I ran over to a ammunition locker which had already been opened. I found a magazine that fit, and took more of the same type. All my pockets were filled with bullet clips and magazines. I felt the added weight slowing me down. I would have to leave one or two of my weapons in my car when I moved around later.

I was heading out the door when a hand closed around my leg. I fell to the ground, struggling to aim at whatever it was thatt attacked me.
A relatively unscathed zombie policeman was trying to take a bite at my foot.

I held the barrel of my new gun pointed between his eyes. "Welcome to the afterlife," I whispered at the thing before pulling the trigger back.

Click. No round in the chamber, I hadn't chambered one, there was supposed to be a bolt to pull back where the hell was it-

The pain was beyond pain. It was liquid metal poured over my foot, flowing through my veins. I shrieked out, before swinging the gun barrel across the zombies' face. For merely a moment it let go, before closing in again. I twisted the gun around, and hit it on the top of the head with the stock. Blood trickled out of cracks in the skull, but still the abomination, the pathetic imitation of life, refused to lay still. In the final strike the butt stock destroyed the face completely.

I tore off the sleeves of my shirt, and wrapped them around the bite wound. The bite had gone down to the bone, hitting multiple blood veins. My life force was ebbing out. Fast.


Status: Infected
New weapon: Mp7 SMG
Equipment: About hundred bullets, parted into a few clips and mags

Roger Myers

Somehow I didn't scream. The pain was the only thing I could feel, but I never wanted to scream.

I dragged myself out of the armory, with the Rifle and the SMG slung around my shoulder. The sleeves of my shirt weren't doing their job at all; I was leaving a shiny trail of red as I tried to find a medical storage, an infirmary, anything...

The red lights were still on, fitting nicely with my situation. Bleeding to death. Pathetically crawling around in a deserted police station. Twitching at every sound. After crawling a few feet I had to stop and close my eyes. I bit my own hand as hard as I could, trying to take away the focus from my leg. I knew it wouldn't work, and it didn't. But i did succeed in swelling it up. A rational part of my mind told me I wouldn't be able to use it properly. I laughed at it. My leg was a hamburger, and my skin already paling from blood loss. Even if I hadn't bitten myself I couldn't have hit an elephant.

A sign led me to a small, sterile room. Mostly lockers and shelves, marked with red crosses. No red light here, only a light bulb that flickered on and off. I unholstered the .357 with my working hand, and held around my wound with the swollen one. Inching forwards I searched for a cabinet with painkillers and bandage, but they were all empty. The final locker was almost twice the size of the rest, and, unlike the others secured with a huge padlock. Slowly I took up the revolver. To no use. My vision was blurring, I couldn't aim at it. In the end I held the barrel at it before pulling the trigger.

The .357 bullet shattered the padlock with ease. With trembling hands I swung up the doors. Row after row of pill glasses, all of them with completely incomprehensible descriptions on the front. In the borderline between life, unconsciousness and death my hands swung out, tearing down almost half of the jars and boxes. A see-through container full of syringes hit my face. I could barely read the letters " OR HINE". Without thinking I plunged a needle into my arm. I got up on my knees, found a section named "COAGUL NT", grabbed a bottle, and poured it over my gaping wound.

Blood I needed blood. No blood would kill. Or make undead. Where is it? Blood's all over fl...floor, but where's blood in bags? Come out bags!
Big cabinet must have bags. Bottom, top? Top, high up. Very far. But rifle was far...long, maybe...
Grabbed hold of rifle barrel, smashed at cabinet. It shook. Haha. Things fell down. But not the blood. Smashed again, and a bag hit me. How to get it back into me?

...Needle still in arm, if bag had fitting thing I could attach. Yes, thing on the end. End. Attach bag, squeeze bag. Everything flowing out of bag.







____________________________________


Will he live? Find out later!

This post has been edited by Elite viking on October 27, 2006 05:07 pm

This story will not fucking die!

Adrian Vasquez

I let off another burst from my M16, downing another dark form that was shuffling towards me. To my dismay, it simply got back up. More and more of them started joining their "friend". Seemingly dead bodies just getting up like nothing happened. I was being surrounded, and with my rifle shots proving ineffective, I needed to get out of here fast.

