[Other FULL] Outbreak: A Zombie Survival Roleplay (IC)

[Klippy]

Sign-Up Thread/OOC
Rated M for violence and language

You're a survivor. It's been awhile since the start of the end of the world, but you're alive and that's what counts. A few of you are survivors from a plane crash, but more and more are found along the way. We started with so many, but lost friends along the way. Now we're just trying to keep living day-by-day.

You're one of us now. You can be part of the team or part of the problem. We're always taking in new people, so don't be surprised if we find you along the way and pick you up. Though some of us have been together since the beginning, our story has just started.​

A Rough Landing
Plane Crash | On the Road | CHOICES | YOUR FELLOW MAN | WHAT COMES NEXT
BRATTON I | KIN I | Bratton & Kin

ROB SHEPARD | TIM MCGREGOR | Jacob Curbow

Nathan Hawke | George Broker | Youssef Abuzeid

Godfreid Rogers | Oswald Lessard | Dennis Plum

---

Jim Bratton | 'Kin' Burr

---

Alex Brikosi | Mark Forrester
​

 

[Klippy]

NIGHT ZERO - CRASH SITE ​

Scenario

Your head is pounding. The sounds of crackling fire accompany a light breeze of heat and the smell of a burning something you can't quite put to mind. You're still inside the airplane, but the entire right side of the plane has been shredded open. You're shaken, but seem to be uninjured. As you stumble around, you hear screaming and rush outside the fuselage to see what's going on. You're in a dense forest, but the entire area is ablaze with fire. The smoke is heavy and the continued smell of something burning is making you nauseous. Several people are stumbling around with injuries and a few are missing limbs, moaning, and moving around like...zombies!?

In the distance is the sound of a roaring engine as a huge truck crashes through the brush, lights illuminating whatever dark areas remained between the trees. A man sticks his head out of the driver-side window and looks upon the scene.

He honks his horn and shouts out to the wreckage, "Anyone still alive out there, get to me quickly! The dead are all around you and swarming the crash site!" He honks again, then puts his head back inside the vehicle. You don't know him at all, but what's a stranger to being a shambling corpse?

Seems like a great time to start running. The only problem is how to reach the truck and get past the zombies already around you.

Objectives

Objectives are goals you need to accomplish to advance the plot further. In order to continue on in the story, your character must reach the vehicle safely. You have time to gather a few items if you wish, but remember that zombies are close by and more are advancing from inside the dense forest. Be aware of your surroundings!

☣ Reach the vehicle safely
☣ Don't die
☣ Optional: Collect loot
☣ Optional: Assist injured passengers

Danger Level

Danger Level indicates the amount of hazards you may face in this area. Zombies are a clear threat, but the higher the presence, the more dangerous they become. Hover your cursor over the threats to see their danger levels and whether you will need to expend agility to take care of them.

Available Loot

This area displays what loot you may find and collect during this session. Hover your cursor over all loot items and weapons to see their weight cost. Remember your Strength, as all items you pick up take up inventory space. You may choose to keep any looted items for yourself or give them to fellow survivors in need. It is your choice, but all actions have consequences and affect how people feel about you.

Group Perception

Perception is how you know what the group thinks of you. In your posts, you may (not required) include thoughts of the other survivors around you. Whether you like them or not, find them weird or dangerous, and whatever else you feel deserves a reaction/thought. The following GM post will display the average group perception of your character of the previous session. Try not to let your perception become dangerously low!

For now, no one knows each other and your perceptions all begin at zero.

 

[moon]

Alynx Cooper
< post soundtrack >

It was all so quiet. She opened her eyes and saw flames and people, but she couldn't hear them. Oh wait, she could. She did. It was all just so loud that her brain was shutting it off. Ignoring all the sounds.

She was still seated. The seatbelt had held her in place and was now digging painfully into her side as the world around her seemed to be tilted a bit to the side. Groggily, half without really feeling her own limbs make the movements, she unfastened herself and turned to exit the row, which she was in the middle seat of. What faced her there made her gasp. The young woman she had been sitting next to was still there, her hair still just as blonde and her eyes still as blue as they had been. But her face was pale and forever etched with a terrified grimace. Her chest and legs were speckled with ruby blood from her stomach, where some kind of metal bar had pierced her.

Alynx' could have gone numb at the sight. Many probably would. But thoughts from deep inside were stronger than her shock. She couldn't die here. She was not ready to die. She was still young, she still had lots to do, many dreams to fulfill. One zombie filled world would not stop her. Could not stop her. The blonde woman had died, uselessly, helplessly. Alynx wouldn't. Not now, and definitely not here. Adrenaline began flooding her system and all of a sudden, the sounds came back.

The flight had crashed. People were screaming and there was a fire somewhere ahead of her. The whole side of the plane had been ripped off in the crash, and here Alynx was, with only a few bruises as proof for having been on flight 846 at all. Certainly a sign that her time had not come yet.

It was difficult to tell what people were alive and not, through all the screaming and smoke and chaos. Alynx climbed over the back of her seat and stumbled out from the plane. Feet, arms, head, all working alright, the ground being soft and covered in vegetation beneath her. There were more people moving about out here, she was not the only survivor! Thank God for that. Or someone more responsible than God, perhaps. But the crash had begun to set fire on the forest around them. She needed to get away from here. She really didn't want to die. But she wasn't going to leave everybody else behind either, if she could help it.

To her left, someone was walking rapidly towards her. She extended a hand as they came closer.

"Are you alright? Hey?" she asked, or rather roared, over the fire.

But the person did not reply, not until they were just a meter away, both arms stretched out. Then, a gurgling wail escaped what Alynx finally, in the light from the forest fire, saw was a gaping hole where a mouth should have been.

Alynx had no chance to evade the tackle. She cried out and stumbled backwards, the trashed person's hands desperately clawing at where her leather jacket was closed with a zipper over her chest. Pushing the person away and walking backwards, she tried to think. Was this a delirious survivor? No, not with that broken face. The jaw seemed to be practically ripped off - this person should have bled to death already. She had watched enough TV to know what was reasonable. Then she saw, between her attacker and the plane wreckage - more damaged people stumbling, crawling around, horrible noises coming from whatever would pass for mouths on those ones. And the realization struck her.

The outbreak. She had managed to survive a plane crash, but so had the zombies on board. Or perhaps they had already been here where they had made ground.

What kind of future would she have in a zombie infested world, even if she did escape this place alive? She only started thinking about it, the zombie without jaw approaching once more, before adrenaline kicked in again. It really didn't matter. She did not want to die, it was as simple as that.

She looked around on the ground for something, anything, that would put some distance between herself and the monster. Her hand found a broken stick, and she didn't even think before she swung it forcefully through the air and smacked its head off. The head rolled on the ground and the body collapsed, and Alynx allowed herself to breathe hard. Oxygen. There wasn't much in the air here, but she needed what she could get.

Had she just killed a zombie? Perhaps all those gym hours and yoga classes had paid off after all. She grabbed the stick tightly with both her hands, intending to keep it. A few meters away, a one armed zombie was stumbling towards another survivor. Alynx saw red. She hated the outbreak, she realized. She hated the zombies. Intensively. Holding that thought, as well as the stick, she swiftly marched up behind the monster and slammed her weapon hard into the bend of its knees. It fell over backwards and Alynx jumped out of the way but wasted no time before she drove the stick down through one of the already bloody eyesockets. Piece of cake with a little bit of determination. And some pent up desperation, perhaps.

Turning back to the survivor, she asked in a determined voice: "Are you alive? Do you want to stay alive?"


((OOC: This was fun. Anybody who wants to can be the person Cooper saved! If nobody wants to be, I'll just make it a NPC :p ))
​

 

[PokemasterX]

​

Before
After escaping her college security, Athena went to find her Uncle. When she reached home she found her uncle being chased by a zombie. Instantly, she sprung into action. She took out her prized katana and easily slashed the zombies head, effectively (re)killing them. Her uncle was so relieved to see her safe and thanked her.

"We can't stay here. It's not safe. Let's take a plane far, far away from here," Athena demanded.

The two packed what they could and left for the airport.

The Crash
"You killed him! My uncle!" Athena shouted in tears after the older lady (Alynx) had saved her from the zombified uncle. Without answering Athena ran away in tears. This couldn't be happening. First, zombies, and now, her uncle, the person most precious to her, gone. As mad as she was at Alynx for killing her zombie uncle, she knew there was no other way.

