This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.
When a small group of people attacked her in the street, Rita was ready to blast them away like she would any thugs. But then she saw their faces, and in an instant her mind froze.
Dead. They were dead, but they were walking. In a rush to rationalize the encounter, Rita considered that they might be severely injured townspeople, but that couldn't be. They didn't seem to notice their own injuries; they were only focused on attacking her. On top of that, the way some of their bodies bulged and twisted... it was like they were human, but they weren't.
The creak of the door gave too much away. She had forgotten to lock it. No, that wasn't right. That was a lifetime away. There was no lock on this door. It was just a flimsy barrier over what lay outside. The undead. Eli hated them
( ... )
The sound of a voice caused Rita to whirl around in alarm, catching a glimpse of a figure crouched atop the counter, eyes glinting in the darkness. Something was in here with her.
With a terrified shriek, Rita jerked her arm back, knocking several tiny boxes to the floor. That's right; there was nowhere to back up to. She'd just barricaded herself in.
But after a moment of panic, the actual words that were spoken finally registered, and Rita stared back at the figure, trying to make out what she could in the dim space. That person was... human, right? Those things outside didn't seem like they were even capable of speaking properly
( ... )
Eli watched as the girl panicked, her fear releasing into the air. But no blood. No. It didn't seem like the girl was hurt. Good. She stood up on the corner and jumped down, standing there almost awkwardly. She scratched her arm idly. It didn't itch, but movement seemed good at the moment. Stillness made people nervous.
Her anger was interesting but nothing more than usual. Eli shrugged loosely. "I could be a monster." Speaking truth made people usually think it was a joke, but she didn't care, in any regard. Let the other believe what she wanted. There were monsters everywhere. One couldn't be picky.
Yes, something was moving. There was more than just Jamie and himself traveling through this place, after all. If he looked carefully, the occasional specks of bright red and green might have been visible on the rooftops of a nearby building. If he listened closely, he might have heard a soft hiss, almost like a cross between a death rattle and a giggle of delight.
Even when you had what Jamie had to protect himself, the hordes were still the least of their worries.
There was a pause in the giggling, dulled brown eyes watching the moving figures, calculating the distance with a brain that shouldn't have been able to work something like that out. Her deformed and melted hands ran along the roof before tensing, curling into fists. Then there was only sickening noise of something hocking back saliva and mucus before there was spit sailing through the air, glowing green and dangerous. It struck the ground right in the middle of party, splattering and spreading out into a pool, the ground hissing and burning under its acidic touch.
PFFT THAT ICON MARY XDnot_very_noirMay 9 2010, 01:10:48 UTC
"Fuck!" Jamie cursed, throwing himself backwards to avoid the splatter of mucus and muck and falling over, hitting the ground hard enough that he duped automatically. One of the other dupes was yelling in pain, a gob of the muck having landed on his leg and started burning through, and Jamie's skin crawled at watching himself writhe in pain.
The dupe created from the fall pulled himself to his feet and then grabbed Jamie's shirt, dragging him up as well. "We're under attack, so don't just sit there," the dupe snapped.
Jamie blinked, unresisting as the dupe dragged the gun from his fingers and checked it before heading over to the copy still clutching his leg and whimpering. "Get up. You can still do something and we need all the hands we can get."
The jumpy, aggressive dupe was trying to sight where the attack had come from. "Good thing that's not a problem for us."
It hit! The longer they stayed in it, the more damage it would do and if that burned off face was capable of smiling, she was doing it right now.
All this stupid survivors. They thought they were better than her. Smarter. Well they weren't! They were idiots and she'd show them all, show them all one by one eeeeheheheheheheheheee
From on the roofs began a trail of glowing spit, signs of the infected moving about. She wasn't going to hide from these morons. She wanted them to track her down. She had better plans for them.
Fire. Smoke and fire. And some screaming ninny running around causing more things to be on fire. The hunter, a former assassin, a man who stayed in the shadows and scaled walls to find his prey, found his new life as an undead killer not unlike his old life. Except now he could jump farther and he didn't need to think about things like intrigue and higher purposes. Or anything except killing, which is something he did rather well.
