Folion

(Unless being completely blown to bits, we're going for the standard zombie-fare of headshots and headshots only. And naturally, zombies become faster in the darkness just because it seems like such a kickass idea. The only reason I'm up right now is procrastination. D

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shadowsworn

OOC: sorry I forgot about this!

my character:
Name Helena Allender
Age 20
Gender Female
Background Helena had grown up in the suburbs, typical dysfunctional family, typical boring fairly-whitebread neighbourhood she would grow to loath.

Helena regards herself as a goth girl, and dresses to fit the mould: white foundation, liberal use of eyeliner, fishnet skirts and corset, black New Rock boots, and dyed black hair with purple streaks. In reality, she has always been, and always will be, something of a tomboy: getting in mosh pits at concerts, winning third place in her class for archery in summer camp in elementary school, and spending hours playing video games on her xbox 360, especially playing the Halo games online.

A year ago, she'd come home from school, and found everything trashed, the door hanging on one hinge, the contents of the fridge vomited all over the floor, and several panes of glass lying in thousands of pieces all over the floor. Frightened, she'd called for her mother, father, even her hated brother. When there was no answer, she picked up the phone, dropping it once, and noticing for the first time the red stain on it, in the shape of a fingerprint. She dialed 911, and after a minute or so hung up, having gotten no answer.

Later, searching through the house, she found her brother's body, the legs ripped off it, facedown in the upper hallway. She also found a large bloody stain leading out the back door, which lay in three pieces several feet away. She searched around for a short while, but couldn't find a body.

She sat down, trying not to cry, with a glass of vodka (she'd broken her father's locked cabinet with a hammer she'd found in the garage). After a few moments, she'd begun calling people's cell phones, finally reaching her friend Catherine, who, between sobs, described a similar situation to that Helena had found. Helena, standing by the window, suddenly saw someone on the road outside her house, which had been deserted. But her call for help died in her throat when she took a closer look. There was blood all over the person's shirt, and one of their eyes was hanging from their dented skull by a thread. The person was not so much walking as shambling.

Helena shrank back into her house, almost knocking over a flower vase as she collided with the living room coffee table. After a few moments of whispered conversation ("Did you see them too?" "The fuck... what are they?" "Can't you guess? Remember watching that movie, something of the Dead over at Lynn's place?" "I don't remember that" "Well I do" "...nerd." "fuck you" 'what're we going to do?" "Look, you know where the comic shop is right?" "the comic shop, wouldn't a gun shop be better?" "too far, we'll got here once we find someone with a car." "k, I'll see you soon." *beep*

*********

Since then her and Catherine and one or two other students from the area had found a second floor apartment with another apartment adjoining it (a large man shaped hole having been in the wall when they had found it). They set up there with a large supply of ammo and canned food, and a car Catherine and one of the others, a boy named Adam, had managed to take.

Weapons Catherine has a Desert Eagle in her trench coat at all times, along with a short sword she found in the fantasy weapons section of the comic shop. It's slightly blunt on one side, but that's not so abd since she can use it as an awesome club if necessary.

OOC: Sorry for the hella long background. I'll make a first post later. I can already tell that this RP is going to be awesome fun

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Folion

(I'll assume you kicked their door in, Derek.)

'Fuck!' Ruben roared, blasting the knees out of every approaching ghoul that came into view. He watched with shivering horror as they buckled and fell to the ground, then rose up again and continued their hampered attack on their posts. 'Mark, keep laying it hard! I see six more coming out of the fog!' Gritting his teeth and anchoring himself into the floor, he continued knocking the oncoming ghouls onto the floor while Mark picked them off with his rifle. It was a slow, painfully phlegmatic process but it worked.

'Zombies aren't even supposed to run!' Mark cried, flabbergasted, his gunshots echoing down the hall.

Ruben had a smart remark for that somewhere, but he wasn't in the mood. He totaled up the approaching enemies en mass. Twelve. Twelve fucking bloodthirsty zombies with crazy smiles and frenzied eyes. Their moans and screams were more than enough to draw a few more each time Mark wasted one. Ruben didn't see this going anywhere fast. And, more than likely, they might have been approaching from behind, ripping at their locked doors and boarded windows....