She trudged along the crash site and saw Alynx slashing away at zombies. Alynx looked at her.

"I'm sorry...I know you had to do it...I understand." Athena apologized.

The biggest thing her uncle had taught her was to never hold grudges. Athena was never one to let her emotions get the best of her. She knew that to survive this new world she was going to need allies. She found a broken stick and a blanket among the rubble. She stowed the blanket away and began using the stick. Losing her uncle pained her beyond belief, but, what hurt just as much was that she had lost her beloved katana, and no matter how hard she looked, her last gift from her dear uncle, the last connection she could have possibly had to any family member, was gone. Alongside Alynx in teary-eyed silence she struck down zombies left and right using her skills that she'd honed most of her life. While it wasn't what she wanted, the stick was protection.

With each slash, she imagined the (re)death of her uncle Davis. She never knew pain could be like this, but she had to keep on keeping on, if not for herself, then for Davis, then for her parents. For as much as she knew, she was the last of her family, as Davis had been her only other kin.

As each zombie dies at the hands of Athena, she begins to hear a sound in the near distance. She hears a truck and its driver shouting out to them to come with him

Thoughts ran throughout her mind: Who is he? Is he one of them disguised as a Living? Can I trust him? Can I trust anybody? With no other choice, Athena kills her way through the horde of undead to the truck.

As she runs to the truck, a huge zombie, bigger than the others, comes to face her. Athena swings at it with all her might, but this zombie was probably a fresh one, as it still seemed to have some reflexes and the stick only ripped off an arm. The zombie became enraged and pushed Athena to the ground. It was about to kill her, but training every day without break had sharpened her instincts and made her thrive in situations like this and in her peripheral vision she noticed another stick with a sharp point near her hand.

In an instant she grabbed and stabbed it deep into the zombie's right eye. The zombie rose up in shock and Athena got onto her feet, but the zombie was still after her. Fear was the least of her worries right now. She needed to defeat this zombie or die trying. Unfortunately there were no other sticks close enough to her and Alynx was busy with her own zombie. Cautiously, she went closer the zombie. "Am I crazy? What the heck am I thinking???" thought Athena, but she had no other options. She ran in quick, pulled the stick out of the zombies eye, kicked it in the chest onto the ground and jumped and stomped onto it and stabbed it in the head, adrenaline coursing throughout her body, energizing her, forcing her mind and body to work into overtime to finally finish the foe off.

"I...that...what...I did it!" screamed Athena, huffing and puffing from the exhaustion after the adrenaline had run its course in her body, leaving her tired and relieved. With the immediate danger gone, she lumbered towards the vehicle.

Status: Uninjured, but exhausted. In truck.
Inventory: 1 Plane Blanket; 1 Sharp Broken Stick

 

[Klippy]

Mark Forrester - Status: Injured
STR: 2, INT: 2, AGI: 3, CHA: 3
INVENTORY (14/15):

Mark's head was pounding. He felt like his entire body had been hit by a car. He opened his eyes a few inches to keep himself from vomiting from the dizziness. The woman seated next to him was laying directly in front of him. Her body was torn to bits from plane shrapnel and burns were etched across her face. Bile boiled up in this throat, so he closed his eyes again. The old woman was so sweet. She had offered him candy to relax him, but in his panic to get to his wife, he had snapped at her. Why did he do that? She sat quietly, upset, until the turbulence. Her panicked gasps kicked his paternal instincts in, despite her being older than him, so he held her hand. She smiled at him, but the screaming began soon after and he didn't see her smile after that.

Mark fumbled with the seat belt around his waist. It was tight and constricting, caught on something in the wreckage. He pushed hard on the release button and it finally let him out. He crashed down onto the debris and gore. A sharp pain hit him on his left forearm. He yanked it out of the mess and another pain hit him. He looked at the arm. He had sliced open his arm deeply and must have hit something vital because blood gushed from the wound. He stumbled into the aisle as a woman rushed out of the gaping hole in the plane.

His other senses were returning to him. The smell of burning corpses filled his nose and that vomit he had held back for this long came out. It burned his throat and he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. The sounds of screams would haunt him forever, but nothing was as dreadful as hearing the moans of the walking dead. At the time, Mark thought they were injured passengers, but he soon learned the sounds of the undead. He reached up and opened an overhead compartment. Out fell bagged blankets and some luggage. He ripped open one of the blankets and used it to cover his wound. Once he was out of this plane and somewhere safer, he could worry more about it. He scooped up the other two blankets in case he needed to switch them or stay warm. He had no idea where he was and if there was a chill to the night away from this plane, he didn't want to be freezing to death. Especially not after surviving this.

He jumped out of the hole in the plane and was greeted by two women slicing the undead apart. He stayed back and once the way was clear, the women ran off in their own directions. Standing there, unsure of what to do with one arm bloodied and wrapped, he saw how many of his fellow passengers had become zombies. Almost the entire plane was either a corpse or a walking corpse. He had to feel lucky for that.

Suddenly, a vehicle emerged from the brush up on a hill. The lights were blinding, but the honking of the horn and sudden scream to reach the vehicle for safety sparked Mark back to life. He grabbed for a stick one of the women had left behind and rushed forward. A zombie lunged at him from a fire to his right. The shambling and immolating corpse was one of the pilots. Mark dodged the burning pilot and pushed onward. Nothing was stopping him from getting out of this alive.

He tripped. Landing flat on his face, he rolled over to see the night sky briefly before a zombie crawled right on top of him. The stink of it was enough to make him vomit again, but he knew a bite would end everything. If the TV shows taught you anything, it was that you never come back from a bite. He stuck the stick out in desperation and it lodged in the zombie's mouth. I guess that's one way to stop it from biting, he thought. He pushed himself up and flung the zombie back. It fell backwards and landed on a piece of the fuselage. It was pinned.

He turned back and kept running up the hill. He tasted blood and realized the fall had split his lip open. He ignored the taste and saw the younger woman stomping on a zombie's head. A bit overkill, he thought, but it was understandable in this panic. The woman screamed, "I did it!" as Mark reached the truck. He flung himself into the truck bed and looked up at the night sky again. This would all be over soon. They were rescued and he would be going home before long.​

 

[TheSyren]

BEFORE:

Syren shut his eyes and squeezed the armrests of his seat with pure fear. This was his first time flying, and probably his last. He had saved enough money from before to afford the ticket to a safe haven, but no amount of security can save you from the fear of flying.

"Angels can fly." he murmured under his breath.

"So can demons for that matter."

He turned to his left at the sound of the voice, seeing a girl similar to his age. She was wearing what looked like jeans and a Grateful Dead t-shirt, dark hair to match. He smirked at the irony of the shirt; he wasn't grateful for dead at all.

"Yeah, i know, you like the shirt." she gestured to her chest, then waved his gaze away from it. "I wore it because of the irony. If I am to die, i want to be the zombie someone laughs at before they re-kill me. That's my mentality." She smiled quickly and turned to look out the window of the plane. They had been flying for roughly an hour (time flies when you are scare stiff), and though the turbulence had been minimal, he could still feel an uneasiness.

"So, are you some kind of hardcore Magic player?" She asks, pointing at the deck box he was holding.

"No, i can't use magic. These are Tarots, used to predict the future." He pulls them out tentatively, feeling the reassuring weight in his hands. He looks at the girl and begins to deftly shuffle the smooth metal in his hands. "How 'bout it? Want to know if that shirt is going to be a pun or not?"

She smiles and nods, eager to end her boredom. Syren shuffles the cards and deals them across his lap, eyes closed, humming the familiar tune his mother used to. He looks down, sucks in a ragged breath, and hurriedly puts the deck back in its box. He grips the arm rests and closes his eyes.

"What is it? Will i have to wear this shirt to prom or something?" She laughs and looks out the window. He says nothing and braces himself for the inevitable; he was going too get to see her outcome.

PRESENT:

The scent of day old Halloween pumpkins woke Syren from his pained slumber, along with an unbearable pain in his shoulder. He opened his eyes and winced, finally feeling the pain of his shoulder in full. He slowly reaches for the clasp of the seat belt and gives it wrenching pull, releasing him from his seat to the ground, a four foot drop straight to his knees. He howls and grips his shoulder in pain, looking at the sky and seeing only smoke from the wreckage. He looks to his left, with nothing but fire and burning bodies filling his gaze.

"You killed him! My Uncle!" A girl shouts in the distance to his left. Survivors, Syren thought. Maybe they can assist me.

