The city had been devoid of human life for a long while, but not devoid of activity. Those things were everywhere, roaming freely for the next victim or meal or whatever it was they did. The buildings may have gone quiet, but they were not empty
( ... )
i am a terrible personassumptioMay 6 2010, 23:21:17 UTC
One would have thought that someone like Shirley, whose only advantage in this sort of situation was physical endurance thanks to being in the swimming club, would have been one of the first to fall when the city was taken over by the infection. Shirley herself was surprised that she was still standing, but she couldn't say she was none too happy about it. On the contrary, the girl looked haggard, almost dead herself as she stumbled through the wreckage of a building that she probably passed by many times when going to school, clutching a pistol that she found, attached to an arm that wasn't attached to anything anymore. The clip was full. She hoped it would stay that way
( ... )
Re: i am a terrible personanemptydecapoMay 6 2010, 23:36:50 UTC
"...!"
Someone was calling out. Someone was trying to get in. Someone was too close.
He turned his head, watching the source of the noise. A girl, pretty and weak, trying to break through the barricade. Why was she here? Why try to get in? He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be alone and she was here why was she here she shouldn't be in here
Something in the shadows began to glow red as the figure began to rise off the floor. If it had been muffled crying before, it was growling now.
Re: i am a terrible personsanguinarioMay 6 2010, 23:51:38 UTC
The growling wasn't coming from one throat - but two. A second throat was adding itself, a higher pitch with a rolling purr, helping to create a cacophony of inhuman noises footstepsfootstepsPULSEBEAT
voicePULSEBEATvoice
Slithering out on all fours, bare toes arched high and fingertips just touching the floor, a hooded figure left a sticky trail behind it, approaching its infected kin in the room. Once this one had heard the telltale sign of a survivor, its warning sound had begun... and as the survivor approached, it increased in volume until its chest was nearly buzzing with the vibrationsGETOUT
With a SCREECH the infected had leapt across the room, knocking guns from the table and sending bullets like beads rolling across the floor in every direction and ripping into the back of the crouching shape, the faint red glow lighting up the streams of blood that were splitting the air with each bent claw that split the witch's flesh.
Dean Winchester couldn't say he saw this one coming.
He supposed a friggen zombie apocalypse - well, whatever, The Infection, he was just calling it as he saw it - was really obvious but seeing it so much in movies, you figured hey, probably not gonna happen. Bigger chances of demons exploding in numbers than this. At first it'd been kinda cool, but then it sank in this was spreading faster than him and the other hunters could deal with, and then shit got real
( ... )
This was not a demon invasion. Nor was this Tokyo. These monsters had been human, and if this was anything like the typical zombie movie, then the infection could spread. He didn't know how he'd gotten there, only that he knew it wasn't an illusion. His senses could tell him that much.
Which meant that the man with a gun over there? Might be a good person to start toward. His comp was still on his person, but there was no reason to pull it out yet without any other demons in sight. That would raise suspicions immediately, even with circumstances as they were.
This was not in his plans, and that made him angry. However, anger wasn't going to get him any answers.
"Excuse me." Naoya approached the man slowly so that the shotgun wouldn't be aimed at him first. "I'm afraid I must have gotten myself lost." An understatement, but it was the best he had at the moment.
Dean had been down these halls a good chunk since he'd decided to crash here, but that didn't mean he assumed it was safeNowhere was safe. At best you just had a slightly lesser chance of a major ass kicking, but it wasn't ever really safe
( ... )
((I could have started this off much better than I did. Sorry about that...))
Naoya stopped, staring at the man blandly. Automatically, he raised both hands up in surrender. He should have accounted for precautions like this, but at least in this case he had nothing to hide. He just wasn't sure what the man wanted him to show. "...Do you want me to strip?" Because that was the only way he could imagine showing that there wasn't any bitten skin, and taking off his clothes for some guy he didn't know wasn't exactly high on his agenda.