Making a mad dash to my left, I quickly formulated a plan.

The street I was running down led to a small fire department by the highway. If I could make it there, I could find an abandoned vehicle and drive down the highway to the airport. Hopefully, some people will still be alive, if that's the case, then I might have to find something bigger. Probably a truck.

I don't get it, one minute they're homicidal maniacs, now they're... zombies. It was like a horror mov-

Damn, I can hear their hellish moans all around me now. No more time to think, I got to survive this crazy shit.


Alright, I'll write a longer one soon, but this is just to get the other people to put stuff in. Especially you Viking! Get your character moving now!

Also, quick map reminder:



Keep the story going folks!

This post has been edited by Security Corporate on November 11, 2006 10:36 am

Hell yeah, we've GOTTA keep this alive! Get the defibrillator down here!

Drake Bennett

New Equipment
Mossberg 500 (0 shells)

As he drove through a residential area, Drake saw undead, heard undead, even smelled undead. God-damn, this place stinks, he thought, steering round a group of zombies feasting on the flesh of an unlucky survivor. How long until I can escape? Surely someone called for help from another town or something.

A zombie, eager to get to the feast, stepped out in front of Drake's truck. He slammed into the grill, and Drake skidded into a wall as the creature's leg got caught under one of the wheel arches. "Damnit!" he shouted, seeing the smoke coming up from under the bonnet. What was left of the bonnet, anyway - it was partically submerged in bits of wall.

Drake got out, and had to jump back to avoid a rotting hand from grabbing his ankle. "You wrecked my truck, you bastard," he growled, pulling his P228 and putting a round into the zombie's head. It went limp, no longer attempting to grab at Drake.

The Australian looked around. The feasting zombies didn't notice the car crash, and continued their grizzly meal.

Someone else, however, had noticed the car crash. "Hands behind your head!" someone shouted behind him.

"Take it easy, mate, I'm a bounty hunter-" Drake started, but stopped abruptly when he heard the chck-chck of a shotgun being cocked.

"I've got a gun and I'm not afraid to use it!" the survivor shouted. The shaking in his voice and the sound of his teeth chattering proved him to be a liar.

"Look, why don't you use that gun on someone worth the ammo?" Drake said, turning round and pointing at the zombies. He saw the man holding the shotgun looked disheveled and tired, and his eyes had the wild look of someone who was on the edge.

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's not even loaded!" The survivor threw away his shotgun. "I've been bitten in the shoulder, too - look!" He pulled back his jacket to show a large hole in his shirt and a lot of blood. "I couldn't handle the recoil anyway! And soon...I'll be just like them..."

Drake stared at him. "You've been bitten?"

"There's got to be a cure! There's always a cure!" He looked over at the zombies, then at Drake, a pleading look in his eyes. "Right?"

Drake shrugged. "I don't know," he said, knowing full well that there wasn't. He knew how these zombie situations went. If you were bitten, it would be only be a matter of time before you died and came back as one of them.

The survivor sank to his knees, his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. He started coughing a lot, and Drake saw blood coming up. This man didn't have much time left before he joined the other denizens of this city, shambling in search of flesh.

The man looked up as he heard the hammer of a pistol being pulled back. "Wait...What are you do-" he started.

BLAM.

The survivor fell onto his back, a gruesome halo of blood surrounding his head. He was definitely dead, and would not rise to attack his fellow survivors.

Drake lowered his pistol. He kept telling himself, as he went to retrieve the empty shotgun, that he had no choice. He did the best thing for that man by executing him. He just wished he could do it in a more humane manner.

He looked over at a barricaded house, and saw some survivors staring out at him. They had watched him do it. "Damn," he murmured, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder, and walked away. He had to get to the West Mall.

Roger Myers

Blood. Blood flowing around. Around. Over the floor, over the things on the floor. What kind of things on the floor? Haha. A gun, needles, me.
Me?

