Post-apocalyptic setting

[miltia]

Your character's world has ended and purgatory awaits them, a wasteland full of ruined buildings. The surrounding desert constantly wears down the buildings with a neverending wind. There aren't any monsters to worry about, no zombies or demons, but your characters are haunted by the ghosts of people they once knew and there's only one escape from

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[in_three_years]

Under normal circumstances, Kirk never would have wanted someone other than him to take the lead, but circumstances hadn't been normal in a good long while. As it was, Kirk could barely keep up with Spock despite the slow pace the Vulcan was keeping for his sake. He hated feeling this weak, but it had been more than a few days since he'd eaten anything -- even for someone like him, that was going to take its toll.

His head was clouded and his movements were sluggish. It was a lot worse than he was even telling Spock, but he didn't need the Vulcan to worry over something he couldn't do anything about. They were already searching for food, had been searching for what felt like way too long.

With his own cloak pulled up over his mouth to keep the dust out, Kirk resisted the urge to cling to the banister as he followed Spock up the stairs. The fact that even getting themselves fed was such an effort was depressing, but there wasn't much point in complaining about it. Now all they could do was survive, but that was hard when there wasn't much of anything left to live for.

Still, James T. Kirk had never been one to give up, and he knew that they could at least live for each other.

He held back a pained wheeze as he stumbled up the last step and then waited in silence as Spock broke the door down. It was hard to tell what the buildings they entered used to be considering the disrepair they were in, but they should be able to figure it out once they got inside.

The door open, Kirk glanced over his shoulder, purely out of habit, before moving to walk in. It was common these days to feel like he was being followed, and even when he was half-starved he couldn't help wondering when someone else who'd died on his watch might show up demanding an explanation.

[dual_worlds]

Once the Captain had entered the building, Spock stepped aside and allowed the door to fall shut with a sound that would have reverberated throughout what appeared to be a sort of lobby area. That is, if it hadn't been somewhat drowned by the roar of the wind outside.

Despite how hard Kirk was trying to hide the severity of his condition, Spock was all too aware of the fact that it had been days since their last scant meal. That coupled with the hard reality of Human frailty was not something to take lightly, especially given their harsh environment.

They needed to find sustenance as quickly as possible.

Mouth pressed into a thin line, Spock quietly moved a little closer to Kirk's side. "Appearances suggest this building was formerly a lodging facility of sorts." Indeed, the dusty crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, the mahogany desk toward the back of the room, the sagging, ripped leather sofas and chairs, and half-open pieces of luggage that had been abandoned on the floor hinted at a time when guests once came here for a retreat of an entirely different nature.

"Perhaps there is a dining area located on an upper level," he added as he moved toward a larger staircase leading upward. Pausing, the Vulcan turned to look at Kirk again. "It may be wise for you to rest here while I investigate potential food sources, Jim."

[in_three_years]

Kirk nodded once Spock gave his assertion of what it was they had stumbled across. It definitely looked like a hotel, which meant there might be a chance of finding some leftover food around here if they got lucky and it hadn't already been looted by other people who had beat them to it. Kirk was used to eating long-expired food by now. Sometimes it was okay and sometimes it wasn't, but it was a risk he'd been forced to take.

He glanced at the luggage that was scattered here and there, not liking when he came face-to-face with signs of life that he knew had likely been snuffed out by now. Still, it was something he had to deal with every day now, and so he didn't dwell on it as long as he had before. He needed to worry about himself and Spock first and foremost at this point.

Kirk tried not to think about the fact that it was down to just the two of them at this point.

Trailing after Spock in the direction of the stairs, Kirk stopped in his tracks for only a split second when the Vulcan suggested he stayed put. The stabbing pain in his middle and the way he felt like he was going to fall over any second made it seem like he should just listen, but Kirk was stubborn. Besides, if they found food, he wanted to be there when it happened.

"I'll be all right," he said, trying to make his tone firm even as he eyed the stairs and wondered how exactly he was going to make his way all the way up.