All of a sudden, Ruben heard a crash. Zombies could not kick. At least, in his experiences, they couldn't. He could be wrong. Dear God, please let him be wrong. He alerted Mark down the hall, 'Mark, someone or something just busted the door, you keep picking off these bastards! I'm keeping an eye out for whoever's coming.' He turned a blind eye torwards the window and faced the hallway.

'Shit...' He muttered.

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Derek Dwyre

[You assumed rightly.]

Logain crouched down as he took a corner sharply, panning up-down-left-right in quick succession before moving on. He could hear the sounds of a gun fight, and he was moving closer. A jump around a corner saw Logain face-to-crotch with a zombie.

The creature moaned as it lowered itself to take a bite out of Logain, but the ex-Marine wasn't about to become something's lunch. Logain leaned back, planted his feet on it's chest and kicked it backwards. As it stumbled back, Logain jumped up, sheathed his combat knife, took aim with his Beretta, and fired one round cleanly in it's decomposing head.

"They gotta be close." Logain continued to dart around corners as fast as he could safely do, less he run into any more surprises. A few moments later, Logain came to the entrance of a long hallway, with a man staring at him from the end. The only thing that kept Logain from yelling with joy was the horde of creatures closing in.

Bolting in the room, Logain pushed the first man aside before shooting an approaching zombie. Holstering his Beretta, Logain pulled out one of his FN P90's, shouldered it, snapped on single burst, then started picking the zombies off as fast as he could get their ugly heads in his sight.

After the last one went down, Logain got up from his couched position and gave a half-assed grin to the man he had thrown to one side. "Sorry 'bout that. Cover. Military thing. Seems you boys had an undead problem. Figured you could use a hand. Name's Logain. Now if y'all doin' mind me askin', what the hell are y'all doing holed up in here?"

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shadowsworn

OOC: do you Americans have Shopper's Drug mart? Also, there's a comma in the word "curs,e" because for some weird reason, that word is being censored.

also, Catherine and Helena are on the street outside of where Ruben and Logain are. I'm assuming there are still quite a few zombies inside, also that you guys are in the back of the house, whereas Helena and her friends are at the front.

IC:Helena stood next to the window, peering around its frame at the street below. If there had still been a way to do so, she would've closed the window (winter was coming, and it was getting colder) but it had been broken when they got here. There were only a few jagged shards of glass left in the warped wooden frame.

Adam entered the room and greeted her with a cheerful "Hi!" Helena ignored him for a moment. It wasn't that she actually disliked Adam, they just didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things. If it had been up to her, they would've gone separate ways a while ago. But Catherine liked him, and so Helena had to put up with what she saw as his naive stupidity in silence. She gripped her Desert Eagle tightly in one hand, and focused her attention outside.

"Tell Catherine there's only one or two xombies out there right now. I'll get the shopping list and some of the boxes. I'll cover Catherine while she brings the car out front."

Adam stayed around for a few moments more. "Didn't we just go shopping the other day? Seems a bit risky to go again so soon..."

Helena finally turned around, brushing a purple strand of her away from her eyes with an irritated gesture. "It was your idea that we needed a barricade by the door. All that furniture and shit takes up a lot of space. And if you and Dustin didn't eat so much..."

Adam waved his hands placatingly. "Ok, ok! I'm just saying, that's all."

Helena watched him turn away and leave, then turned back to the window.

"Also, we're almost out of makeup," she murmured.

******

Helena swung down the ladder separating the second floor from the first (the stairs in here having collapsed), bumping her knee on one of the rungs, and once on the ground she began dancing around in silent agony, whispering profanity between clenched teeth.

She waited until Dustin (who was staying behind) hauled the ladder back up, and then ran, limping, after Catherine and Adam to the back door.

"Still clear?"

"I think so," said Catherine.

"Ok, Adam, you take the Baretta and go with her while she starts the car. I'll cover you both from here."

They both nodded, and, with a deep breath, Catherine ran out into the parking lot, followed closely by Adam.

Catherine stepped out just beyond the door, holding the Desert Eagle ready in one hand.

Everything seemed to be going well so far. Catherine and Adam had reached the car (an ugly blue stationwagon whose owner had been kind enough to have left the keys in the ignition when he had been eaten by zombies), and Catherine was rummaging in her coat for her keys. Helena shivered in the cold, and pulled her trench coat tighter around herself.

