|
Post by Red Dawson on Aug 23, 2007 1:13:49 GMT -5
Door locking. Ripped up flooring. Mousetraps. Blazing Heat. Free fall. Garbage. An army knife. A rolling tin can. Loose bricks. Falling books. Ravenous teeth. Fading heartbeat. Paralysis. Breaking bones. An explosion within the chest. Ruins. A frog. Gun shots. Soulless faces. Blood dripping. A wizened hermit. A large crack in a wall. Scarred flesh. Slippery boards. A lone dog's howl. Clean red hair. Bottles and cards. Buildings deteriorating. A heavy impact. Twisted metal. Broken glasses. Imposing presence. A mirror shatters. A child cries. A blood stained white coat. Hungry eyes. Gnawing hesitation. Wary and angered glances. Wood stain. Warming lips. A tomb of ancient relics. Quickening desperation. Two heartbeats. Incessant pounding. Futility...
The undead eyes regained their false life once more; the passing images - rough and faded - meaning very little compared to the hunger that it felt upon first 'waking'. The limbs scrambled to pull the body out of the confines of the crate and soon the rotter scrambled across the floor of the factory. It felt the need to constantly move, to put as much distance between itself and where it had once more gained its predatory instincts. It wasn't the need to look for more plentiful hunting grounds, although that was on its mind as it made for the streets towards the very large den near the cliff of metal that kept them all inside. It felt the urge to flee that place or, more specifically, a face that seemed to hover faintly on the edge of its confusing swirl of disjointed memories. It was a mix of fear and anticipation, the culmination caused the shambler's head to ache. It overshadowed the hunger at times and, despite trying to squelch it in blood, it would always return to its hazy thoughts.
|
|
|
Post by kinrrataiyath on Aug 23, 2007 5:54:24 GMT -5
Kin was not so troubled by such thoughts. There was an urgency, a desperation in the way she moved. Something was pushing at her mind as if she'd forgotten an important meeting. There were no thoughts behind the dull, lifeless eyes that could help her assauge this feeling and no help from her surroundings. The anomity of this pressing need only made her more frusterated, and therefore more angry. She tore through anything that came within her path; rodents, small animals, and one or two unfortunate souls stuck on the street. Her attacks were quick and brutal, and then she moved on.
On and on until she could move no more. Her mind shut down. Her body stood swaying in the street. When another living being came upon her, she could only groan feebly and make a half-hearted attempt to claw at him. Her efforts stopped short when the needle pierced her neck and a gripping chill knocked her to her feet.
Kin came to not long afterwards. She was alive and whole again. Her flesh was warm to the touch, bloodstained as it was, and her throat bore no evidence of the abuse it had suffered. Her mind, though, was in tatters. The nightmares danced before her eyes, taunting her with the sins she had comitted. Screams long since silenced still resounded in her ears. Sobbing and trembling, Kin crawled into the nearest building to curl up in a corner.
She couldn't have known that it was already occupied.
|
|
|
Post by Red Dawson on Aug 23, 2007 11:23:46 GMT -5
The large complex with its multitude of smaller dens inside was clearly a highly active hunting ground with numerous shamblers wandering aimlessly outside and with many of the barricades torn asunder. It was definitely not the domain of a lone predator. The undead decided to look for more suitable hunting, heading straight away from the encircling metal cliff face and deeper into the cityscape. It still kept its distance from the area of its 'rebirth'; the reoccurring image in its damaged continuing to make it perceive that area as taboo. It desperately wanted to hunt down the cause of this confusion and feast, perhaps by taking in the blood and flesh of this woman the presence would disappear. Yet something was holding it back, a resonance deep within that signaled some form of self-destruction. The conflict of these segmented thoughts were a distraction, and the rotter focused on its need to satisfy its hunger.
|
|
|
Post by kinrrataiyath on Aug 24, 2007 6:21:44 GMT -5
Kin died again, screaming in pain just as she had before. Yet this time they knew where she was. Within a day, she possessed a heartbeat again. This time she managed to keep it for all of two days before succumbing to fatigue in an unhealthy environment. They told her not to go out anymore, but she couldn't stop. Every time she came back, her only thought was of finding him.
Time and time again she fell and was revived. Soon enough they would stop coming for her. There was only so many supplies they had to waste, and even fewer needles.