Opening my eyes didn't help much, I couldn't see. Wait... Okay, a few shapes at least. Things were real foggy. I could barely see my own hands. Slowly things drifted back in place. A chaotic white room with medical equipment thrown all over the floor. And it wasn't white anymore. Blood -my blood. It wasn't splattered around, but followed an almost straight line from where I had crawled. God it was way too much on the floor, how much was left in my body? I looked at the blood bag attached to my arm. It was almost empty, which was good. But if it was the wrong blood type my body would react badly. Shit.

it was 0. I sighed in relief, and tried to sit up. I couldn't lie on the floor for ever. As I began moving, the world almost came crashing down. The dizziness was overwhelming. Was it the blood loss, or the morphine, or the...bite wound...

Where was that damn morphine, I needed another shot if I was to get out of here. I pulled out the old syringe, and stabbed another into my arm. A little sting of pain, then the good feeling flowed through me again. I'd have to leave them alone for a while though... didn't want to OD, would I? I searched on the floor for something to wrap around the bite before disinfecting it. I got my hands on a nice roll of bandage and a tiny bottle of pure alcohol.

Moving around would be hell now, with my leg bitten up and everything. I decided to give up the revolver, and stick with my hunting rifle and SMG. I managed to remove all rounds from my homemade ammo belt, and dropped them one by one unceremoniously on the floor. The belt could still be useful.

Now for the real test. Walking out of here. And with that...thing I saw earlier, it could become damn hard. One hand holding the now properly loaded Mp7, and the other holding against a locker, I slowly got to my feet. I could feel that my right leg wasn't enjoying this at all, but the morphine made it pretty dull. I'd limp on the left as much as I could.

Couldn't those red lights just stop? I asked myself. They flashed on and off for no reason at all, except to annoy me. Everyone here were dead. Who were they going to warn with their flashing? Nothing to do with it, I figured, and kept going down the hallway. The exit was left, then right....wasn't it? Wait what was that- I'm getting jumpy, I thought. Something was there for just a moment, those red eyes staring at me. But immediately afterwards they vanished. Probably from my painkillers, but I held my gun pointed forwards. Small assurance. And right then....

uuuunnnnghhhhh... grmbl...

Moans, voices, all around me. Everyone weren't completely in their graves. I started running, a crippled clown trying to cheat death. One of the bastards showed its face as it came out of a doorway. My finger closed around the trigger, and sent a burst through his head. Before he had hit the ground, another was there, trying to get around him. My SMG barked, but I didn't stop to see if I had hit.

They were pouring out from every door, every crack of this building. The exit was in my reach, but a handful of them were in my way. I lifted my Mp7, looked down the lithium sights. Breathe in, keep the three dots lined. Hold them right in the middle of what you're shooting at. Breathe out.

Twosecond later there was nothing left to stop my escape, and I rushed to the doors. I stumbled out of the police chamber, with undead all around me. The car stood where it had been abandoned. Apart from a mutilated corpse and something that had probably been a businessman, the car was free of threats. My hand went to a pocket, and found the key. I threw myself inside.

"Roger Myers, I'm badly injured. Anyone copying? Dammit!" Struggling to remain calm, I clicked the walkie-talkie off. I opened the backpack, and removed all of the .357 ammo. I replaced them with some of the mags and clips I had found. The Remington Mag ammunition was promoted to hanging in the belt. When the last shell had been tucked into the blet, I was shaking in fury. All of my rage was vented at the businessman, who got crushed underneath the wheels.

Okay, now I had the ammunition to survive for some time, but where would I go?

This post has been edited by Elite viking on November 11, 2006 09:55 pm

Adrian Vasquez

Aside from the noise, the trip was surprisingly uneventful. I made it to the highway, although I'm tired. I found an empty 18 wheeler, so I just got in the cab and locked up everything. Unfortunately, the keys were missing, but at least I'm safe. For now anyway.

I had originally wanted to travel up the main road. I heard there were survivors in East Mall before the radio went dead. I mean hell, the main road was pretty much fucked. It was an undead parade. Marching through that would be fucking suicide.

Taking off my backpack, I took the keg of water out and refilled my kanteen. For some reason, I wasn't that hungry, so I just took a protein bar off my rations supply.

"Ugh." I grunted, the stuff wasn't the best tasting thing in the world.