The one thing he didn't do well with? Having someone running around screaming and setting his hiding place on fire. Sitting up on the bookcase, Altair watched as the witch fled into the room, screaming and without thinking began to growl at the witch as she-- no, he ran around, setting more things on fire. Witches. Leaping from his hiding place, Altair grabbed onto a water pipe and was about to jump down to where the witch was when the pipe gave way under his weight, sending him falling to the ground, water spraying in every direction and setting off the rest of the sprinkler system. Not sure
( ... )
That girl was out of his mind now. The only thing that mattered was this pain, was the fact that he was on fire. There wasn't a thought of a dying, no more self-preservation, but there was the recognition of pain and the knowledge that he didn't much like that. He never liked that.
But somehow the sky began to rain and the fire was out, but it still burned it still burned he could still feel the fire's damage to his skin and the water only aggravated the wounds more...
The screaming stopped, but was immediately replaced by sobs as the witch collapsed back to the floor. There was no acknowledgment of the other hunter in the room. He only pulled his hands to his face, palms touching singed hair and claws arching over his head, and sat there like a broken doll.
Water was everywhere and the doors were closed save for the one the witch came out of and there was no way he was going that way because that would mean going through the water to get to it. Instead, the hunter took refuge under a table, growling at the sight of water gathering everywhere around him. It was invading, but if he stayed under the table, he could be safe. He would be safe.
Or that witch-man would pay for this. Scrabbling back and forth beneath the table, Altair stopped and settled, hunched over as he watched the witch cry. Annoying sounds of crying and screams, things he disliked even now. The water was getting closer though, much closer and Altair disliked that more than the witch's crying sobs. Backing up, he took a flying leap at the window, crashing through the glass as he escape both the water and the witch, leaving them alone.
This whole thing with the virus was supposed to have been over, but no. That would've been too easy. And the closer they drew to where it all began, the more obvious it was that this wasn't...quite the same thing. Sam wasn't sure how the term began, but somewhere along the way, people had named the grotesque, decaying figures the Infected and he'd started referring to them as that now.
Broken glass, bodies on the street, abandoned cars. Busted store windows. The scenery hadn't changed for miles; the only difference was the ratio of survivors to infected. Right now? It was looking like zero survivors and way more infected than was making him comfortable. Frankly, Sam wanted to turn back because it wasn't like they didn't already have the rings-cutting off the head of the snake and all that-but it was true that they didn't know how much this had to do with any of it. It was probably a good idea to investigate
( ... )
Dean glanced over and nodded, then focused on the road.
"We're gonna have to park her and hoof it on foot then."
Soon as this was over, he was taking his car for some R & R she desperately needed; there were some big dents from ambushes they'd run into a few days ago and he wasn't too keen on driving around with cracked windows. So far he'd been able to outrun any hordes but once they were on foot, it was gonna be different, and parking the car right smack in the middle of ground zero meant that they could possibly get swarmed and trapped, even if they got inside the car. Dean pulled off the main road. So far they hadn't run into too many infected in the last mile or so - he guessed they had been pulled toward larger groups of survivors making a whole hell of a lot more noise than he was with the Impala. Dean pulled off the side street at the first parking structure he could find that, heading to the second floor. Some corpses but more or less abandoned
( ... )
Great. On foot. Yeah, it'd be safer and far less dangerous in the long run-you really didn't want to be inside a flipped car when there were things clawing to get you.
Sam let out a breath and reached towards the backseat to grab his own bag. They'd moved everything they needed there. It was bad idea to stand around peering into a trunk, rummaging for supplies. "I know. But we can either stop all of this, period, or we can check out the smaller picture in the meantime and see what we can do."
Not so much a hint as a statement of fact. They both knew where the other stood on this and Sam didn't have to say anything else about it. As much as he wanted to push because he hated this feeling of being caught in limbo between doing something and doing nothing, it'd been-what, a couple of days or so? Dean needed time.