[dual_worlds]

Upon hearing the response, Spock locked gazes with the Captain for a brief moment. This was not unusual behavior for Jim, and Spock knew he should have been prepared for his insistence that he accompany him up the stairs, regardless of how daunting the climb would have undoubtedly been for a man in his condition. Despite his assurances that he was all right, however, Spock knew his traveling companion was losing strength from the lack of nourishment. If the climb became too difficult, he would need to firmly request that he remain behind after all.

"In that case, would you be opposed to leading the way?" he asked at length.

The Vulcan knew it was his preferred place when they were exploring a new area, although his reason for offering had less to do with that, and more to do with the fact that Spock wanted to be able to catch Kirk if he happened to stumble backward. Similar to the condition of the stairs outside, this stairway didn't look entirely trustworthy. Even if he offered an arm to support the Captain, it was unwise for them to place their combined weight in such close proximity to one another if it could be avoided. Therefore, this was the best compromise.

Before Jim could answer, he pressed against the wall, allowing him more than enough room to pass.

[in_three_years]

While Kirk was slightly surprised when Spock suggested he take point, he figured that the Vulcan must have had a good reason for it. He trusted his first officer enough that he wasn't going to question it or try to puzzle it out in his mind -- not when he was so out of it that it was hard enough just to think straight.

So when Spock moved aside, Kirk nodded and pulled forward, gripping the railing this time as he started up, testing each stair with about half his weight before he actually used it. It was a frustrating job when he was used to running up stairs three at a time when he was in a hurry, but neither he or the stairs could handle that right now.

Everything seemed fine until about halfway up. Maybe Kirk had miscalculated, or maybe the step had just been sneaky, but before he knew it the stair was collapsing under him.

"Shit!" Kirk gasped, eyes widening as he tried to launch himself further up the stairs with his other leg so that he didn't end up falling a height he might not be able to survive at this point. He managed it somehow, collapsing on what were luckily some sturdier stairs.

Still, there was now a large gap between him and Spock, and Kirk really hoped the Vulcan could jump it. Kirk slowly started to pull himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall as he stared back down at his friend.

[dual_worlds]

Upon hearing the first sign that the step was about to give way, Spock sharply moved forward in an attempt to grab Jim. Fortunately, he managed to push himself up to a sturdier part of the stairway without any help, and Spock could only watch with furrowed eyebrows as the bits of wood collapsed onto the dusty floor beneath them.

The Vulcan was silent a moment as he considered their options. He was certain he could cross the distance by jumping, but whether the aged stairs could withstand his weight was an unpredictable factor. If more steps crumbled during the attempt, Jim's life could very well be in danger. It was better to reduce the chances of death for at least one of them if they could manage it.

"Move to the top of the stairway," he instructed, and the firm tone of his voice suggested that he'd moved beyond making suggestions by this point.

[in_three_years]

It wasn't often that Spock used that tone with him, and while Kirk wanted to make some sort of effort to help the Vulcan across, he already knew that it was a lost cause. He had no rope on him and he was nearing dead-on-his-feet status as it was. Spock was going to have to jump this hurdle (literally) on his own. That didn't suit Kirk one bit, but he was going to have to accept it.

He took some solace in the fact that even if Spock ended up falling, he could probably survive it. He wouldn't be feeling all that great afterward, and then they would both be in bad shape, but Kirk convinced himself that they had been through worse, even if they maybe hadn't.

"Got it," he said, nodding only slightly before he turned himself around and started to move up. The stairs seemed in better shape further up, so he was able to make the trip a little bit faster.

Once he got all the way up, he glanced back around and watched Spock very closely. "All right!" he yelled down. "Your turn!" His voice echoed slightly in the wide-open area.

[dual_worlds]

Had he been privy to Jim's thoughts, Spock would have agreed that out of the two of them, he had the highest chance of surviving if he fell. The creases in his face smoothed somewhat as he watched his Captain position himself at the top of the stairway. Still, he was well aware that there was a possibility he would fall after all, and he knew he needed to be prepared for it.

"If I am unable to cross, do not come back for me until you have secured a suitable source of sustenance," he added once Kirk had made it to the top. With that said, Spock didn't wait for him to argue about that particular point. Eyebrows furrowing in concentration, Spock gave a smooth leap across the gap, and would have performed an equally smooth landing if his heel hadn't caught against a weaker portion of the step.