Oh well, I had to deal with it. At least I have food. After my meal, I looked out the windshield and the door windows, scanning the seemingly desolated highway. Suddenly a rotten hand smacked the windshield, smearing blood all over it.

"Shit, this is going to be one helluva day."

This post has been edited by Security Corporate on November 12, 2006 02:02 am

This maybe a really bad bump for my character, but I got inspired by the last two posts.
______________________________________________________________

Removed group members:
Security Guard

Rufus Stockton

"Go now, Hurry!" The security guard vanished in sight, as the sound of the zombies' groans grew.
"We have to run. We're not safe in here."
Rufus and his group ran to the fire exit that is about 4 stores toward them.

While they ran, the 3rd store, a sport shop, started sounding like someone's pounding.
"What the hell, the sport shop's door is shaking!"
One member said.
"We don't have time to find out, we have to run!"
They looked back, and saw the zombies banging into the maintenance door, and some other zombies going for them.

Rufus and his group got out in time.
They appear to be in the other side of the mall. They were in an alley.

"Run, RUN!" Rufus shouted.
They ran, as fast as they can, and reached the empty road.
The road only had fiery cars, shattered paper, and blood. The stores and such others had been nearly destroyed.

Rufus and his group reached a car repair shop.
The shop appears to be empty.
"Man, that was so--"
The group member was interrupted by an explosion. An explosion in the mall.
"He... did it.."
Rufus said.
"He blew the mall up. He did this for us."
While Rufus talked, a groan was heard.
"You hear that??" One group member said.
"Uh huh, and I hear more sounds."
"It appears that the zombies followed us. We're not so safe. Quick, find a car."
They found a black van. It looked like it was already repaired.
"Get in, I see the key inside."

They opened the car doors. Rufus was the driver.
"Let's just goooo!!!!"
one member said.
While they drove, a member found a little suitcase.
"Hey look, its a big fat suitcase, it's kinda bloody, but I guess it has rewards inside."
The member opened it, and what he saw was a bloody head! It appears to be alive!
"Brains....!!!"
The head jumped up and bit the member in the neck.
"OH SHIT!!!!"
The member quickly grabbed the head and threw it outside.
"I've been bitten guys.... bitten!!!! Rufus, drop me off. Now!"
"But, I- I can h--"
"JUST DO IT!"
The bitten member angrily interrupted.
The member was gushing so much blood, that he had to block his wound with his hand.
Rufus stopped, and the member opened the door.
"See ya g-guys... I'll have to stop them myself."
"Good luck, and don't come for us, ok??"
"Hah, sure."

Rufus drove away, leaving the member on the road, in front of a million zombies.
"I can't believe I'll die like this..."

The member reloaded his handgun, and started walking toward them.
"Goodbye, world." He said.

This post has been edited by iliketoblowzombieheadsoff on November 12, 2006 04:55 am

OOC Umjust to clarify with your iliketoblowzombiesheadsoffthe West Mall is notum, blown up. It is essential to the story (sorry about the very long wait guys; long story), so Ill just say that the second story has a couple of blown up stores, but nothing more. Why it was blown up, well, no idea.

All

4:37PM One Hour +/- of sunlight left

Drake Bennett

You finished your protein bar in a hurry at the sight of a couple more of the undead stumbling out of the houses. A couple made their way to the barricaded home, crashing their palms into the wooden door.

Shit, you whisper to yourself. You could prove your innocence by taking out the zombies, but you knew your ammo didnt support your theoryyou were going to deplete your rounds very soon. You slung the shotgun over your shoulder and turned your back onto the houses. You didnt even turn your head to the noise of the doors cracking and splintering. You looked at the woods next to the main road. While you saw that it was fairly thick, it was still traversal. Getting nicked by branches and twigs was better than infected teeth and limbs. You could go through the woods, then somehow get to the Police Department. There was bound to be a-

"Roger Myers, - yone copying? Dam-" Your walkie-talkie went out. Somehow, the frequencies were being a nuisance. Usually they were much more reliable than they are acting as of now. You grabbed yours and clicked the button.

This is Drake Bennett, over. What is your location, over?

Soft static was on the other side, yet no sign of confirmation.