Besides, technically nothing could kick-start for real until Lucifer had him.
Though apparently, the dead could start rising everywhere.
He peered out the window, then cracked his door open cautiously, gun in hand. "Come on
Dean holstered his pistol, going for the machete. Push came to shove, he'd rather rely on a gun for the whole distance thing, but a machete was a lot quieter and didn't waste ammo. The gun was a last resort
( ... )
Not once, in 650 years, had Tino wished to just have the Black Death again. This situation, however, was proving that there was a first time for everything. For one, he'd actually escaped the plague relatively unscathed. He'd also had to do much less fighting than he was doing now
( ... )
In any way possible, Eduard wanted to help, but it was with some measure of hesitance that he crouched next to his friend. A childhood of being tossed around like a ragdoll didn't exactly instill confidence in one's capability with weaponry, to the point that in more peaceful times he would outright refuse it as a gift.
"You're certain you're not wasting ammunition, asking me to do this?" Sure that he already knew what his friend's answer would be, though, he soon started to survey the scene outside the window.
"Of course I'm sure! Now, this is a low window, so it's best for a kneeling stance. You remember that one, right?" he asked, already helping the other fix his grip on the rifle, knocking his front foot into a better position to take the recoil
( ... )
Upon gently placing it on the trigger, not even with immediate attention to shoot, Eduard's hand started to tremble. That was no good. He had to stop thinking. More accurately, not stop, but rather, dull himself, narrow his focus to the precise but limited scope of a pinhole camera. If he allowed himself to fully consider the situation, he'd fret over their supply levels and their chances of survival, and, paradoxically, he would miss. He remembered that much, even though he'd tried to put such feelings out of his mind while rebuilding his life after his last war. (A war- that's what he tried to think of this as to keep from giving up out of a sense of futility: not some impassive natural force slowly overtaking his citizens from the inside, but rather, a concrete enemy. Such conflict had never been kind to him, but he had a knack for enduring, surviving, and recuperating, or even escaping entirely when he was lucky. One can't fight and can rarely run from something abstract, a fact he used to take solace in
( ... )
Comments 138
When a small group of people attacked her in the street, Rita was ready to blast them away like she would any thugs. But then she saw their faces, and in an instant her mind froze.
Dead. They were dead, but they were walking. In a rush to rationalize the encounter, Rita considered that they might be severely injured townspeople, but that couldn't be. They didn't seem to notice their own injuries; they were only focused on attacking her. On top of that, the way some of their bodies bulged and twisted... it was like they were human, but they weren't.
So what the hell were they ( ... )
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With a terrified shriek, Rita jerked her arm back, knocking several tiny boxes to the floor. That's right; there was nowhere to back up to. She'd just barricaded herself in.
But after a moment of panic, the actual words that were spoken finally registered, and Rita stared back at the figure, trying to make out what she could in the dim space. That person was... human, right? Those things outside didn't seem like they were even capable of speaking properly ( ... )
Reply
Her anger was interesting but nothing more than usual. Eli shrugged loosely. "I could be a monster." Speaking truth made people usually think it was a joke, but she didn't care, in any regard. Let the other believe what she wanted. There were monsters everywhere. One couldn't be picky.
Eli blinked up at the girl. "What's your name?"
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"Hey! I see another zombie, I'll waste it! Not even blink, just BAM! Headshot ( ... )
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Even when you had what Jamie had to protect himself, the hordes were still the least of their worries.
There was a pause in the giggling, dulled brown eyes watching the moving figures, calculating the distance with a brain that shouldn't have been able to work something like that out. Her deformed and melted hands ran along the roof before tensing, curling into fists. Then there was only sickening noise of something hocking back saliva and mucus before there was spit sailing through the air, glowing green and dangerous. It struck the ground right in the middle of party, splattering and spreading out into a pool, the ground hissing and burning under its acidic touch.
"
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The dupe created from the fall pulled himself to his feet and then grabbed Jamie's shirt, dragging him up as well. "We're under attack, so don't just sit there," the dupe snapped.