Slowly, he drags himself to his feet and hobbles in the direction of the voice, his left arm dangling uselessly at his side. Suddenly, he instinctively flinches out of the way of a hulking man, bloody and burnt, as he lunges at Syren. Syren yelps and shoves the man into the wreckage of the plane, impaling him with the shredded interior of the wing. The man, with serrated metal holding him in place, continued to reach out towards Syren, desperately and... Hungrily. He was one of the risen, filled with an insatiable hunger for the flesh of the living.

"Oh... God. They let one.. On board?" Syren quickly shambles away, wide eyed and horrified. He continued to stumble away, towards the shouting from before, when he begins to hear a car horn and another's voice asking for survivors.

Syren looks forward and is shocked at the sight before him: a horde. He had heard of them before, how the dead liked to group together, but he knew he couldn't get through, not in the state that he was. But maybe, if he was one of them? He looked around, for anything he could use as aid. His eyes stop on a torn shirt, and he fills with sadness when he realises what it says: The Grateful Dead. He shambles forward and picks it up, noticing the blood covering it. He cringes, but drapes it over himself anyways. He turns and finds what looks like the shredded corpse of a flight attendant. He vomits, wipes his mouth, and grimaces at what he was going to have to do.

Quickly and reluctantly, he spreads the gore upon the borrowed shirt he had, the scent filling his nostrils and the sight searing his mind. With his torso sufficiently covered in stewardess, he shuffles towards the vehicle. He tentatively limps past the dead, watching one become skewered by a man with a stick, and a few being annihilated by a young girl. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he makes it to the vehicle and strips off the shirt quickly, holding his good arm up. "Don't shoot! Or stab me! And by the Gods, don't run me over!" He hobbles to the back of the vehicle and climbs into the bed, holding his injured shoulder.

"I guess, maybe i am grateful" he says as he leans against the cab, nursing his injured shoulder.

Status: Dislocated Shoulder; Injured.

 

[Necrum]

Dick Remly

The sounds of burning wreckage and screaming fill the air. Back in the war, eh...? Fingers push weakly around the loose dirt, until something hard gets in the way.Wait... I never deployed... Footsteps, uneven ones, coming from behind. I can't be back somewhere I haven't been... which means this is happening right...

Dick wrapped his hand around the base of the stick he has found in the dirt, and quickly jammed it into the empty socket staring at him as he turned around to see the source of the steps. "Now." As he pulled the bloodied stick from the now (and then) lifeless body, he heard a voice yelling at him. Something about the dead. Dick looked around furiously, but couldn't quite focus. His fingers stroked the stick, trying to figure out what it was. After a few moments, the world became exponentially clearer. The blazing fire was from a downed airliner. "That's right, I was on that damned plane," Dick assured himself.

Another look around revealed a large truck with a strange man driving it. Several other members of the flight were heading for it, prompting Dick to force himself up off the ground and start running before all the space got taken up. The horror of the plane crash coupled with sounds of people dying hit Dick with the force of a wet paper towel. Nothing worse than the 6 o'clock news, he thought to himself. Well, it's not worse than what happened at the Casino, anyway.

Charging his way through anyone in his way, Dick finally made it to the truck, climbing in and swiftly making it VERY obvious that this was his spot. "Get us the hell outta here!"

Dick kept a tight grip on the stick he had found. It seemed that now this was the only possession he owned, with the exception of the clothes on his back. I'm going to need some money when this is all over...

 

[Logical Cabbage]

Alejandra Vasquez​

The Dawn of Bloodshed​

Alejandra woke up with a moan hissing at her ear. She wasn't even aware of what she did until she felt her elbow slam on a rough jaw. She let out a huge gasp as she stared at the bleak, bloodshot eyes that faced her. She couldn't even tell if it was human or not, but the angle of the jaw and the shape of the bones told her this used to be a woman, near her early twenties. She couldn't have been older than Alejandra herself, except that's where the similarities stopped. The corpse stood out, flesh slowly wearing off, showing deeper parts of muscle til you could see the bone. Her skin was covered in fresh patches of green and red, and her mouth was cocked to the side. Her face looked confused at what Alejandra did. Without hesitation, Alejandra threw her wait and kicked the wobbly patella of this thing that stood in front of her, and with a cracking of a bone, it went down with another menacing moan escaping the remains of her lips. The corpse stretched out her arms, in an attempt to reach out her new victim, but Alejandra saw it coming. She envaded the arms just in time, and she drew out her knife from the inside of her boot, and she held out the blade in pride.

She held the long four inch knife, her only weapon of defense she had, and she stared at the corpse. She stared at it equally blankly as the remains of the woman did. Might as well end her misery, she thought to herself. Before anything else could happen, she stabbed the knife on the zombie, right in the head. The rotten hand that began to rise fell with a thud, and then the body lied still. Alejandra quickly pulled out the knife, pus and blood draining from it. Just great, she thought. That was my favorite knife, but oh well. I can't do much with this now, especially with nothing to clean it. She dropped the knife without batting an eye at it, careful to not get any of it on her skin, and she pulled out another knife, this one from her other boot. This one was shorter, barely being three inches, but it was better than nothing. Her mind started to question where she was, but Alejandra pushed her dwelling thoughts down. There was time to think for later, but for now be cautious and-

Suddenly, a scream of victory pierced through the silence. Idiot, Alejandra thought with a sigh. I'd be surprised if she'd live another day. Alejandra then thought it was best to move away from the remains of the airplane. She barely remembered what happened after that cough in front of her, only scattered memories remained. Screams, panic, a crash, more screaming, then darkness. But based on what happened, she was inside the ruins of the airplane. I wonder how far we are, and if we're even close to Washington State. She then walked away from her first kill, and she wiggled her body a bit, just to check for damage. She only felt a light headache, but she was fine. She started to make her way out, knowing that more flesh eaters will be awaiting, but Alejandra was ready. She knew the situation she was in, and she promised her parents that she would survive for them.

Status: Injured (Concussion and a cut in the forehead)
​

 

[Arsenic]

Name: Nathan Hawke
Location: Crash Site, Unknown
Status: Unknown

The sound of a fire crackling nearby was all he could hear. And warmth.. It was very warm, but not quite hot yet. Slowly the world faded from black. Fire flickered and licked the metal of what was left of the section of plane he was in.

"Oi..." He grumbled as he forced himself up using a seat for support. He looked back at where he was sitting what felt only like moments ago. A large scrap of metal protruded from it. If he'd been wearing his seat belt like he was supposed to he'd be dead as the guy in the next seat over. Nathan turned around and limped towards the fire exit.

He pulled the lever to the door but it seemed to do nothing! Upon looking through the tiny window he saw a large piece of plane was in fact blocking the door. With all the screams finally getting through to him he felt his heart rate pick up as adrenaline rushed through his body. He looked around quickly, the rest of the section of plane he was in seemed pretty empty. He scooted back out to the isle and made a hurry for the far end. Unfortunately it was also blocked, except for a small gap. I could fit that.. He though. He started to squeeze through.

"Fuuuu*k!" He yelled as he fell towards the ground, something having grabbed his arm and pulling him through the crack but loosing its grip. Then a man fell on him, gurgling and groaning and trying to claw at him. The missing eye was the first clue to Nathan that this wasn't some random man. It was a zombie or some sh*t!

"Motherf*cker!" He yelled at it as he through it off him. The creature landed on the ground nearby and started crawling towards him. Nathan got up as fast as he could but it grabbed his ankle. He stomped on its head as hard as he could, turning it to mush.

"Anyone still alive out there, get to me quickly! The dead are all around you and swarming the crash site!" Someone yelled in the distance.

"Better plan then waiting here.." Hawke mumbled to himself, now running in the direction of the shouting when something red caught his eye. It was a Magazine. He picked it up, it would at the very least be useful for starting a fire. He continued towards what he could now see as a truck.

He saw a girl with a cut on her head moving towards the truck too. As he passed he yelled a quick piece of advice.

"Get a f*cking move on Lassy! Evac's not gonna wait forever!"

Soon he reached the truck and jumped in the bed, taking a knee and held on to the frame. He slammed on the cab a couple times and signaled to move forwards. Looks like life is gonna get interesting again

 

[moon]

Alynx Cooper
< post soundtrack >
Status: Mostly uninjured. Focused.
Stats: Str 2, Int 1, Agi 3, Cha 4
Inventory: Broken stick

She sighed as the kid ran off. That girl had not understood what had happened to her uncle. And Alynx did not feel like running after her to explain it right now. She just hoped the girl would come to her senses and not get herself zombified too before too long.