Another shower of sawdust fell onto the floor beneath him, but the Vulcan didn't look back. Within moments, he'd leaped onto the next step with feline-like grace, and then he went on to the next step, discovering that the stairway became progressively sturdier as he continued.

This enabled him to move faster than he'd allowed himself during the first part of their trek upward, and he was soon by Jim's side once more. Only then did he permit himself to glance back for a brief moment, surveying the ground they'd managed to cover. They would likely need to find an alternate route back to the lobby once they were ready to leave.

[in_three_years]

Kirk definitely would have argued the point, and he got the feeling that Spock knew that all too well, which was why he ended up rushing up the stairs before Kirk could even get a word out. Kirk winced when even more of the stairs started to gave in, gripping the nearby bannister as he watched without even thinking about it.

Spock pulled through, though, and Kirk could only watch with a certain amount of pride as his first officer raced his way up and out of the more dangerous section of stairs. After that it was smooth sailing, and he had his friend right by him within seconds.

Kirk grinned. "Nice work," he said, leaning forward to smack the Vulcan on the shoulder affectionately.

They were hardly out of the woods yet, though. For one thing, their exit route was cut off, although Kirk imagined there had to be another way to get down. The elevators wouldn't work, but there would hopefully be another set of stairs somewhere.

For now, though, his mind could really only focus on one thing. Kirk let out a sigh as he shoved back the crippling pain he was in once more. Hunger pangs were one thing he could have lived without experiencing. "Where do you think a kitchen or a restaurant or something might be around here?" he asked, hoping that Spock might be able to function as an encyclopedia and help them out.

LAST MAN STANDING WAT

[hes_deadjim]

The makeshift trip alarm Scotty'd made (bless the man, even long after his death here, it still worked. His work'd always been miraculous) had sent a shriek through the upper rooms. It'd only been a few seconds ago, but McCoy was already on the move. The doctor grabbed his supplies and started heading down towards the lobby, pulling the hood and visor on, wrapping the heavy rags and scarves around him. The heavy jacket and cloak was the last to go on. Next was the case with the salvaged phaser rifle; the thing still felt heavy after all these years. He grabbed the medkit on the way out as well. That last was more habit than anything else; with the last surviving member of the crashed team dead years ago, there wasn't a need for it. It felt wrong to leave it here though.

The wind howled outside, blowing sand against the makeshift mask. He ignored it as he hurried down the emergency stairs.

That alarm could only mean one thing at this point. Intruders. Probably those natives in the area. Scotty'd taken out the door sensors on the wrecked shuttle and wired them to the ground level entry. Originally meant to prevent doors from crushing a person, they'd catch anything large enough to trigger it... which really meant just about anything solid at this point. The blasted sensors aren't exactly the most precise things, now are they?, McCoy thought irritably. They'd pick up anything from something cat-sized to one of the bipeds. The smaller fauna were harmless. The bipeds weren't.

Unfortunately, that difference made it damned near impossible to just ignore any of the warnings. The bipeds looked like humans, up until you got close. Then you saw that the eyes (three sets of them) were slit horizontally, the mouths bearing a second set of teeth in there, the nose all open and flowered out. They weren't indigenous to Earth, McCoy was dead certain of it, but they'd apparently made their home here after the disaster.

They were also hostile. They'd killed two of the ensigns in the first attack, a few days after the crash landing. Finally killed Scotty a year later. The yeoman had wandered off in a fit of insanity and hadn't come back. The doctor had mentally pronounced her as dead after forty-eight hours. The other science officer -Einj'hra - had succumbed to disease. Her immune system'd collapsed under the strain of the atmosphere: her species couldn't handle it, no matter the injections and treatments he'd given her. Her death had been slow, painful.

McCoy clung on with a stubborness that even he couldn't quite explain. The Enterprise was long gone at this point, summoned elsewhere. It must've killed Jim to leave. But it was like searching for a needle in a stack of needles down here. Earth was desolate, barren, the atmosphere doing hell on scanners. He wouldn't be surprised if Earth had been demoted from an M-class to an L-class planet.