He pulled back one sleeve, exposing bare arm, then repeated the process with the other. They might hit a snag if he was asked to take off his pants.
The caution was understandable, and that was the only reason he wasn't going to argue. Naoya understood as well as the next person that certain aspects of someone's privacy might have to be ignored if the danger level was that high. "I can stay a few meters away until it's clear I'm not showing any symptoms, if you wish."
The way Shikamaru saw it, there were two options: hole up somewhere and wait around until the whole thing passed over, or get as far away from everyone and everything as possible. As tempting as the first option was, no building could hold up against an entire city--a hungry city, no less--and judging by uneven but rapid footsteps that raced past the closed stairwell door, this building didn't have much in the way of reinforcement.
Neither did he, but at least his baseball bat was metal.
For now, he crouched in the dim light beneath the final flight of stairs. Some might have called it being backed into a corner, but since he could see the only door and there was no shortness of shadow, It wasn't a bad place to stay while coming up with a plan that involved more detail than 'get the hell out of here, fast.'
It wouldn't have been this that would have been his guess. Of how this day would end. This week. It still remained what it was, of course. Facts that couldn't be changed, and he found himself moving silently in a back alley, a rusted crowbar dangling loosely from his hand. A result of the virus or something else--though his control remained, the reaction time had lessened, and it had become necessary to gather something on the off chance that something got through his defenses
( ... )
Sasuke had thought he'd gotten used to the sight of disgusting chakra between Orochimaru's lair and Madara's, but these past days had taught him otherwise. As useful as the Sharingan had proved itself to be -- especially in the dim nighttime -- there were times he wished he could let the chakra drain from his eyes more often. There was something about the grotesque pulsation of movement in the infected that told of death, to the extent that it was impossible to decide whether it was the sickly red smears the plagued this city that were worse or the tailed beasts' parasitism in their hosts
( ... )
Sounds were easily mixed in darkness, and a number came in rapid succession: a door, footsteps nearby and a very soft rustling immediately followed by another series of quiet, carefully measured footsteps in the stairwell overhead. He exhaled quietly, calculating and comparing the time it would take the dropped bat to hit the ground against the time it would take him to form the seal necessary to stop priority number one: whatever was in front of him. If he could pull that off, the other person would make much simpler zombie bait, and although he didn't enjoy letting random people die, he enjoyed dying even less
( ... )
He was forgotten now. The noise having faded beyond his shelter, he pulled himself into the silence. Noise, sounds that had been voices clung to his memory. They were within human capacity, but came crudely from malformed throats. They had pushed in on him, and reached out for him with faces caked in blood. They forced him to move, if only to escape their voices. They never said anything, but how they continued to talk made Kaworu search for meaning meaning. He didn't want to know the Lilim, he only wanted them to be silent
( ... )
These men and women were no longer human. Their bodies maintained some of their original form, but what soul remained inside was best released from its current torment. These were monstrosities, abominations against God. But as he was here, he would return them to their creator - even if he couldn't save them all from the infection itself.
Cross wasn't armed with a weapon, but he grabbed the face of a nearby zombie with one hand, the skin beneath his fingers smoldering as the once-human screamed in pain. "May God absolve you of the sins you've committed in this twisted form, as He knows you are no longer yourself. Be free of your torment and rest in peace. Amen!"
The zombie erupted into a ball of fire, burning to ash within seconds. The angel stared down the road as more of the undead turned and avoided his presence. Hearing the sound of something else nearby, he turned to face it but found something still living. He hurried toward Kaworu, seeing no bite marks on what skin was exposed.
Kaworu turned. This person looked at him, and their face still held an expression he could give a name to. Their words expressed concern. It had been some time since he had spoken to a Lilim, and the gestures of communication were now strange. It was expected that the Lilim would reach out to him and one another in small ways. Movements that held indescribable meaning. Eye contact. A touch. These things he had allowed into his life, and their absence left him too still inside. He welcomed their return. They placated him, and woke him. He smiled at the man who had spoken to him
( ... )
Upon seeing the injury to the boy's arm, Cross pulled out a satchel at his waist. Ironic, wasn't it? He was an angel, the human incarnation of Metatron, with incredible destructive capabilities,.. but he couldn't heal. He was thankful he at least knew first aid.