Just then, in the distance, was the sound of a roaring engine as a huge truck crashed through the brush, lights illuminating whatever dark areas remained between the trees. A man stuck his head out of the driver-side window and looked upon the scene before honking his horn and shouting out to the wreckage.

"Anyone still alive out there, get to me quickly! The dead are all around you and swarming the crash site!"

A light in the darkness, a chance to get out of this mess. Alynx started running, stick still grasped in her hand, but as she jumped over a wailing torso on the ground and came up next to the plane's wing that had broken off in the crash, she saw something that made her slow down. A guy was standing there, blank look on his face, just staring into the flames somewhere in the distance behind Alynx. He wore the look of someone who had given up, so completely.

She should just keep running. As the zombies overwhelmed most of the shocked survivors, they in turn must have become infected and turned themselves. More and more enemies around them, and with the forest flaring up too, Alynx really should only focus on staying alive. Which right now meant reaching that one friendly truck. But the guy was just a kid. Much like the girl whose uncle she had just deleted from the world. She couldn't just abandon another kid.

The blond teenager boy felt a hand grab his and was roughly pulled away from the wreckage just as the fire reached the broken off wing.

"Come on, kid!" she shouted at him over her shoulder and hardly even gave him time to recover from his stumbling on the uneven ground, instead half lifting him in the arm every time he lost his footing. "Do you wanna live?"

"I don't know!" the boy shouted back at her, just as her other hand slammed into the side of the truck, a pumped up grin spreading over her face.

She turned to him and put her hands on his shoulders to make him look up at her as well, in the vague light from the fire that reached them there. He was barely shorter than her, despite his probably much lower age. "What's your name?" she demanded over the noisy chaos that still surrounded him.

"I... I don't..."

"Come on, you just survived a plane crash, ran past a bunch of deadly monsters and you're about to get out of here alive. It'll be a story worth telling back home! Where are you from?"

"M-michigan-" he finally started saying.

"Good enough. Come on, Michigan, let's live!"

She guided him to the back of the truck and they both hopped into the bed, where he sat down close to her on the floor. First then did she realize how out of breath she was, and allowed herself to stop thinking about the hell outside for a moment and just get a regular pace of breathing back.

"Ma'm?"

Michigan poked her knee, carefully. She gave him a curious glance and saw that his face finally seemed to have regained some kind of emotion.

"Thank you," he said.

She mustered a brief smile at him, before she turned to look at the other survivors through the smug lighting. One of them looked like the girl from earlier! Alynx gave her a noticeable look.

"I'm sorry... I know you had to do it... I understand," the girl spoke up, apologizing, proving it was indeed her, and that she had not been too shocked to remember.

"It's okay, sweetie," Alynx said, in the voice of hers that had spoken to many troubled teenagers at school in the past. "Everything is upside down now. Let's just get to safety."

​

 

[Parivir]

Cassie Holloway
Attributes: Str 2 | Int 4 | Agi 3 | Cha 1 | Status: Lightly injured

Before

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Cassie spat on the pavement as the door slammed behind her. Not a week out of high school, and her parents had already disowned her. And for not wanting to go to college! Pfft, you'd think a couple of Magisters stuck in ho-humsville with no job prospects would know better than to rely on the costly, ineffective job security a degree was supposed to provide you. Whatever, screw them. She'll be ten times richer than them, ten times more famous, and they'll regret this day for the rest of their lives.

She threw on her green oilskin coat and fished for the pack of cigarettes in her pocket. She lit the last loosey she had and put in her mouth, making a mental note to stop by the convenience store around the corner before she skipped town. Where to, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that she was taking a bus to the Knapp State Airport and taking the next flight she could afford; anywhere is better than this sorry excuse of a town.

She checked her wallet and found thirty dollars and a debit card, good for maybe four hundred. Yeah, she could live on that. She'll find a run-down restaurant somewhere in the big city and waitress her way to a substandard living, from where she'll--oh, for god's sake, she'll have plenty of time to think on the bus. What she really needs now is another pack. And with that, she firmly gripped the suitcase and bid her former life adieu.
​

After

Cassie was jolted awake by a heavily offensive smell: acrid, sickly-sweet, and horrendous in every way imaginable. A sharp pang of pain in her belly reminded her that her seat belt was still on; she unfastened it and tried to stand up, but her legs were most uncooperative. She fell face-first onto the rubble that was once the airplane floor. Shrapnel grazed her cheeks and forehead in five different places, launching her into a string of exclaimed profanities.

"What the f*** happened?" she mumbled as she tried to stand up, using her battered arms as support. She vaguely recalled several nights spent in the airport after the zombie breakout. They were arranging flights for survivors, she remembered, and she had been on one of them before--before it...

The mental images returned to her. She had woken up to screaming as the plane nosedived, which left her so panicked and bereft of oxygen that she was promptly knocked out again. Now, as she observed her surroundings, there were naught to see but flames and smoke and the vague movements beyond them; it might have been an injured person shambling about, or the flicker of a flame--she couldn't really make it out. The cuts on her face are really freaking painful, and her lungs aren't enjoying the lack of oxygen. She had to get out of this wreck, and quick.

Right on cue, a gruff, distinctly male voice called out: "Anyone still alive out there, get to me quickly! The--"

Whatever he said next was drowned out by the sound of a suitcase falling out of a luggage rack, slamming down on the ground right in front of her. It was surprising, to say the least, but whatever. She'd heard enough.

Cassie sniffed into her jumper, hoping to minimize the amount of smoke she breathed in, and started to head in the voice's general direction. She limped along the edges of the wreckage, where she conveniently found a stack of towels spilling out from a suitcase, of which she fetched three. She tied one around her waist, draped one over her shoulders, and used the last one to wipe the blood on her face. The emergency exit was now within her vision, and it was very much open. She shambled out of the plane and saw--good god, is that a zombie?!

It hadn't taken notice of her yet, so she hobbled past it as quickly and quietly as she could manage. She was so sure it was going to see her and hunt her down, but a scream rang out in her opposite direction, drawing the zombie's attention away. Cassie knew it was probably a bad thing to be grateful that another person ran into trouble, but she valued survival more than her moral values. So she whispered a thank you and wished whoever that was the best of luck, but she sure as heck wasn't going to save anyone's neck but her own today. Not in this state.

With the zombie out of sight, she congratulated herself on a successful evasion. She could see the truck now, loaded with similarly disheveled survivors. A thirty-something woman helped a blond boy, and then herself, onto the back of the truck, after which a male voice from within the truck yelled out: "Get us the hell out of here!"

"Wait! Wait, goddamn it, I'm still here!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. She bit her lip in frustration, so hard that it drew blood, and moved as rapidly as she could towards the truck. She was parched, her legs felt like jelly, and tears were blurring her vision; she had gone through a lot to be here, and if the truck was going to leave her behind, she knew she'd be dead before the day is out.

Thankfully, it seemed she was heard. The truck stayed in place as she approached, and a person--she wasn't even sure of their gender, so disoriented were her thoughts--even came up to her to help her walk and get in the truck. "Thanks," she managed to croak out before her eyes promptly shut themselves. How many times can a person pass out in a single day? were her last thoughts as she fell into a state of deep slumber.​

 

[Logical Cabbage]

Alejandra Vasquez​

The Close Combat​

Alejandra, with soundless movement, made her way out of the airplane, or at least what was left of it. She managed to move a few feet before a stack of magazines laid in a neat pile, mixed with the rubble. She looked at them, try to make up her mind weather or not it would be wise to even pick them up. What harm could it do anyway? she said to herself. Plus, it could be a source of entertainment. I highly doubt I'll see more in the way. As she picked up the three magazines, her body stiffened as she heard moaning, coming from a distance. She briskly walked away from the remains, and soon she was upon the woods. She was so busy walking, looking around the trees, that she didn't notice a stick was beneath her until she broke it with her boot. She felt her heart jump, and sure enough, two zombies appeared from the woods, attracted to the noise she caused. She felt her heart leap out again, not sure if she could take them on with her knife.

