Folion

(Alright then, I suppose it's time to get this RP started.)

The virus, the plague, began its world-wide conquest somewhere in the heart of Europe. Russia, perhaps. Chernobyl is, as always, a likely candidate. Great place to set a science fiction story I suppose. But what am I babbling about? No one knows. And frankly, no one gives a shit either, so let's just leave it at that, eh?

I mean, sure, you may be sitting on your ass watching the news one day, following the outbreak to the last minute when suddenly one of 'em buggers comes busting in through your window. Once they get in, the law, politics, morality, perhaps even sanity are thrown out the window. It's a fight to the death from that point onward. And until every last one of 'em is eradicated off the face of our blessed earth, then nothing will ever change that.

'You've got a little something. On your cheek.'

'Eh? Pasta? The pasta I just ate?'

'It's red but it sure as hell isn't pasta. Just keep guarding your post.'

Ruben's partner frowned and rubbed at his cheek before shrugging it off and keeping an eye out for any approaching ghouls. He switched the safety on his rifle off before cautiously eyeing their misty surroundings. Never knew when they could come bursting out of the shade when you least expected it, arms akimbo and head swaying.

'I've been wondering, Ruben.'

'Yes, Mark. What?'

'Why don't we just, y'know, ditch New York altogether?'

'The world isn't any better off than New York. You'd be hard pressed to find any place that's substantially safer.' Ruben rolled his eyes and took a seat, the butt of his rifle resting on the floor while the barrel sat against his right shoulder. 'Please, don't start this up again. I've had enough of you and your depression, thank you.'

'I've had my fair share of withdrawl time.' Mark sniffed, shifting his weapon a little more to the center. 'You know how hard that kinda shit is to go through, right? Painful.' He sniffed and looked through the scope of his rifle, keeping a wary eye out for any approaching ghouls.

'Well, you know me.' Ruben smiled, heaving a sigh. 'I put the 'piss' in pessimist.'

Mark laughed, then appeared genuinely confused. 'How do you spell pessimist?'

Ruben's eyebrows formed a V as he, too, appeared perplexed. 'Dunno.'

They sat, there, confused for a moment before a hungry moan sounded off like a newport siren just outside. 'Shit!' Mark muttered, regaining his position at the window while Ruben dashed to the other, his rifle banging against his hip. While he prepared himself at his post, he heard gunshots just down the hall as Mark opened fire. He looked ahead and counted roughly five sprinting torwards their post.

'Ergh, screw this.' He broke out his assault rifle and fired wildly, making one good headshot and merely knocking down two others. His heart beat against his ribcage painfully as the situation appeared somewhat unruly. Who the hell knew how many others could be disguised behind the mist? Too many to count, perhaps. He gritted his teeth and called down the hall, 'Waste the ones I knocked down! This is gonna be a long day.'

(Feel free to make your entrance whenever necessary.)

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