The satchel contained bandages, but the best he had for cleaning the wound was a bottle of water and an only partly clean towel. Still, that was better than nothing. He motioned for Kaworu to move closer so that he could tend to the injury, wiping away the blood as best as he could before wrapping it in clean bandages.
"My name is Cross," he offered. Every so often he glanced up to see if any more zombies approached, but they should be safe unless they were corralled into the area by someone or something else. "You shouldn't be out on the streets on your own." Never mind that the angel didn't have any backup either.
...... Zombies. Even now, Battler's instincts completely rebelled against this scenario, still boxed in by what would have once been called rationality. What the hell was all this, stuff like this just didn't happen in reality, right...?! Like something as ridiculous as a virus turning humans into mindless monsters could exist! That only happened in cheap horror films...!! Not too long ago, those sorts of thoughts would have been the mark of sanity. However, as the epidemic spread, as cities slowly fell to chaos, that way of thinking slowly disappeared. What had once been logical slowly became something that could only be called a desperate sense of denial.
Those sorts of feelings should have no longer been present within him. After all, hadn't he survived this long? It wasn't like he hadn't witnessed everything, and hadn't had to fight firsthand to ensure his own survival. ... Even now, the axe in his hands felt heavy. Was it because he was tired and hungry and thirsty, or was there a sense of guilt, knowing those... things had
( ... )
Of all the numerous away missions Kirk had had in his short but exciting career as a starship captain, this one officially ranked as the most disastrous. He stood alone now atop the wreckage of an automobile, surveying the area. Alone, keyword. Strange how a few months leading a crew could render unfamiliar years of solitary meandering, but that was fate for you. It had been days since he'd gotten to bark orders at anyone, much less get into an argument over those orders. God, he missed arguing
( ... )
They'd gotten a call about five days ago; one day driving all night to get to this town and...well, now here he was. Without Dean. Sam had lost track of his brother two days ago and with the cell towers down, their phones were useless. And he'd yet to find a phone booth that wasn't smashed up with a torn body part inside.
Freaking zombies.
There was no one left here, no signs of life that he could see for days. If he'd been with Dean, they probably would've booked it-you hunted long enough and after awhile, you learned when something was a lost cause no matter how much it felt wrong to move on-but Dean was missing and there was no way Sam was going anywhere until he found his brother. Even if all he had left was the half clip in his gun and a spare in his back pocket. Everything else, he'd ditched. The rest of the supplies were useless and it was harder to run with extra weight
( ... )
Sound was enough to make Battler freeze, tightening the grip on his weapon in both dread and anticipation, until he realized it had actually been a voice. A human voice, not the disturbing grunt or rage-filled cries of something trying to claw its way forward and destroy. He couldn't say the tension was entirely gone, but he could definitely feel a sense of release, seeing other survivors. .... He was sick of hordes of Infected and the mangled, forgotten corpses
( ... )
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Someone was calling out. Someone was trying to get in. Someone was too close.
He turned his head, watching the source of the noise. A girl, pretty and weak, trying to break through the barricade. Why was she here? Why try to get in? He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be alone and she was here why was she here she shouldn't be in here
Something in the shadows began to glow red as the figure began to rise off the floor. If it had been muffled crying before, it was growling now.
Reply
voicePULSEBEATvoice
Slithering out on all fours, bare toes arched high and fingertips just touching the floor, a hooded figure left a sticky trail behind it, approaching its infected kin in the room. Once this one had heard the telltale sign of a survivor, its warning sound had begun... and as the survivor approached, it increased in volume until its chest was nearly buzzing with the vibrationsGETOUT
With a SCREECH the infected had leapt across the room, knocking guns from the table and sending bullets like beads rolling across the floor in every direction and ripping into the back of the crouching shape, the faint red glow lighting up the streams of blood that were splitting the air with each bent claw that split the witch's flesh.