She made sure to wear a ruthless face on, although she highly doubt the zombies could tell who she was, only that it will fill their bellies. She shuddered and wanted to curl in a ball, but she forced herself to crawl towards them. Frankly, she was terrified of the flesh eaters, but she told herself weakness was not a luxury she could afford right now. It's either that or die. You already survived an airplane crash without becoming a corpse. Keep it that way girl. Striding with confidence, she lunged to the one at the left, a Caucasian male, late thirties. She shook her head before she could tell more details. Sure their bones were completely exposed, but identifying them is the same thing as giving them pity. She raises her knife and slashed it on the man, missing his head, but hit his hollow cheeks, making him stagger back. Just then, shouts echoed from a distance. She couldn't concentrate much on what they were saying, but it sounds like they too were from the crash. It occurred to Alejandra that maybe they found a way out, but this couldn't be sure. As she hurled herself towards the man again, this time stabbing him in the head. He let out a slight moan as he fell to the ground. Alejandra quickly skimmed her eyes around to focus on the other one, but then she saw she had more company. Three more came from inside the airplane, making their way towards her.

I won't be able to fend them off for long, she thought. She had to find a way to get to the possible area of safety, but how could she without luring in the dead? There had to be a way... She saw an opening in the woods, and her best shot was to go there and loose them. As she broke off into a sprint, she heard a scream from the airplane. Without looking back, she ran, gripping her knife with one hand and holding the pair of magazines in the other. As she continued to run, she saw someone coming to her in the front. At the distance, it seemed that it was a person, but the shuffling of the feet and the sagging made her think differently. She threw the knife forward, and by a miracle she hit the body right in the forehead. She ran a bit faster and try to retrieve her knife, but then she heard moaning. She saw the three from before close to her, and judging how she hit the body, it'd take a while to get it out without catching infection. She pushed herself to run faster, despite the dizziness she felt and the burning of her legs.

She pushed herself to run, and at the last minute did a u-turn far away, and went back to the crash site. She sprinted again, and she could feel the slight dehydration crawling on her throat. Gasping a bit, she pushed herself to run. She heard a brief honking, and she nearly sighed in relief. She ran towards the sound, and she pushed herself faster to the truck, packed with people, thankfully not zombies. She started to worry that she'd be forced to cooperate as a team with them, something she wasn't find of. But given the circumstances, she would have to live this out for survival. She directly went to the back of the vehicle, slowing down her pace, and putting on a sterm face. No way she was going to show her fear that easily. She got in on her own, mainly because most of them looked beat up, probably from the crash more than the zombies.

Carefully, she got in on an unoccupied bed and load there, closing her eyes, and sighing. She'd observed them later after getting her thoughts straight. So she did, lying on the bed, relaxing, and not even question who was driving the truck.

Status: Slightly Injured, but more exhausted from the run
Items Acquired:

​

 

[jombii]

Dennis Plum​

Crash Site​

Inventory:

Dennis Plum woke up with a terrible ringing in his ears. What the... Where am.. Ugh. Then he remembered. Zombies, the plane. A terrible realization came to Dennis as he checked his surroundings. The plane's right side was blown open and there was the unmistakable smell of fire not far off. His seatbelt prevented him from flying away from the seat but it was not the same case as everybody else. Dennis could see most seatbelts broken. Some even had blood spattered on the seats. Oh god. Heaven, we crashed. Dennis tried to unbuckle himself from the seat when he heard shouting from outside the plane.

"You killed him! My uncle!" A womanly voice pierced the silence that is the airplane crash. Dennis hasten to free himself from his bondage and tried to lumber out the plane. He could see dead people still strapped on their seats. How the hell did I survive that one? One was even impaled by a metal bar, right in the middle of its chest. Her face was frozen in a deathly scream, eyes lifeless as the body. Dennis felt like puking. He checked his pockets for a handkerchief to mask the smell but only found the plane magazine he was reading before it went down. He tore one of its pages and covered his nose.

Outside, there were a few people trying to fight their way through the undead. Dennis was in no condition to fight or run, so he mostly stood back, keeping his back against the plane's wall, watching as the survivors try to survive. They had sticks, probably gotten from the forest floor and they were using it to kill those things. Through the eyes, the neck, anywhere. Their rotting bodies seem to offer no resistance against things that poke. The whole forest seemed to be burning.

A rumbling roar of an engine droned on. Soon enough, a large track came crashing into the sight, running over some of the undead with it. A man with a moustache sticks his head out and shouted.

"Anyone still alive out there, get to me quickly! The dead are all around you and swarming the crash site!" he said. Dennis tried to run to the truck immediately, not caring at all for the other survivors. Hell, I need to survive. However, his lack of breath was coming up on him. His inhaler was gone from his pockets too. Damn, the dead are walking and I'm going to die by asthma.

Dennis climbed up the passenger seat of the truck, being one of the first one who have managed to reach it. Most of the survivors are still battling the undead but, soon enough and one-by-one, they managed to climbed the truck. Damn.

 

[Klippy]

NIGHT ZERO - ON THE ROAD​

Scenario

The remaining survivors of Flight 846 hopped into the back of the truck. Whatever injured remained at the crash site were screaming and flaying as zombies engulfed them, biting and gnawing at any living flesh they could find. As the group looked on in horror, the driver of the truck revved his engine and reversed out of the dense brush. There was a passenger next to him, but through the darkness, it was impossible to see what they looked like.

The truck rumbled out onto a stretch of road. Vehicles littered the asphalt as well as dead corpses in the car seats. The smell wasn't as terrible as the burning stench now behind them. A light breeze blew that kept some of the putrid stink out of their noses, but not much could make that kind of smell go away. The passenger of the vehicle opened the rear window and began handing some drinks back for the survivors. It wasn't much, but after the experience of near death, anything tasted good.

After what felt like an hour's drive in complete silence, they seemed to be approaching a town. It was tiny and dense with trees, but a few lights could be seen in a taller building that stood near the north end of the town. As they drove closer, a sign read: "Welcome to Ukiah! Gateway to the Blue Mountains of Eastern Oregon!" It seemed they hadn't quite made it to Washington state after all.

As they entered the town, they passed many empty looking buildings before slowing down in front of a fenced off street. A whistle echoed out from the driver and someone on the other side of the fence opened it to allow the truck passage. Once the truck was through, the fence closed and the sentinel guard returned to the shadows. As they continued down the street, they arrived at the building with the lights. The driver turned off the engine, got out, and beckoned the flight survivors follow him. He opened the door for them and everyone stepped inside.

The name's McKinley Burr, but folks around here just call me "Kin". It sure was lucky we found you people. I was afraid we'd only find those undead bastards. Anyway, welcome to Ukiah, Oregon. In a way, you're lucky your plane crashed here. Ukiah's one of the smallest towns in the state and most of the zombies avoid us here. The problem is that a lot of them saw the lights and sounds from your crash and are now wandering closer to town. I guess there's not much else for us to do tonight. It's late and you're all tired, I'm sure. We'll set you up with some spare cots. We don't have enough pillows or blankets though, but we can worry about that another time. Ah! Here's our little shelter's leader...this here's the man that gave you your drinks.

A second man walked into the building, pistol strapped to his side and a pair of dog tags clinking around his neck. A military man.

Good God is it good to see some breathing faces! First Lieutenant Jim Bratton. I'm from up near the Umatilla Chem Depot, but that's not important now. What is important is that we make sure none of you are bitten. Once you're all checked out, we'll let you rest. This is just precautionary, 'cause I sure as **** don't want to wind up as zombie chow in the middle of the night. Anyway, Kin here'll check you out. In the morning, you can meet some of the others and we'll let you know the situation further. Glad to see a few of you made it, at least.​

Jim took Kin aside and whispered a few things to him before leaving again. Kin lined the survivors up and inspected them for bites and scratches. Once everyone was checked and all looked unbitten, Kin patched their injuries up as best he could. Some would take time to heal, but others would be good as new after a restful sleep. Kin bid them goodnight and opened the door to leave.

A small ginger cat wandered into the room as Kin left, meowing and staring at the survivors. The quiet of the night was peaceful after the sounds of chaos and pain at the crash site. Now the survivors had a chance to assess each other, their situation, and what was to come before settling in for the night.

Objectives

Objectives are goals you need to accomplish to advance the plot further. In order to continue on in the story, your character must accomplish these tasks during your day (post). Optional objectives are just that: optional. You can do them if you wish, but remember that the focus will always be on the main objectives.