Shit, you mumbled, before putting the thing away. You then ran towards the woods, pushing a few of the zombies away; a couple were a breeze. You leapt over a log in the grass next to the road, made a sideways jump through a couple of trees, and you hastily sifted your body through the trees. You turned your head and noticed that none of the zombie ventured out into the woods. None of them at all even laid a foot onto the grass to try. You slowly stopped and cocked your head sideways in curiosity. A hot, burning feeling of distress erupted in your abdomen; something isnt right.

You made your way through the woods still, gun raised. You noticed that not a single bird was chirping, no squirrels chatted, not even a gust of wind made a sign. It was eerily quiet. You looked up into the sky and noticed that sun wasnt burning your eyes too badly. You knew that it was starting to set. You had to find the West Mall before it becomes engulfed in night. After what seemed like an eternity or so, you came across a small clearing in the woods: a rock cabin. It was small, maybe able to have a kitchen, a bedroom, and a bathroom. A chimney with a light gray stack of smoke coming out of it, the smell of burning wood filled your nostrils. Windows had drapes in the way so you couldnt pear inside to further your investigation. A small work-cabin with tools strewn across the place had the doors wide open; it may have been in use recently. Yet these werent what caught your attention. The corvette in the clay road by the building is what caught your eye.

Corvette?

You walked over to it and looked inside to see nothing, yet the heat from the engine was warm to the touch on the hood. You looked at the license plate and stared at the numbers. You gazed at the numbers and location for a whole minute before your eyes widened. You knew whose car this belonged to. A loud crackle from a rifle filled the surroundings and echoed through the trees. The right side-mirror by you exploded off the car. You hid behind the car and peered over to see the man you have been hunting for with a rifle in the top window of the house.

So its two stories high you mumbled with a tad bit of humor. Oh well.

Mr. Bennett, the man called out placidly. Youve got some head on your shoulders to find me here. However, I must digress your efforts to go with your plans to exterminate me. You have no clue as to what is going on in this here town. However, Ill leave you with two options-

You reloaded your handgun, putting away the semi-used clip away for later. You pulled back the slide and peered over the car once more to view the man.

First option would be to leave. This dirt road will lead you back to the road by the police department. Second option is try and get me, HOWEVERwell, lets just say I wont be taken down ever so slightly. This here .357 rifle isnt the worst thing in this here woods.

You heard a calm laugh before a cock of his gun.

Your choice Mr. Bennett!

=========

Adrian Vasquez

(To be honest, I dont really know where you are, so Im just going to assume, sorry.)

You opened the door slightly, and kicked it with all your might. It slammed into the flesh of a rotting corpse, as it fell to its back and head snapped back into the asphalt. You leapt out of the car and, with adrenaline running, you belted your foot down on the zombies head. You whipped your head around and noticed the closing numbers of zombies around your perimeter.

You bastard cant just give me a fucking second?!

You looked inside the cab and grabbed your essentials, anything that you could carry on foot, and turned your head around to view the closing carnage. You ran towards an alleyway, yet it was blocked by the zombies coming out of it. You then looked at the main roads and saw the increasing number of the infected coming from those as well. You began to panic and looked around for anything. You felt trapped in this world, and claustrophobia began to set in. Then you saw it: one alleyway that wasnt packed with the zombies, only had a few stragglers.

You kicked a couple of the infected down as you ran towards the dark corridor. You ran a few meters down the twisting alleyway until you came to a complete halt. It lead to the other side of the roads with many more zombies.

Damn it, you mumbled as they began their slow trek towards you. You looked behind you and could hear the echoes of the zombies hot on your trail. Then, your eyes were set upon a cat walk. Your eyes followed it until it came across a fire ladder. It was raised up, yet a large, green garbage container was sitting by it. You threw your load onto the closed container, and threw yourself onto it. You grabbed your things and chucked it onto the catwalk that was a couple of feet above you. Then, you took a step then threw your weight with all your might into the air. Your hands latched onto the ladder, and it began to slide on its tracks down. You held onto it and it yanked to a stop, almost throwing you to the ground. You began to climb quickly, your hairs raising on your neck.