[hes_deadjim]

When he got out near a window overlooking the lobby and stairs, he slowed. The doctor could see them now. Two humanoid shapes, the hazy light and sand making it hard to see them clearly. The stairs were partially gone, both standing at the other end of it. Not ghosts either, they were too solid for that. They didn't wisp about like the dead that moved around the place. McCoy didn't hesitate any further. He knelt and silently opened up the case. With steady hands, he began to assemble the phaser rifle.

Hallucinations. That was the first thing they'd all noticed after the crash. Always of people who died in their past. He mostly saw lost patients. The rest of the team every now and then. No real explanation for them yet. McCoy'd had to accept the constant presence of the dead memories lingering around, like shadows on the edge of his vision.

He'd been terrible at this before. He didn't like violence, and he'd never been one for machines or combat, but he was a damned expert at this by now. The rifle was assembled in under fifteen seconds. McCoy turned, and hefting the rifle, rested it on the railing. He released the safety interlock with a click, switched the failing computer targeting system off, and turned the setting from "stun" to "kill". They'd tried stunning the creatures earlier, but they'd shaken it off startingly fast. They might as well've just tickled them. The only setting that seemed to stop them in their tracks was the deadlier ones. He hadn't liked taking lives, but there'd hadn't been much of a choice after awhile.

Who knows, maybe they'll find me, he thought idly. It was the only explanation for why he kept at this. Hope was a strange motivator when it came to the human mind, made adrenaline and norepinephrine pump, made that survival instinct flare up like a whole lotta fireworks on the Fourth. He'd seen men accomplish the impossible over his career, just because of hope.

Or maybe it was just simple desperation.

McCoy closed an eye and got one of the bipeds in his sights. He'd probably only get one down, the other would be fast: the things never fled, always came after you like a rabid dog once they heard the sound and saw where the shot came from. He'd have to move immediately before he could take the second shot.

His finger tensed, pulling at the trigger.

[dual_worlds]

Spock's mouth vaguely twitched as Jim slapped him on the shoulder. He still recalled the first time his Captain had demonstrated such a gesture -- it'd been more for forceful back then, no doubt in part because Jim was severely weakened from a lack of nutrition. They also had not been in acquaintance for nearly as long as they had by now, and so, from Spock's perspective, the meaning had subtly changed over the course of their time on this barren planet together.

There was a soft, amused glint in Spock's own eyes at the gesture this time, but it faded as he once again considered the task at hand. As a Vulcan, he was able to withstand longer periods of time without sustenance, but it was vital for Jim's survival that they locate a suitable food source. If he continued to forgo eating, he would only continue to lose strength as well.

"It is possible there is a map of the floor located nearby," Spock replied. "Otherwise, we will have to thoroughly investigate this area until we locate a dining facility." That would require energy, however -- energy that Jim would likely benefit from conserving.

He was about to suggest that Kirk rest for a few moments while Spock did a preliminary scan of the floor, but he froze upon the sudden sensation that they were being watched. He was certain he had heard a distinct click in the distance, almost as if--

"Jim!" he heard himself say, voice sharp as he instinctively used his shoulder to abruptly push his friend out of the line of fire. Spock barely had time to register the bright beam that cut through the dark, and though his reflexes were fast, they weren't fast enough to get himself out of harm's way as well.

The phaser blast ripped into his shoulder, an explosion of pain clouding his senses. Spock didn't cry out, but even if he'd been a Human prone to such a response, he wouldn't have had time to utter a sound. The shock from the beam's impact reverberated through his body -- stars exploded across his vision -- and everything had gone dark by the time Spock collapsed onto the floor.

[in_three_years]

A map would definitely make their lives easier, although Kirk wasn't sure they would be able to find one so easily. They probably would have made a better chance of locating something like that down in the lobby area, but going back was obviously not happening. The hotel was pretty big, so the idea of having to search the whole place and possibly not finding anything even then was a disheartening one. Kirk knew he just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other, though. It's part of the reason why he didn't want to rest. If he fell asleep, who knew when he'd have the energy to wake up again?