☣ Assess your fellow survivors and NPCs; first impressions are key to gaining trust and establishing relationships

If you give your thoughts on other characters, please try to indicate that these are your perceptions of them, so we can begin introducing the Perception elements of the roleplay. Thanks!​

☣ Go to sleep
☣ Optional: Pet the kitty
☣ Optional: Feed the kitty

Danger Level

Danger Level indicates the amount of hazards you may face in this area. Zombies are a clear threat, but the higher the presence, the more dangerous they become. Hover your cursor over the threats to see their danger levels and whether you will need to expend agility to take care of them.

Available Loot

This area displays what loot you may find and collect at this location. Hover your cursor over all loot items and weapons to see their weight cost. Remember your Strength, as all items you pick up take up inventory space. You may choose to keep any looted items for yourself or give them to fellow survivors in need. It is your choice, but all actions have consequences and affect how people feel about you.

Group Perception

Perception is how you know what the group thinks of you. In your posts, you may (not required) include thoughts of the other survivors around you. Whether you like them or not, find them weird or dangerous, and whatever else you feel deserves a reaction/thought. The following GM post will display the average group perception of your character of the previous session. Try not to let your perception become dangerously low!

Mark Forrester - UNKNOWN
Athena Crawford - UNKNOWN
Alynx Cooper - UNKNOWN
Alejandra Vasquez - UNKNOWN
Syren Shizumi - UNKNOWN
William Baker - UNKNOWN
Dennis Plum - UNKNOWN
Nathan Hawke - UNKNOWN
Dick Remly - UNKNOWN
Cassie Holloway - UNKNOWN

 

[gimmepie]

Capt. Timothy McGregor
3 Str | 3 Int | 2 Ag | 2 Char
Status: Battered and bruised but otherwise unharmed.
Inventory:

Spoiler:

1x Broken Stick (Weight 2/20)
1x Can of Drink (Weight 1/20)

​

McGregor struggled to stand, pushing himself to his feet using the chair in front of his as leverage. The stench of flames and rotten flesh assaulted his nose, a pungent odour but also one that was eerily familiar to the war veteran. Blinking as the thick smoke made his eyes water he looked around and surveyed his surroundings. There had been no passenger in the seat directly next to him, but one over laid the burning corpse of a friendly man that McGregor had talked to during the flight, like the captain he too had no idea what had become of his family.

McGregor forced himself to climb across the wreckage, a demonic groaning noise reaching his ears through the curtain of smoke. In and around the plane dark figures could be seen slowly stumbling through the wreckage... then the screams started and a deep fear that not even the war had produced begun to claw at Tim's belly. He remembered. There had been a zombie on the plane. Now passengers were becoming infected and attacking survivors. McGregor made to step over a corpse, a woman whose body bled profusely from her neck, but as he stepped towards the other side of her, her arm shot up and grabbed his leg in a vice like grip. Yelling out loud McGregor shook his leg and kicked at her face to stop her from biting his leg.

A horrible gurgling noise emanated from her as she continued to try and sink her teeth into the struggling policeman's leg. Panic-stricken, McGregor saw a large-ish stick protruding from a man's chest. He lunged for it, ripping it out of the body with a sickening squelching noise before plunging it straight through the eye of his attacker. Immediately the zombie released his grip.

A breeze blew through the debris, shifting the smoke. The dead were everywhere. Everywhere. Instinctively McGregor reached for his gun, but his hand clasped at thin-air. A sinking feeling ran through him, of course he didn't have he'd been on a plane to his daughter when they'd forced him onto the now crashed flight. He was surrounded by the dead, he was watching as his fellow survivors fell at their hands and he was armed only with a somewhat-pointy stick. It was hopeless. He'd never see his child again. It was as this sense of dread and hopelessness took hold of McGregor and he was about to give up that he heard the horn sound and the man calling out. Steeling himself, McGregor sprinted through the wreck of the plain, practically falling through the gaping hole in the side. He forced his way through the masses of dead as they reached and clawed at him, smacking and stabbing at them with the stick. Then at last he'd managed to tumble into the van, battered and bruised – wheezing from his mad fight to the truck – but otherwise unharmed.

McGregor awoke with a jolt, supressing a shudder. He had fallen asleep not too long after the drinks had been handed out and had relived his escape from the wreckage in his dreams. The police captain was still clutching both the unopened can and the bloody stick. His years as a soldier and then on the police force had taught him that it was always unwise to abandon your weapon, even if it seemed there was no longer any threat, and whilst the stick wasn't the best choice of weapon it was all he had.

It wasn't long before the truck stopped and they were lead through to a small building.
"The name's McKinley Burr, but folks around here just call me "Kin". It sure was lucky we found you people. I was afraid we'd only find those undead bastards. Anyway, welcome to Ukiah, Oregon. In a way, you're lucky your plane crashed here. Ukiah's one of the smallest towns in the state and most of the zombies avoid us here. The problem is that a lot of them saw the lights and sounds from your crash and are now wandering closer to town. I guess there's not much else for us to do tonight. It's late and you're all tired, I'm sure. We'll set you up with some spare cots. We don't have enough pillows or blankets though, but we can worry about that another time. Ah! Here's our little shelter's leader...this here's the man that gave you your drinks."

A second man walked into the building, pistol strapped to his side and a pair of dog tags clinking around his neck. A military man.
"Good God is it good to see some breathing faces! First Lieutenant Jim Bratton. I'm from up near the Umatilla Chem Depot, but that's not important now. What is important is that we make sure none of you are bitten. Once you're all checked out, we'll let you rest. This is just precautionary, 'cause I sure as **** don't want to wind up as zombie chow in the middle of the night. Anyway, Kin here'll check you out. In the morning, you can meet some of the others and we'll let you know the situation further. Glad to see a few of you made it, at least."

Jim took Kin aside and whispered a few things to him before leaving again. Kin lined the survivors up and inspected them for bites and scratches. Once everyone was checked and all looked unbitten, Kin patched their injuries up as best he could. Some would take time to heal, but others would be good as new after a restful sleep. Kin bid them goodnight and opened the door to leave.

McGregor sat there slumped against a wall; his muscles were finally beginning to relax a little after the ordeal he'd been through. He was comforted however, to be in the presence of someone in the military. As an ex-soldier, he trusted nobody more than he did fellow soldiers – real soldiers, men on the ground just like he was.

McGregor wished he had his cigarettes on him, but he hadn't been allowed a lighter on the plane so he hadn't bothered. He could have done with a calming dose of nicotine. He looked the group over, many of them were quite young whilst a few others were closer to his age. He was pleased to see that nobody had broken into hysterics though, they seemed a pretty hardy bunch of people.

 

[Klippy]

Mark Forrester - Status: Patched Up
STR: 2, INT: 2, AGI: 3, CHA: 3
INVENTORY (7/15):

[1] [2]

The rescue he was hoping for hadn't come. It was just two men in a truck and ten others stuffed into the truck bed. Mark felt sick. He looked around at the other survivors of Flight 846. About half were women, the other half men. No children. It made his stomach turn. There were about a dozen children on the flight. Babies, too. This rag-tag group was all that remained of the flight.

A young kid, maybe in his teenage years, huddled beside a woman. He seemed weak and afraid, but who wasn't? A younger woman was apologizing to the woman, as the woman answered, "It's okay, sweetie". She seemed to know what to say. Mark was vaguely reminded of his wife comforting their sons. He had almost forgotten about them in the chaos and reality hit him like a bar brawl punch. He had no idea where he was yet, nor if his family was safe. The state he was in didn't give him a good shot of making it to them alone either.

He realized the younger woman was the one he'd seen stomping on a zombie's head. Though she seemed a bit unhinged earlier, she had obviously calmed down some and seemed like she was enjoying the experience less. A second young woman, blonde, was in the truck bed as well. She seemed more in control than the first young woman, but he didn't really know either that well yet. The last woman to hop in the truck had sprinted out from nowhere seemingly.

An older man that was one of the last into the truck bed jolted awake just then. He had fought his way up to them and Mark was sure this man was military. The way he carried himself was all the proof he needed. Interestingly, an Englishman sat among their company. He was a bit boisterous for Mark's liking, but seemed to be a decent guy. A mustachioed man close to Mark almost appeared like he had stumbled onto the apocalypse by mistake, but he seemed decent enough.