As you reached the top, you pulled the ladder up so none of the zombies could reach it. You surveyed your environment as you grabbed your belongings. You could climb until your reached a drainage pipe to climb onto the roofs, and travel by those. You remember seeing some types of bridges that people made from building to building. Or you could just use the catwalk and find a way back down on the other side, and go from the streets towards the Fire Department. You could as well venture inside the six-story apartment you were on top.

A loud crack from a window next to you made you grab for your gun. You saw an elderly man bang onto a window from inside the apartment complex. Well, your adventure was not quite over with it seemed.
=========

Going to post again for the others in a jiffy.

Name:David 'Killer' Sanchez
Appearance:6'5 feet tall, buff but not psycho buff, moves quickly, short military cut hair, dirty blone
Age:36
History:Born in Texas, mother killed by terrorists, joined marines
Bio:Born in Texas, was raised by parents until mother was killed, his father raised him after that and as soon as he was 24 he joined marine corp.
Job: Marine
Rank: First Lieutenant

Primary:M4A1 with laser sight and infra-red scope
Secondary:Combat Knife, Standard Issue Beretta 92fs Semi-Automatic pistol, with extended clips, and laser sight.


Hope its not to late to enter....

Here I write, Rufus' exit out of the story.

____________________________________________________________________

Removed team members:
Group member #1


The streets were flooded by dead cadavers, with sights of old destroyed structures.

"This place, has became gloomy."
Rufus thought, as he looked out of his car window.

Without warning, a zombie jumped into the front window of the car.
It appeared to be the security guard from the Mall.

"Holy shit!!! Wipe him away Wipe him away!!!"
The group member panicked.

The zombie blocked the window, keeping Rufus from seeing the road.

"Get ready to jump!"
Rufus told the member.

They jumped out, as the car hit the store ahead of it.
The store appeared to be a carpart store, with a gas tank out in the window.
"I gotta get out of here!!!!!"
The group member said, when he saw zombies walking ahead of him right after they jumped.

Rufus was helpless. He appeared to have a wounded knee.
"Help me", he requested.

The member ignored him, and ran.
The headquarters was nearby.


Rufus, lying helpless, tried hard to stand up.
The zombies were closing in, and Rufus made little effort.

"Hope this helps."

Rufus got a grenade out from his army pants.

He pulled the fuse of the grenade and threw it to a far enough location.

The grenade exploded right when he got to stand up.
After the explosion, Rufus was not there anymore.
He might have vanished, or could have escaped on the right time.

___________________________________________________________________
Chris, please remove my character.
I obviously can't write well, and I'm gonna try a new RPG anyways.

Roger Myers

Ok...where to go. Team up with others? If so, where the hell were they?
People had gone all over the town to find supplies, secure our eventual escape, find hideouts, maybe to search for loved ones. From the scattered voices I had heard over the -talkie, most of them were in trouble. If they weren't dead already. But if they had the ability, they would probably fall back to the safe house. I doubted it was that safe anymore, but still.

Dammit- I was ripped away from my thoughts as a wall approached rapidly. I quickly swerved to the left, and heard the nauseating yet satisfying sound of someone smashed against the hood of the vehicle. The head of someone I vaguely remembered from school hit the front shield, and small cracks spread across like roots. It stared right at me for about a second, looking strangely human. But then it returned to its hostile state, and began banging its fists at the glass, creating dozens of new cracks. The window was getting impossible to look through, and what little protection it gave was vanishing fast.

My right hand found the sub-machine gun, and I pointed it in the direction of the former school goer. I took half a second to check it was properly loaded, I had paid dearly for that earlier. TrakTrak. A lifeless body fell to the ground. Time was running out, the sun seemed to be setting. The orange light colored all the cracks, creating a spider's web of brightness. Beautiful as it was, I couldn't see a thing, and hit it a couple of times with the butt of my smg. A cold wind hit my face, ruffling my hair. I stepped on the gas again, leaving burnt rubber, two empty casings, and a body.

Direction: The safe haven.

This post has been edited by Elite viking on December 04, 2006 04:16 pm

Ok usually I'm against double posting but Goddammit this thread will not die.
Someone please do something, my char can't wander around without a clear purpose for much not longer!