Finally, she could search no more. Her body was too weak to stand and her mind was too hazy to form a coherent thought. Though she longed to continue, she knew doing so would serve no good. She just wasn't strong enough to go on.
Kin resigned herself to waiting and hoping, curled up on the couch in the lobby of the Cosway. Every small noise, every creak in the floorboards would send her heart lurching into her throat, but it was never him. Though she tried to stay awake, sometimes she was simply too tired to keep her eyes open anymore. Her dreams were frought with horrible memories, twisted by her worry. In every dream, it was his face that stared back at her, begging for help she could not give.
|
|
|
Post by Red Dawson on Aug 27, 2007 11:22:39 GMT -5
The further away from the outskirts of the city, the more sporadic the hunting became. Resistance was limited to a few dens - the lights inside acting as a warning beacon - or small pockets of lone or paired survivors moving about the streets with either inexperienced or fatigued minds. One individual soon learned the peril of maneuvering the side streets and alleys with a less-than-alert mindset and soon found his body hit with enough force to send him flying into a nearby collection of old rubbish cans, the heavy weight that hit him still pressing on with sharp nails and teeth. Just another quick kill for the rotter. But just as it was about to take in as much of the quickly cooling flesh a sharp pressure was on its neck and it felt a wave of heat wash through its body. It tried to turn on its attacker but already the body was slowing, the image of the assailant checking out the fallen survivor quickly blurred until every sensation dulled to nothingness.
((This thread is now open to all. I'll have Red make his way back to the Cosway after a couple more posts, but feel free to jump in if interested.))
|
|
|
Post by kinrrataiyath on Aug 27, 2007 21:27:48 GMT -5
The sky was still heavy with clouds, blotting out moon and starlight, when Kin awoke. Her world was one endless layer of inky darkness. No hint of shapes, no sounds, not even a clue that would tell her she had opened her eyes at all. For a while she lay in the darkness, half wondering if she was still asleep.
But the sweat on her brow was real and the chill running along her flesh caused her to shiver. She was awake. Wide awake. Whatever nightmare had just gripped her was gone from her thoughts, if not from her memories.
She couldn't recall what demons had plagued her, but she had an idea as to what had happened. It was the same thing that happened every night. And, she feared, would continue to happen until he returned...
If he returned.
Kin could no longer stand the creeping sense of paranoia that gripped her as she lay on the couch. Upstairs was only worse. Yet if she didn't move, she was afraid of losing her mind completely. Kin crawled carefully to her feet and felt her way along the couch, the floor, all the way to the wall. She felt around until the texture beneath her fingers changed. Peeling wallpaper became hard, scratched wood. A little south and she found the cool, dented orb that served as a door knob.
The floor was no better a bed than the couch had been, but she felt safer here, just outside his room. This way she would know the second he returned. Kin drifted off to sleep again with that thought in mind.
|
|
|
Post by Red Dawson on Aug 28, 2007 10:01:47 GMT -5
It never was a pleasant sensation; looking back on each time, it felt like someone had filled his lungs and heart with gasoline and tossed a match in. It was as if the internal organs were expanding, trying to break out of the cage of bone inside his chest while he experienced lines of extreme heat pouring through his veins. Curling up helped but only to provide psychological comfort against the pain. He never asked anyone exactly how the process worked - it seemed that everyone else had a different interpretation and perhaps it varied from individual to individual - but the results were usually the same. Those that had been on the dead side too long had a tendency to stay down, the rot in the head effectively keeping them dead to the world.
Once the pain had subsided, Red managed to get himself up into a seated position. He was in some alley way, the rubbish cans rolling off of him told him that whoever did inject him was long gone but took the time to conceal the body, just in case another shambler came looking for a snack. He froze at the sounds the cans made, looking about for any motion and the telltale noises of lurking undead. Thankfully, nothing was alerted to his revival. He looked himself over, seeing if he lost anything of importance. When he knew he was getting into trouble, he would secure his rucksack to his person. His diligence had paid off but the contents were missing. Whether lost in his movements, stolen, or taken as reward for injecting him, his shotgun was gone along with all his spare ammo and provisions.