Another man had shown up before Mark, even, but his wheezing breaths gave Mark cause for concern. Mark had had taken care of both sons when they had asthma and this man didn't sound any better than his sons had. The smoke and fire couldn't be helping. A man further away from Mark was holding his shoulder. He had shown up after Mark begging the driver not to run him over. *

The truck was now drudging along a highway where the stench of death abated some. If anything, Mark could be relieved about that. The rear window of the truck opened and he was suddenly being handed drinks. He assumed he was meant to pass these around and began distributing these to everyone. Once he had the last drink in hand, the passenger of the vehicle, who had been handing him the drinks, shut the window. Mark wasn't very thirsty and kept his drink close for later. The wind was chilly here and the deafness of the world around them made him shiver.

After almost an hour, Mark saw an approaching sign. Squinting, he saw where they were. His heart sunk. Ukiah, Oregon. Not only were they far from his home, but they were completely far away from the Washington state refugee camps. Fear settled in his stomach as he realized the men driving them weren't military. They weren't CDC. They weren't anyone. Mark considered bailing from the truck and making his way solo to Monterey, but the blood loss from his cut arm wouldn't get him far.

Finally, the truck stopped behind a fenced-off street in the small town of Ukiah. The driver of the vehicle led them into a building. Mark got a good look at the man and was pleasantly surprised to find a friendly face looking at them. His name was McKinley, but he liked Kin better. He let them know briefly about Ukiah and their safety, but offered them cots for rest when a second man entered. It was the drink guy. First Lt. Jim Bratton. He was apparently the leader of their little shelter and he certainly oozed with leadership and command. Just like in the movies and shows, being bit by the undead was a death warrant and the flight survivors were all inspected for such.

Kin patched up Mark's slashed arm and bandaged him up. Kin muttered to Mark, "You're banged to ****, fella. Just be easy on the arm and your body will fix you right up." He got a pat on the back from Kin before laying back on his cot. It was freezing and Mark didn't think there would be any heater coming on. He opened up one of the blankets, laying it on his cot. He looked around at the others before remembering he still had two plane blankets left. He got up and walked over to the woman and the young boy (OOC: Cooper and Michigan). He handed them a blanket, unsure of whether they were mother and son. He did, however, introduce himself to both.

He took the second blanket over to the mustachioed man (OOC: Dick). He just didn't seem like he was prepared for this and Mark hoped the blanket would help in some way. He took the time to introduce himself to the man as well before settling back in to his own cot. A ginger cat had prowled in while he was passing off the blankets and purred when Mark leaned down to scratch its ears.

"What's your name, little guy?" Mark asked to the cat. The cat blinked at him, rubbed his hand with its face, then left when it determined Mark had no food to give it. He looked around and there were dead rats the cat could eat, but Mark still had some dignity left not to touch one. He finally cracked open his drink and took a sip.

Blech. Soda. "Oh well...it's no iced tea, but it'll do," he muttered under his breath, taking a heavy sip. He yawned, exhausted, after finishing off the drink. He put the can besides his makeshift weapon and closed his eyes. The sounds of the other survivors relaxed his mind enough to drift off to sleep.

Then the nightmares began.​

* I have given my initial sightings/perceptions (in some cases) of every character that has posted following the plane crash. There is only one I left out and that person has yet to post.​

 

[TheSyren]

Before he had knew it, the truck he had leapt into started moving. The shaking and bumping of the actual truck was painful, but he simply gritted his teeth and held back the pain; he knew from the scent that others were worse off. He tuned his head away from his wounded shoulder to look at his fellow survivors: less than a dozen had survived. He sighed and attempted to put his shoulder back into place, but lacked the strength to do so. Once we make camp, i'll ask someone to help.

The people around him were pretty rough from wear: 3 women and 6 men. well, five men and a boy. He didn't really notice any of them, nor did he remember how they escaped the wreckage; he was more focused on escape and survival to. the window in front of his face suddenly slides open, with a hand giving out drinks reaching out. He of course accepted one, though he planned to save it for later. If i live till later, he thought solemnly.

After about an hour, the truck made into some kind of town. Syren looked around, not really caring where they, just hoping for some rest and treatment. the truck finally stopped at a building, where the passengers all got out and were ushered into it. There was some talking and information exchange, but Syren didnt listen; he was checking out his fellow survivors. two of the men seemed completely unfazed by the current circumstances, which made Syren uneasy. People who are accustomed to apocalyptic circumstances are usually a threat to general well being. he tried to get a read on the rest of the group, but they were too difficult for his tired mind to discern.

with the information exchange over, each survivor was given a cot to sleep on and had their wounds tended to. With a wince, and a small shriek, Syren had his shoulder relocated, finally easing the pain he had been suffering through. he gave the man his thanks, forgetting his name all together, and sat on his cot. off to the corner of his eye, he saw a cat slinking around. Syren never did like cats; mother always said they brought bad luck. He did a quick scan of the room, picking out small lumps on the floor; rats, and many of them. of course they were dead, but rats are still rats. Syren gets up and picks one up to look at it; the body was cold and stiff, with rigor mortis already set in. He sighs and brings the rat over to his things. if anything, he can use it as a distraction.

Before he lays down, he pulls out his tarots and decides to get a reading. he hums the familiar latin tune, shuffling the metal sheets comfortably in his hands. he then plays a three cards spread: Vuall, Decarabia, and Allocer.

" Harmony, Recuperation, and Vigilance." He whispers. " So i can rest easy, but stay on my guard tomorrow. i can do that." and with a turn, he lays on his side, putting the cards back in the their pouch as he drifts off to sleep.

 

[PokemasterX]

In The Truck

Finally having reached the truck, Athena began to relax. Her adrenaline rush was completely gone and sat down, resting against the walls of the vehicle. With the danger gone for the moment, she looked around the truck, surveying the survivors: an older man with a mustache/beard combo(Mark), the older lady she'd been acquainted with on the way to the truck (Cooper), a hispanic-looking lady (Alejandra), and many others.​

Before the truck took off Athena heard a girl's scream in the distance "Wait! Wait, goddamn it, I'm still here!" She stood up and saw a blond girl running towards the vehicle. Athena helped her up and the girl said "Thanks," with exhaustion taking over. "No prob," Athena awkwardly responded.​

Just us, huh? Athena thought. There were so many people on that flight...all gone and undead now. Looking around some more, Athena saw a blonde-haired girl that seemed around her age. This ain't high school. It's life or death. I need some allies...but...what do I have to offer anyways?​

Before speaking to the blond girl, Athena went up to the older lady, "Hey...again, I really appreciate saving me back there. Without you, I'd have been too shocked to do anything and been a Walker myself. Anyways, name's Athena? How about you?" Athena asked with as much a smile as she could manage, but her words weren't confident as she wanted them to be, as Athena had always had trouble talking to people.​

"Of course sweetie, don't think anything of it. And call me Cooper, hun" Cooper responded with a burdened grin. "Hey umm...I was wondering...if...umm...you'd be interested in a....umm..alliance of sorts, just for the time being. Who knows what'll happen...." Athena proposed.​

I'll think about it" Cooper responded.​

Athena nodded. That wasn't so hard...i guess...now...where's that blond girl...Talking to people wasn't so easy, but for survival, it had to be done.​

Athena found the girl and asked her how she was doing. "Fine. Just tired as f**k," she responded.​

"Same. And hey, I'm Athena."​

"Cassie."​

"Hey umm...i..i know we just met and all, but I was wondering, since were both around the same age and all, it'd be best... to umm.. team up, you know, in case more of those undead b***ards come," Athena asked. "Maybe, right now, all I wanna do right now is not have to think too much. After all thats happened, i mean."​

"I understand. Take your time."​

Around this time soda were being passed around. Why not? Would be good for later. thought Athena, and she stored it. The rest of the time was spent waiting for them to reach town.​

The Town

After they had all stepped out the truck the driver introduced himself: "The name's McKinley Burr, but folks around here just call me "Kin". It sure was lucky we found you people. I was afraid we'd only find those undead bastards. Anyway, welcome to Ukiah, Oregon. In a way, you're lucky your plane crashed here. Ukiah's one of the smallest towns in the state and most of the zombies avoid us here. The problem is that a lot of them saw the lights and sounds from your crash and are now wandering closer to town. I guess there's not much else for us to do tonight. It's late and you're all tired, I'm sure. We'll set you up with some spare cots. We don't have enough pillows or blankets though, but we can worry about that another time. Ah! Here's our little shelter's leader...this here's the man that gave you your drinks."​

A military man stepped out and said "Good God is it good to see some breathing faces! First Lieutenant Jim Bratton. I'm from up near the Umatilla Chem Depot, but that's not important now. What is important is that we make sure none of you are bitten. Once you're all checked out, we'll let you rest. This is just precautionary, 'cause I sure as **** don't want to wind up as zombie chow in the middle of the night. Anyway, Kin here'll check you out. In the morning, you can meet some of the others and we'll let you know the situation further. Glad to see a few of you made it, at least."​

Afterwords, Kin made them all line up and inspected them for injuries and such. Some of the survivors had bad injuries like the mustache/beard man who got his slashed arm patched up. Looked painful. After having been inspected, they were given small cots.​

A small kitten was nearby and it looked hungry. Although Athena had no food, she felt bad for the kitten and found a small dead rat under her cot. She used her stick to pull it out and gave it to the cat. The cat ate it, gave a pleasant meow, rubbed itself and purred against Athena's leg and left.​

As the day came to a close, Athena laid on the cot and used the blanket she'd salvaged from the plane​

Thus, began her first dreamless night.

