Who: Major West, Iago, Snoop Pearson, Scotty, Abigail, and the Marquis
Where: PORT. A cabin in the woods (I'm thinking northern Michigan)
When: POOOORT.
Warnings: VIOLENCE AND ZOMBIES. Mod NPCs who aren't me are welcome.
Notes: For the sake of simplicity, since we all have different schedules, I'm saying no set posting order, BUT don't go like,
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Comments 19
At West's orders, Iago simply nodded, trusting that he at least seemed to know what he was doing. He wasn't going to follow them yet, but he had no reason to argue.
"What is it?" he asked curtly, picking up a pistol and checking it. It seemed sound enough and it fit fine in his hands. It was quick. Efficient. Easy to handle. But he wanted to know why West jumped to that conclusion before he started shooting anything.
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What. The hell. Was that? Certainly no virus he had ever seen before in his life. It certainly answered a lot of questions. He moved to a nearby window to keep watch as well, but also to continue his questioning.
"This isn't real." He whispered that but the second was a deliberate question. "Major...how do you know this?"
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Frightened, she approached Iago - the closes thing she had to a friend here - and put a hand on his sleeve.
"It is only a sickness. Why must we arm ourselves? The sick are of no threat if we let them not come near - is it not so?" she asked, her tone betraying her nervousness about the guns.
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He saw West but...no one else. The creature had chased them so far away from their group that he had no idea where anyone or anything was.
After reloading, he pulled an aspirin out of his pocket and swallowed it dry, hoping that it would eventually take the pain away.
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West looked down at the fallen Tank, his expression unreadable for the time being. This wasn't like the Infection he'd known. Either it had mutated, or he was in a different world entirely. He wasn't sure which was worse: the idea that the world really did stand no chance against the Infection, despite the insistence of Jim during his brief stays on the Barge, or the fact that he was, potentially, up against a virus that he knew even less about than Rage.
"I don't know," he said finally, crouching down to get a closer look at its face-- or, rather, what was left of it. "Between this one and the woman... We'll have to proceed with even more caution than before."
As though that were possible. He stood, stretching his aching body, and then took inventory of his supplies. Running low on ammunition.. this wasn't good.
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He held a hand out to offer him a few pills. "I've got a few left. It'll take the edge off of the pain for a while."
At least it was quiet...though Iago was starting to believe that quiet didn't necessarily mean "good."
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