Jamie blinked, unresisting as the dupe dragged the gun from his fingers and checked it before heading over to the copy still clutching his leg and whimpering. "Get up. You can still do something and we need all the hands we can get."
The jumpy, aggressive dupe was trying to sight where the attack had come from. "Good thing that's not a problem for us."
Reply
All this stupid survivors. They thought they were better than her. Smarter. Well they weren't! They were idiots and she'd show them all, show them all one by one eeeeheheheheheheheheee
From on the roofs began a trail of glowing spit, signs of the infected moving about. She wasn't going to hide from these morons. She wanted them to track her down. She had better plans for them.
Reply
The one thing he didn't do well with? Having someone running around screaming and setting his hiding place on fire. Sitting up on the bookcase, Altair watched as the witch fled into the room, screaming and without thinking began to growl at the witch as she-- no, he ran around, setting more things on fire. Witches. Leaping from his hiding place, Altair grabbed onto a water pipe and was about to jump down to where the witch was when the pipe gave way under his weight, sending him falling to the ground, water spraying in every direction and setting off the rest of the sprinkler system. Not sure ( ... )
Reply
But somehow the sky began to rain and the fire was out, but it still burned it still burned he could still feel the fire's damage to his skin and the water only aggravated the wounds more...
The screaming stopped, but was immediately replaced by sobs as the witch collapsed back to the floor. There was no acknowledgment of the other hunter in the room. He only pulled his hands to his face, palms touching singed hair and claws arching over his head, and sat there like a broken doll.
It hurt... It hurt...
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Or that witch-man would pay for this. Scrabbling back and forth beneath the table, Altair stopped and settled, hunched over as he watched the witch cry. Annoying sounds of crying and screams, things he disliked even now. The water was getting closer though, much closer and Altair disliked that more than the witch's crying sobs. Backing up, he took a flying leap at the window, crashing through the glass as he escape both the water and the witch, leaving them alone.
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Broken glass, bodies on the street, abandoned cars. Busted store windows. The scenery hadn't changed for miles; the only difference was the ratio of survivors to infected. Right now? It was looking like zero survivors and way more infected than was making him comfortable. Frankly, Sam wanted to turn back because it wasn't like they didn't already have the rings-cutting off the head of the snake and all that-but it was true that they didn't know how much this had to do with any of it. It was probably a good idea to investigate ( ... )
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"We're gonna have to park her and hoof it on foot then."
Soon as this was over, he was taking his car for some R & R she desperately needed; there were some big dents from ambushes they'd run into a few days ago and he wasn't too keen on driving around with cracked windows. So far he'd been able to outrun any hordes but once they were on foot, it was gonna be different, and parking the car right smack in the middle of ground zero meant that they could possibly get swarmed and trapped, even if they got inside the car. Dean pulled off the main road. So far they hadn't run into too many infected in the last mile or so - he guessed they had been pulled toward larger groups of survivors making a whole hell of a lot more noise than he was with the Impala. Dean pulled off the side street at the first parking structure he could find that, heading to the second floor. Some corpses but more or less abandoned ( ... )
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Sam let out a breath and reached towards the backseat to grab his own bag. They'd moved everything they needed there. It was bad idea to stand around peering into a trunk, rummaging for supplies. "I know. But we can either stop all of this, period, or we can check out the smaller picture in the meantime and see what we can do."
Not so much a hint as a statement of fact. They both knew where the other stood on this and Sam didn't have to say anything else about it. As much as he wanted to push because he hated this feeling of being caught in limbo between doing something and doing nothing, it'd been-what, a couple of days or so? Dean needed time.
Besides, technically nothing could kick-start for real until Lucifer had him.
Though apparently, the dead could start rising everywhere.
He peered out the window, then cracked his door open cautiously, gun in hand. "Come on
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"You're certain you're not wasting ammunition, asking me to do this?" Sure that he already knew what his friend's answer would be, though, he soon started to survey the scene outside the window.
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