Suddenly she saw someone appear in the gap between two houses twenty feet or so from Catherine and Adam, a little boy, his face transformed into a frightful mask by dried lines of blood, and wearing a baseball shirt. One of his hands still wore what remained of a baseball mitt.

She opened her mouth to shout, then decided against it. The zombie boy was still a good way away, and hadn't seemed to notice Adam or Catherine yet. Besides, Adam would inevitably try to shoot the thing, and probably attract more of them, which would not be good, especially so late in the day.

She thrust the Desert Eagle deep into one of her coat pockets, and drew the short sword from it's scabbard on her back. Then, after checking around her for signs of more zombies, she began to run, as silently as it is possible to do in massive boots, across the parking lot, sword raised.

Catherine saw her, and then the zombie, when Helena was about ten feet away. Adam looked up, and, predictably, raised his weapon to shoot, but Catherine glared at him, and punched his arm. She saw him glare at Catherine, and yell something, and she yelled something back, and then Helena wasn't paying attention anymore.

The zombie Little Leaguer had finally noticed her, and with a rattling groan, turned and took a slow swing at her with one arm, trying to grab her. She ducked out of range, and then, taking the sword in both hands, swiung it as hard as she could at the thing's head. There was an explosion of gore and blood as the blunt edge connected, blowing the zombie's rotting head to pieces.

Oh fuck yeah!

She stood panting for a moment, and then, holding the sword in one hand, walkked back to the car, which Catherine had finally got running.

Adam looked at her sullenly. "Why'd you do that? I could've shot it from here."

Helena rolled her eyes, too tired to be tactful. "And give us away? Idiot."

Adam opened his mouth to reply, but Catherine interrupted.

"Shut up you two. Helena, get the shopping list. Where do we have to go first?"

"Um, the corner store, then the Shopper's Drug Mart, then the gun shop."

"mm, you've got red on you, by the way. Take this." Catherine passed Helena a handkerchief with a repulsive teddy bear pattern on it. Helena wiped it across her face, and it came away stained with blood and white foundation. With a curs,e she turned the handkerchief over, and spat on it, and began wiping again.

"You look like shit," Catherine grinned.

*******

It was night by the time they reached the gun shop.

"Zombies ahead," said Adam, who had been watching the road ahead. Helena looked up, pulling her gun from her pocket as she did so.

"How many?"

"Uh, five or so, near the gun shop."

"Fuck , are they blocking the road?"

"There's two cars stalled up there, no other way through, unless if we want to try running them down."

"In this old thing? We'd probably stall. Try and back up."

"Uh, there are a few zombies behind us now too," Catherine said, looking in the rear view mirror. At that moment, they all heard the sound of muffled shooting, and a human voice, shouting.

"There are people here!" Adam said, grabbing Catherine, whose eyes had opened wide in surprise.

"They must be in one of the houses here," said Helena, looking around, "Maybe the zombies got them."

"That didn't sound like someone in pain," argued Catherine. "If they're alive, we need to find them."

Helena shrugged. It would be nice to be able to hang around with other people, at least for a while. As much as she liked Catherine, hanging around with her and her idiot boy all the time for much longer was going to drive her mad.

"Fine, Adam, you guard the car, the two of us will go in."

Helena grabbed the glove box, and pulled out a revolver, one of two that they had stored there, and tossed it to Catherine, who caught it awkwardly.

"It's loaded right?"

"Um let me check... yeah."

At that moment there was a booming sound from nearby, and more shooting.

"C'mon, we'd better go."

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Folion

'Blah... um...' Ruben sat there in shock, his rifle held in white knuckles as he futily attempted to acknowledge the fact that there was someone else still alive in New York City, much less, the man who appeared as an almost Ramo-ish God-like savior had saved his life.

'Holy shit!' He heard Mark yell in utter disbelief. 'Your aim is Godly Ruben! GODLY!'

'Wasn't me!' Ruben called back, before turning to the intimidating, weapon-happy man before him. 'Hello Logan. First of all, I can't even begin to describe what I'm feeling as to seeing another survivor besides Mark, down there.' His thumb pointed down the hall. 'And secondly, we're holed up here because we both agree that it's not worth risking our hides just to look for other survivors. Selfish? Perhaps. But when your life is on the line, making a decision like that becomes a little... hard to make.'