"There should be signs posted that'll give us an idea of where to start," he said, his voice lower than normal as he tried to conserve energy. The cloak he was wearing was starting to feel heavy on him, but he knew it would be a foolish move to ditch it.

To be honest, Kirk didn't feel anything, but he was in tune with Spock to the point that he noticed when the Vulcan had sensed that something wasn't right. Kirk hadn't even considered that they might not be alone in this place -- it was so rare that they ran into anything that wasn't already dead.

Kirk heard Spock's yell before anything else, and before he knew it he was down on the floor again with the sound of a phaser rifle shot ringing in his ears. Where the hell had that come from, and who would have that sort of weaponry here? Kirk pulled himself into a crouching position and it was only then that he realized the full consequences of that noise. Someone had just shot at his first officer.

"Shit!" he yelled for the second time that day, and suddenly he had the energy to get to his feet and race over to his friend. He put himself between Spock's body and the direction the shot must have come from, intending to shield the Vulcan from any further attacks. It would be ideal if they could both get to some sort of cover without sustaining more damage, though, and so Kirk steeled himself as he tried to pick the Vulcan up into his arms. He noticed that Spock's shoulder and part of his arm were badly burned, but he would worry about that once they were safe.

[hes_deadjim]

McCoy had already moved the instant the shot went off, a flash of flapping rags and boots on cracked tiles as he ran. Finding another sniping position so quickly wasn't hard. He knelt, the rifle settled on the guard rail. His target was down, lying on the floor. Instinctively, he looked for that flash of movement, the sounds those things made as they charged to kill: no doubt it'd have leapt up the stairs and was looking for him right now, he'd only have seconds to locate it and pick it off before it found him---

Only that wasn't the case. He counted two beings down there still. The one still standing wasn't racing for him. It was just standing there, shielding the fallen one. McCoy frowned. An ugly feeling settled in his gut.

Something was wrong here. The creatures never hesitated. They certainly never stopped to check on their wounded or dying, much less protect them. Their level of intelligence didn't suggest that they had an idea of deception.... much less show any indication that they could use any means of psychological warfare, like set a trap for him.

Instinct honed from years in this hell said not to go down. Logic - and it was in Spock's voice irritatingly enough - said not to go down there. Just because he thought they were incapable didn't mean they really were. There was a lot he didn't know about them. But...

If he was wrong, he could've just shot an innocent. The rifle's bolt output was set on "kill": now he wasn't an engineer or mechanic, he was a doctor, dammit, but he was well aware of what the energy levels that went into that were. He'd treated "misses" before. They'd always been nasty stuff. Even if McCoy hadn't hit him in the chest or head, the injury and shock could do the victim in if left untreated. "Misses" didn't usually stay "misses" for long.

The two warred with each other for a moment. The doctor in him won out. He had to be sure. He couldn't just leave a potential patient dying, even if it meant risking his own life.

McCoy rose and began to head back toward the main stairway. He was well aware that he was just about to expose his position, but it couldn't be helped. He had a duty to perform.

If it was a trap, he reasoned, he'd still have about five meters before he crossed into the creature's deadzone: five meters to where he'd have the distance to beat their speed and lift the rifle. Once he crossed that zone, there'd be no way his reaction time could beat theirs out.

It didn't take very long to reach them, his pace brisk. He kept the rifle close by, and paused, five meters apart, eyes on the one on the ground. The other humanoid was trying to pick the fallen one up. If he'd had any doubts, they'd just been dispelled by that action alone.

A chill went through him. Good God. He had shot the wrong target.

McCoy pointed the rifle at him with a click, a silent signal for the humanoid to stop and put the other being down. Maybe he might get attacked in retaliation, but at least he could hopefully treat the patient first before he tried to kill him.

[in_three_years]

It was downright unnerving to know that another shot might be aimed for the back of his head, but Kirk shoved that thought aside as he grabbed under Spock's arms and tried to heft him up. Normally he would have been able to do it, but at the moment his whole body felt like it was running at less than half its normal power, and he quickly felt his shoulders start to shake under the Vulcan's weight.