Reply
He supposed a friggen zombie apocalypse - well, whatever, The Infection, he was just calling it as he saw it - was really obvious but seeing it so much in movies, you figured hey, probably not gonna happen. Bigger chances of demons exploding in numbers than this. At first it'd been kinda cool, but then it sank in this was spreading faster than him and the other hunters could deal with, and then shit got real ( ... )
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Which meant that the man with a gun over there? Might be a good person to start toward. His comp was still on his person, but there was no reason to pull it out yet without any other demons in sight. That would raise suspicions immediately, even with circumstances as they were.
This was not in his plans, and that made him angry. However, anger wasn't going to get him any answers.
"Excuse me." Naoya approached the man slowly so that the shotgun wouldn't be aimed at him first. "I'm afraid I must have gotten myself lost." An understatement, but it was the best he had at the moment.
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Naoya stopped, staring at the man blandly. Automatically, he raised both hands up in surrender. He should have accounted for precautions like this, but at least in this case he had nothing to hide. He just wasn't sure what the man wanted him to show. "...Do you want me to strip?" Because that was the only way he could imagine showing that there wasn't any bitten skin, and taking off his clothes for some guy he didn't know wasn't exactly high on his agenda.
He pulled back one sleeve, exposing bare arm, then repeated the process with the other. They might hit a snag if he was asked to take off his pants.
The caution was understandable, and that was the only reason he wasn't going to argue. Naoya understood as well as the next person that certain aspects of someone's privacy might have to be ignored if the danger level was that high. "I can stay a few meters away until it's clear I'm not showing any symptoms, if you wish."
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Neither did he, but at least his baseball bat was metal.
For now, he crouched in the dim light beneath the final flight of stairs. Some might have called it being backed into a corner, but since he could see the only door and there was no shortness of shadow, It wasn't a bad place to stay while coming up with a plan that involved more detail than 'get the hell out of here, fast.'
[ninja funtiemz I think?]
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Cross wasn't armed with a weapon, but he grabbed the face of a nearby zombie with one hand, the skin beneath his fingers smoldering as the once-human screamed in pain. "May God absolve you of the sins you've committed in this twisted form, as He knows you are no longer yourself. Be free of your torment and rest in peace. Amen!"
The zombie erupted into a ball of fire, burning to ash within seconds. The angel stared down the road as more of the undead turned and avoided his presence. Hearing the sound of something else nearby, he turned to face it but found something still living. He hurried toward Kaworu, seeing no bite marks on what skin was exposed.
"Are you all right?"
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The satchel contained bandages, but the best he had for cleaning the wound was a bottle of water and an only partly clean towel. Still, that was better than nothing. He motioned for Kaworu to move closer so that he could tend to the injury, wiping away the blood as best as he could before wrapping it in clean bandages.
"My name is Cross," he offered. Every so often he glanced up to see if any more zombies approached, but they should be safe unless they were corralled into the area by someone or something else. "You shouldn't be out on the streets on your own." Never mind that the angel didn't have any backup either.
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Those sorts of feelings should have no longer been present within him. After all, hadn't he survived this long? It wasn't like he hadn't witnessed everything, and hadn't had to fight firsthand to ensure his own survival. ... Even now, the axe in his hands felt heavy. Was it because he was tired and hungry and thirsty, or was there a sense of guilt, knowing those... things had ( ... )
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Freaking zombies.
There was no one left here, no signs of life that he could see for days. If he'd been with Dean, they probably would've booked it-you hunted long enough and after awhile, you learned when something was a lost cause no matter how much it felt wrong to move on-but Dean was missing and there was no way Sam was going anywhere until he found his brother. Even if all he had left was the half clip in his gun and a spare in his back pocket. Everything else, he'd ditched. The rest of the supplies were useless and it was harder to run with extra weight ( ... )
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