Status: Uninjured; Asleep
Inventory: 1 Plane Blanket; 1 Sharp Broken Stick; 1 Soda
​

 

[Arsenic]

Name: Nathan Hawke
Location: Ukiah, Oregon
Status: Green

Nathan watched as a few more people boarded the truck, hoping none of the... things out there followed them. He looked back toward the wreckage that littered the forest, the former occupants of the plane and new companions to keep them company shambled around. Those not part of this 'club' were quickly inducted. He looked back to the survivors and sat on the wall of the bed as the vehicle floored it in reverse.

He counted about 13, including himself all crowded into the back of a truck, flying down the road to who knows where. It seemed to be 50-50 as far as gender went, for better or worse. He'd guess the man next to him was about the same age as him. Looked like he could handle himself well enough, other than that gash on his arm. If he'd had some extra cloth he probably would've at least tried to stop the bleeding, but he didn't. There was also an older, rugged looking man, maybe 50 he thought. Further down the truck were two string bean looking teenagers, they were going to need extra looking after. To round it off was a man maybe in his 40s, looked well enough.

The rear window of the truck slid open suddenly. A figure hidden by the shadows began passing drinks out to the survivors. He passed along the ones he was handed until it looked like everyone had one, then put his away for later. Even with everyone being safe and now having a drink, there was a heavy lingering silence. To be fair, they had all just seen all the passengers of their plane get eaten and narrowly avoid death themselves, but that truck bed had a very oppressive feeling that he didn't much enjoy.

He readjusted himself on the bed's wall and gazed out at the road ahead. It looked how one might expect in the apocalypse, the occasional wrecks of cars. Charred remains of the attempts at people to flee major population centers, some with the occupants still in them, or more correctly, one of those creatures now. For a moment he felt happy he was out in the countryside, but he still wondered. Maybe Hong Kong was ok? It was a 50-50 chance he though. On the good side, it was on an island, which is really easy to lock down if they acted fast enough. On the bad side, it is the most densely packed city there is, so one infection can quickly spiral out of control. He wished he had packed his gun, it wasn't doing much good it his home and it would make him feel much better right now.

The truck drove past a road sign. "Welcome to Ukiah! Gateway to the Blue Mountains of Eastern Oregon!" They hadn't made it to Washington at all, but that mattered not, he hadn't wanted to go there in the first place. A small little town gradually overtook the forested road. A taller building could be seen with lights on near the north end of town. Nathan made the assumption that was where they were headed. Deserted building after building they passed until they ended up at a fenced off street. The driver gave a signal to a hidden guard and the gate opened.

The truck stopped in front of the lit up building, just like he'd figured. He was one of the first to hop over the side of the truck. When he started walking after being relaxed for so long he realized just how sore he was from the crash. Every joint ached and every muscle resisted his every move. He pushed on into the building anyways, ignoring the pain the best he could.

Inside the train conductor looking man introduced himself. "The name's McKinley Burr, but folks around here just call me "Kin". It sure was lucky we found you people. I was afraid we'd only find those undead bastards. Anyway, welcome to Ukiah, Oregon. In a way, you're lucky your plane crashed here. Ukiah's one of the smallest towns in the state and most of the zombies avoid us here. The problem is that a lot of them saw the lights and sounds from your crash and are now wandering closer to town. I guess there's not much else for us to do tonight. It's late and you're all tired, I'm sure. We'll set you up with some spare cots. We don't have enough pillows or blankets though, but we can worry about that another time. Ah! Here's our little shelter's leader...this here's the man that gave you your drinks."

As if on Que another man walked through. He looked like your standard US Military type. Didn't impress Hawke at all.

"Good God is it good to see some breathing faces! First Lieutenant Jim Bratton. I'm from up near the Umatilla Chem Depot, but that's not important now. What is important is that we make sure none of you are bitten. Once you're all checked out, we'll let you rest. This is just precautionary, 'cause I sure as **** don't want to wind up as zombie chow in the middle of the night. Anyway, Kin here'll check you out. In the morning, you can meet some of the others and we'll let you know the situation further. Glad to see a few of you made it, at least."

When the LT was done talking, Nathan submitted to the screening for bites. Without any serious injuries, Kin didn't really have anything to fix on him. Nathan gave him a nod and hoped he wouldn't be judged for his scars that kin now had seen.

With all that done, Hawke decided it was time to get some rest. Hopefully tomorrow would be a better day.

 

[gimmepie]

Capt. Timothy McGregor
3 Str | 3 Int | 2 Ag | 2 Char
Status: Battered and bruised but otherwise unharmed.
Inventory:

Spoiler:

1x Broken Stick (Weight 2/20)
1x Can of Drink (Weight 1/20)

​

McGregor had not yet moved to his cot, instead he continued to sit against the wall his stick and can of drink lying not far away. McGregor had enough experience with survival situations to know that he couldn't fully trust anyone; people did crazy things when they felt they or someone they cared about was threated. He didn't think that anyone in the room was evil, but they could all become potentially dangerous. Still, he'd learned important things in his careers. His time as a soldier had taught him that solidarity and allies were essential if a unit were going to complete their goal and from his time as a police officer he'd learned that if you want to control a situation you have to know more than the other guy – the classic rule of interrogation that everyone knows: don't ask a question that you don't already know the answer to. Of course, that was easier said then done. He had no resources and he couldn't go around interrogating people if he wanted to consider them reliable allies. Instead then, McGregor had been settling for the closest he could come up with; he'd been observing his fellow survivors trying to establish what their personalities were like and how problematic they could be towards his two objectives – the first being survival, the second being finding his daughter and his ex-wife and if they were still alive saving them.

At this stage a few people had stood out to McGregor. First and foremost were two people who he had seen taking stock in a similar manner as himself. One was a man with neatly combed hair and trimmed facial hair. The man was younger than McGregor and whilst he seemed decent, it seemed likely from looking at him that he had a family. That meant he was in the same desperate situation as McGregor, he could just as easily be a threat or an ally. The second was a bit older than the first and had spoken with a British accent. He seemed rather normal at first, but he had sharp blue eyes that surveyed his surroundings critically and carefully… he possessed a hardness about him that made McGregor certain that he was a threat. He might have been a military man or a cop like McGregor, but he could just as easily have been on the other side of things. Or McGregor could be wrong, but he'd learned to trust his gut instinct. He'd keep an eye on that one.

A woman had grabbed his attention whilst on the truck, before he'd fallen asleep. She had dark skin and had spoken very calmly and carefully. She had easily calmed a terrified teen, but McGregor suspected she was good at manipulating others too. She seemed educated as well, although not necessarily intelligent. She probably had experience with children. McGregor thought that she was perhaps involved with education or psychology, or maybe politics considering the ease with which she chose the right words. She didn't seem like she could overpower McGregor physically, but he couldn't help but feel that she could amass supporters with ease. Of all the people in the room he felt that she was the biggest threat. One thing he'd seen plenty of as a cop, was that people who pulled strings were far more dangerous than the ones that lacked subtlety.

The young ones could also prove problematic. They would probably prove the most susceptible to manipulation, especially from someone like the articulate woman. One kid in particular seemed far too calm to McGregor, but perhaps more concerning was the girl who seemed intent on amassing support from other youths. That suggested she felt threatened, and that made her unpredictable. She could just as easily panic and get them killed, or slit someone's throat themselves. McGregor sighed; he would treat this situation as though it was a case and he didn't know which of the group were killers. He'd treat everyone with as much respect as he'd give any person, but he'd continue to watch them carefully. He felt comforted that a soldier was present, but he knew even a brother in arms could turn on him.
I wish I had my cigarettes