No. He had to do this. He wouldn't accept that it was a physical impossibility, he was going to make it work. If he didn't, then they were both dead, and suddenly surviving this was all that he cared about. He wasn't willing to let Spock die in his arms, and he'd seen the way the Vulcan's arm was starting to sizzle up. It wasn't a good sign.

Kirk held his breath, not wanting the smell of burnt flesh to clog up his senses any further, and he made a second attempt. This time he got Spock halfway into his arms before his strength gave out on him and he had to drop his friend down to the floor again.

A panicked, scared frustration started to worm its way up inside of him, and it was at that point that the sound of a rifle being aimed at him (way too close) broke through his desperation.

Kirk stiffened, pulling his hands up into the air as he slowly turned himself around. What he saw was what he'd expected, more or less -- someone human, and someone who had decided they apparently didn't deserve to live.

Kirk's mind screamed at him, ordering him to do something, to leap forward and try to disarm the stranger -- but he knew that would only end in failure. Right now he was better off trying to plead with the man.

[hes_deadjim]

McCoy didn't look up from the patient, even as he kept the rifle trained on the other person. It was a warning.

The doctor knelt, and turning the man over, finally got a good look at his face. McCoy's hand stilled.

Spock?!

Even after all this time, he'd never forget those eyebrows or pointed ears.

He kept silent. He had to finally be going mad. Medically, it was only a matter of time: (most) humans and isolation didn't go well together. It'd just taken a lot longer for him. He'd just been thinking of Spock earlier, so maybe his mind just slapped that face on, anything familiar. A coping mechanism. Couldn't say much for the choice though. He must really be desperate for company.

He turned his attention back to the "Spock".

Well, I can't keep calling you 'you there' or 'hey you', he thought dryly. The name stuck, even if this was someone else. Of course, he could solve it once he got a complete scan on him, mark the impossible out. He had the profiles and data of the entire Enterprise's crew in his tricorder.

McCoy reached into a pouch and withdrew the field reader tube. He waved it over the body, spanning the chest and shoulder. Silence, and then a small beep, as the brief reading came back.

Well, at least he knew the species. Vulcan. He couldn't get a much clearer picture. He needed the tricorder if he wanted that, which was out of the question. Using the field reader tube and tricorder synchronized would mean a much more complete scan here, but it also required both hands... which would also mean putting the rifle down. He wasn't about to disarm himself just yet. He may be a doctor but he wasn't suicidal either. He also wasn't a damn juggler. He could only do so much with one hand.

Since he couldn't use the tricorder right now, he'd just have to rely on his own observation and professional judgement. He'd have to shoot from the hip. With any luck, he could get Spock conscious, then figure it out from there. Preferably get him back to the makeshift base upstairs and finish treating him there. He'd have more access to other equipment, and it was a hell of a lot safer than the lobby.

McCoy looked the Vulcan over with a critical eye. Severe nerve and muscle damage, severed but cauterized blood vessels, second and third degree burns. A good chance he was going into shock. Just as worrying was the phaser's disintegration effect. He'd chosen to do single bolts instead of the continous beam, partially because the beam was more dangerous when it came to evading the creatures' detection. It also meant death wasn't instantanous if he didn't hit the head or chest. But he could see the effects now, blood vessels and muscle tissue disintegrating, skin blackening and peeling. The effect was slowly spreading. He had to work fast, stablize the man and now.

Applying kelotane gel to burns with one hand took a special kind of skill, more so when you were holding a phaser rifle on someone with the other. His movements were quick, efficient despite the position he was in.

He dropped the swab into a sealed bag and returned the gel back to the medkit, before reaching for a hypospray. That was especially difficult: hyposprays were meant to be loaded and used with two hands, and it was dangerous to the doctor to do otherwise. After a moment he managed to set it for cordrazine. McCoy still couldn't handle the stimulant without feeling uneasy. That incident on the bridge was long over, but he wasn't going to forget the feeling of an accidental overdose. A single rock of the ship and he'd been injected with enough to put down four Klingons. Somehow he hadn't died, although it sure as hell felt like he was at the time.