He shrugged as Mark came crawling in, crouched down, hugging his weapon to his chest as he goggled at this unknown newcomer with weapons strapped to his ass (not literally). 'He the one that took all those running bastards down? Without having to knock any of 'em down?'

'Yeah.'

'Amazing.' He whispered. 'Do you play paintball?' Mark asked.

'Not the time.' Ruben spoke, silencing his partner. He turned back to Logan and held his hand out. 'You're free to speak now.'

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Derek Dwyre

Logain chuckled, though there was a touch of darkness in his chuckle. "Paintballed when I could. Taggin' a terrorist was something that came in close second." Logain turned his attention back to Ruben, his smile gone. "Name's Lo-GAIN, not Logan." The ex-Marine emphasized the pronunciation of his name with a little unneeded force. "Most mispronounce it anyways, usually a Yankee."

Logain took a sweep of the room and shook his head. "While I can understand y'all's desire to stay alive, especially if the manner o' death is so fuckin' bloody, you'll run low on supplies, then ammo, then nerve, then you'll die. While I ain't got a place for you to go, you might want to reconsider staying in a hell hole like New York. Find a good vehicle, load up, head inland. Smaller towns seem to fair better. Not as many potential zombies to have to handle, I guess."

Logain pulled a small metal container from one of his tactical pockets and took a swig before offering it to Ruben. "Think you can handle Texas poison?"

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Folion

(Sorry, busy night, I'm going to unfortunately skip my post. Keep going on though, if you wish.)

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Marineking

Crouching, James crept down the narrow alley, his revolver held next to his head with the hammer pulled back. Ever so carefully he came to the corner and stopped, shoving his gun out around the corner before following with his head. The street was littered - no, more like completely trashed - with mutilated corpses. The fresh blood yet heavily decayed bodies told him they weren't anyone he should feel sorry for. He examined them the best he could from where he crouched, straining his usually great eyesight to it's weary limits. He wasn't an expert, but by the way the bodies were deformed, he could tell they were done by human hands. Even if the zombies had learned to shoot, they couldn't possibly be that good.

Not dropping his guard, he rose to his feet and began creeping along the wall around the corner, heading in the direction the most of the corpses were "pointing" at. He kept his gun at the ready, holding it away from his body with his right hand and keeping the left on his knife handle. He stared at every every window and ducked into every alley; his every muscle strained for sudden release. The danger of the situation got his blood pumping, and he even grinned slightly. Imminent death couldn't do much to keep the excitement down in him for long, sometimes it just made it sweeter. He'd always lived his life on the edge, never regretting a moment behind him, and this seemed to be what he was born for; to creep along in the night and fight every moment for his survival. Damned sure wasn't boring, at the very least.

Finally he approached the building at the end of the street and ducked quickly into another alley, scanning it with his gun to make sure no zombies were inside and then crouching down and opening his ears. He listened carefully, and sniffed occasionally. Sometimes, you could smell or hear a zombie long before you saw them. His caution payed off a few moments later when he heard what he thought were voices. Straining, he was just able to make out a few words, spoken in a damned unintelligible southern accent. Well, at least he was living, and knew how to a use a gun, and unless he was talking to himself, he had friends.

Holding his gun above his head, he stepped and and said, in a voice that he hoped wasn't loud enough to attract anything, "Don't shoot!" But he still kept his hand on his knife.

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Folion

Ruben was on the verge of daring to take a sip of that Texan poison before he heard a voice say, 'Don't shoot!' in a reserved sort of way - loud, but quiet at the same time. It sounds raspy. Ruben raises a finger to his lips and gestures for Mark to come over. Mark nods and crawls over, still tightly clutching his gun, always holding his gun, never letting go of his gun...

'Let's tread lightly now.' He says, in a low whisper. 'Never know what maniacs prowl the streets nowadays.' Mark nodded and shouldered his weapon, allowing Ruben to handle the situation. Ruben held his weapon in front of him, all-too ready to fire and blast his bullets if a blood-stained son of a bitch decided to rear its ugly head at any precise moment.

Ruben quietly leaped out onto the street, holding his rifle, the safety catch off. 'Come out!' He softly yelled, mimicking the hidden man.

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