OPTIONS:
WAKING UP
You wake up in a studio in an apartment building that's got windows all boarded up. You remember being sick, you remember dying, and you probably can't believe this is the afterlife. If you head out into the hall you'll see that others are heading out too, looking just as confused as you are. All of you died, most of you of the same thing. If you head down to the front office, you'll meet a native resident who will explain in brief that you're in Aqora, a settlement living among the undead and that people like you show up every so often. You'll be given an informational pamphlet, a shitty cell phone, and a walkie. Then you'll be expected to figure it out. No one has time to hold your hand.
EXPLORING
Miscellaneous things here: shops and restaurants turned into places to live, apartments full of people living day to day, the main focus (the library) being the hub where people come to learn and children go to school. Because school never ends, even in the apocalypse. Feel free to buddy up with other newcomers to figure out what the hell is going on.
OR, say you've been here a while. It's time to figure out how to get more supplies! Let's go on a supply run. You'll just be heading out past the barricades to start, and you'll have to dig through buildings to try and find things. If you're lucky, maybe you'll hit a cache. If you're unlucky, you'll find too many undead to fight. No one goes out alone though, so hopefully your partner can help.
"NETWORK"
Someone has set up a rudimentary network using the nearest cell towers. You can communicate with others in the area but only via voice and text. Anything further out is voice only via walkies. You can have a username or leave it blank.
Have fun, campers. |
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thebreathing2017-06-15 05:10 pm
no subject
Tisarwat's got short hair - makes sense - but he has to wonder about how old she is because he swears she's still a kid. She's lean, though, and he figures that must mean she's quick on her feet and she can squeeze into some places he can't. Good sign. As much as Peter used to do the whole handsome lone wolf, ex-Ravager striking out on his own thing, the truth is he just feels better when he has someone watching his back.
Peter reaches for the ragged backpack he left on the crate, canvas stitched with some pretty suspicious dark stains he bets is the previous owner's blood, and hoists it over his shoulders. Take only what you can carry. That's the magic motto for today because he can't assume his ship's nearby and all the toys he would've had? Gone. It's pure old school.
"C'mon. We're supposed to check out the east side. Supposed to be a convoy that didn't make it home."
Peter's weapon of choice is a crowbar with strips of leather wrapped tight, hopefully to keep it from jostling out of his arms. His grip tightens on it as he turns and leads the way to the gate, riddled with spikes and corrugated metal and he can see the guards up top are trying to pry off the fresh corpses who impaled themselves out of curiosity in the night. Some of them are still swatting at the long sticks, groaning and drooling black fluid.
no subject
The tyrant has seen a lot of combat, seen it from afar, given the orders--
When has this body seen real combat?
An expression of fear flickers across her face for a second before she can remember to keep herself ancillary-calm.
"Right. Then let's go and pick them up." As she says it, she unhooks the pipe from her belt, hefting it in a gloved hand. It's too heavy to swing about in one hand, but carrying it is fine, and it makes her feel better - especially as they come up on that perimeter. It's on the tip of her tongue to ask if he's been here long enough to have any idea where they're going or what they're going to face outside...but her attention is caught by those corpses.
Most are still, the spikes jutting out of their backs the only things keeping them upright. Some, though, some are moving, and she's been told about this, yes, even seen the jerky, slimy way they move from a distance. This is a first, and she can't suppress the disgusted curl of her lip as they move in closer, up to the gate. Closer to the flailing arms, the glistening black ichor draining from them, glutenous as it slides down the thick bars of the gate.
"I remember..." she says, and the words feel and sound like they're being forced out of her throat. "Before Medic put me in the medical coma. I'm sure I remember coughing up something that looked black like that.
"Maybe I'm imagining things."
The gate is blessedly heavy, fortified and weighted down as it is. They have to wave down a guard to get it open, and that it takes multiple people pulling enough to let two people slip through is comforting. (It only occurs to her later on to wonder what happens if the enemy is chasing them from within)
The street beyond is desolate. It reeks of death, and though there is blood on the concrete - everything from dried puddles to streaks like something forcibly dragged itself along the ground - for now there's no movement. Not that she can see, at any rate.
"Do you know what the convoy was carrying? How much use would it be to the enemy?"
Do corpses need supplies? Usually she would have said no, but usually corpses don't walk, either.
no subject
He can see why his new partner has to take a moment to drink it all in.
"Yeah. Maybe the infection's bigger than we thought," Peter says quietly. He doesn't want to dwell on his own death. Did he die? No clue, but it sure felt like it and the parts he remembers were pure hell. Anyway, he doesn't want to admit his scenario was the humiliating Death By Rabid Alien Hamster, so he instead shrugs and goes on: "The info they gave me was it was mostly medical supplies and some science-y equipment. Might've been a mobile lab."
Great idea, but when you're surrounded by things who don't need to sleep, who don't starve as quickly as a human or understand boredom when they're under siege? That mobile lab suddenly has a lot of limits that aren't solved by reinforced walls, air purifers and reclamation units.
Peter zips it as they inche out into the street. There's the remnants of gore, old and new, and it's enough that his head swims a bit as flies buzz. Maybe he'll get desensitized to it. Maybe not. From the look on Tisarwat's face, the reaction to the decay is normal.
He holds up his finger to his lips in a gesture he hopes is still universal on Earth. Follow me and keep it ninja-like.
He leads her down a side street, pausing more than he normally would to consult the drawn map and listen for any moaning that sounds too close for his liking. After awhile he chooses to take the stairs, crowbar at ready even as he makes a beeline for an apartment's roof. Jimmying the roof access is a good sign (he hopes). Means either no one's up there or...whoever was, they got trapped up their for a reason. Peter doesn't open the door at first, his elbow resting against the push bar as he turns toward Tisarwat, her outline stained red and black in the emergency lights.
"On three. I go out first and you got my back?"