As he stood, he was surprised to see his revolver was still on him, the strap on the makeshift holster fastened securely. He pulled it out and checked the chambers, finding them all to be empty. He disregarded his aching joints as he tried to pull his jumbled thoughts together into something more coherent. Thankfully he still knew who he was but the real trick was trying to pull the recent events together. With each passing revival, it became harder and the span of time that was distorted grew longer. He shook his head after a moment and made his way to the nearest unoccupied building, keeping out of sight as much as possible. Thinking over it too much was just going to make him frustrated; he needed time to recall what was mixed up.
|
|
zpansven
Free Runner
![*](http://artdragon.mine.nu/~kat/urbandead/plainaxe.gif) ![*](http://artdragon.mine.nu/~kat/urbandead/plainaxe.gif)
Karen Howard
Posts: 144
|
Post by zpansven on Aug 29, 2007 11:43:03 GMT -5
If there was anything the quasi-sane scientist liked better then jumping rooftops, it was shooting zombies....or morons whom liked to kill off their fellow humans beings or steal food or just be plain annoying. With a toss of the head, the bouncing figure let loose a loud cackle while mid-air, almost instinctively landing on the ledge of the building. All the buildings were around the same height in this new unfamiliar suburb, which made the leap between rooftops easier -- sure there were the makeshift bridges between most of them, but those were unreliable and could break under the weight of a heavily equipped soldier, scientist, or medic.
Made the leaps easier, but made them boring as well -- no death defying leaps downward, the wind whistling in one's ears as they had to make split second decisions that could end up with a broken leg or dead if one was wrong. And one of the most loathsome things in the world was to be bored. Or hungry. Or one of those undead freaks.
Around average height, the scientist was a blur of color while racing across the rooftop before propelling into the air; there, everything seemed to slow before landing again, this time in a deeper crouch. Straightening, the newcomer to the suburb straightened, casually brushing dust off pale blue jeans that clung to leanly muscled legs while looking around to gain his (?) bearings.
"Hmmm. Where the hell am I?" the scientist mused, shifting the pack he carried; the overhead sun chose to stop playing peekaboo behind the clouds for a moment and his dark brown hair shown with lighter brown and blonde highlights before the sunlight vanished again. Still looking around, he dug out a GPS unit he'd scavenged, using it to determine his location before muttering. "Wyke Hills? Where the f*** is that?!"
With a sigh, he tucked it away in his pack once more before shifting the straps into a more comfortable position; it was lighter then he'd like meaning he'd have to find more food since his provisions was running low. Placing his hands on his hips, he scrutinized the rooftops, trying to decide which direction to take; it'd be nice to find a safe haven, get a few hours rest before deciding where to go and what to do. In the late August sun, the scientist had tied his hooded grey sweatshirt -- patched in several places and stained black in others -- around his trim waist to keep cooler while traveling and he was regretting wearing his black teeshirt when starting out on this excursion.
"Where to go...what to do..." the scientist grumbled, arms shifting to cross over his chest.
How lovely. Brett Sinclair was bored. And lost. Never a good combination....
|
|
zpansven
Free Runner
![*](http://artdragon.mine.nu/~kat/urbandead/plainaxe.gif) ![*](http://artdragon.mine.nu/~kat/urbandead/plainaxe.gif)
Karen Howard
Posts: 144
|
Post by zpansven on Sept 9, 2007 3:48:31 GMT -5
In the end, Brett decided to poke around inside the building he'd stopped on, hoping to find provisions if at all possible. Instead there was someone inside. Ever a paranoid semi-sane individual, Brett, pulled a revolver free from where it was tucked in a holster at the back of his jeans' waistband; never knew who was willing to kill another human being just for breathing wrong these days.
The man seemed like he'd seen better days, in Brett's opinion -- his pack looked completely empty and he was filthy; stank too, the smell of the recently revived. Not seeing any weapons, the scientist returned the revolver to where it came.
"Oi, boyo," Brett called out, keeping partially shielded by a broken door; never knew what sort of hidden weapons someone would keep hidden on their corpse -- just because no gun was visible didn't mean sh*t anymore. "You hurt?"
|
|
|
Post by Red Dawson on Sept 11, 2007 10:18:10 GMT -5
He froze as the voice echoed about the abandoned building. His head still buzzed slightly as the mechanics of being alive slowly picked up their pace. The disorientation of being revived was never good and Red had seen individuals picking themselves up after getting a shot only to fall prey to another rotter that happened to be lurking in the shadows, their senses dulled to the point of defenselessness. At the slightest hint of unknown activity he would have ducked away from, knowing that it was best to move away from any odd sound... and preferably cover if it was some gun-wielding psychopath. The fact that the voice was more calling out than issuing some form of challenge or death sentence was what kept him in place. After all, some crazies liked to play the social game and it was never the smartest play to get the agitated.
He turned his head slightly so his eyes could get the individual in view. He seemed to be carrying himself in a non threatening manner, but you couldn't really depend on that these days. Red was just glad he still had his revolver. Perhaps it was the angle he was standing at or the tattered remains of his flannel that draped over the makeshift holster at his side, but the man hadn't spotted the revolver on him. He felt relatively safe except that he could only partially see the inquisitive fellow; who knew what hardware he might have had on the other side of the door and Red wasn't really in any condition for some misunderstanding gone wrong. He put both hands on the rucksack's strap to best ease the guy's mind and, after getting his lips and throat used to the notion of speaking once again, managed out, "I'm fine."
|
|
zpansven
Free Runner
![*](http://artdragon.mine.nu/~kat/urbandead/plainaxe.gif) ![*](http://artdragon.mine.nu/~kat/urbandead/plainaxe.gif)
Karen Howard
Posts: 144
|
Post by zpansven on Sept 12, 2007 9:43:43 GMT -5
A rude snort escaped the scientist. "Fine, huh? You're freshly revived, boyo. You infected?"
The red-haired man -- Brett was barely able to make out hair color in the building's dim light and the grime on the man before him -- seemed to tighten his grip on his empty rucksack. The quasi-sane scientist bit back a sigh and stepped around the broken door cautiously; sometimes he was too soft-hearted for his own good.
"Tell ya what, boyo. I'll patch ya up and take ya to whatever safehouse that's close by in exchange for something to eat and maybe a place in a corner to sleep for the night. Sound fair?" Brett kept his tone non-threatening, making his offer seem more like a fair trade, something that would be more acceptable then charity -- even in these times, some people had too much pride for handouts and a simple helping hand; sure, it'd use up the last of his medical supplies, but with his...condition...it wasn't like he really needed it as much as the man in front of him...
|
|
|
Post by Red Dawson on Sept 13, 2007 9:58:18 GMT -5
"I said I'm fine," he uttered a bit more forcefully. As the individual stepped in from the relative brightness of outside into the dimness of the building, Red was able to see his face more clearly. He tried to jog his memory but the features didn't ring a bell with him. Had his brain finally met its limit? Was it slowly rotting like those poor saps that were close to being immune to the needle? At least the guy was trying to be diplomatic; bartering aid for a place to stay. But he was quite a distance from the Mullen building... no, that didn't seem right. That was a while ago. He held up a hand - hinting that the approaching man should pause for a minute - as he pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve the frustration his thoughts were bringing.
"I'm not infected," he said after a moment. He had been infected before and was quite confident that his system was clean of any viral element. Red just needed time to himself, to get his head straight. He relaxed his fingers, letting them slip down across his face. There was a decent amount of stubble on his chin but nothing outrageous; he guessed he was out of it for at least a handful of days, perhaps a week tops. With a glance back to the unexpected guest, he stated in a much calmer voice, "Look. I appreciate the offer, but I'll be able to fix myself up when I... find my way back to the safe house." He had to think about it for a moment but the Cosway did pass through his mind. It was always a bit of a jumble first coming back, but at least the memories were still there.
"If you need a place to crash, there'll be a few nearby where I'm going." Red had no reason to trust this guy and he wasn't going to sponsor someone that could be a psychopath; that would just put him on the big guy's list... Eddie... that was his name. It came back to him, and how could he forget. And Faye too, although the others were still a grasp for him - like an old photo that got blurred with time. "They'll be safe. Looked over. You'll be fine. As for food..." He thought for a moment on how to approach that issue. "You watch my back as I go, and I'll put a good word in." Whether his word had any weight these days or not, it was the best he could offer. Sure this guy could shoot him in the back but it wouldn't be the first time, and the closer he got to the motel, the more cautious he'd be about his travel companion.
|
|
zpansven
Free Runner
![*](http://artdragon.mine.nu/~kat/urbandead/plainaxe.gif) ![*](http://artdragon.mine.nu/~kat/urbandead/plainaxe.gif)
Karen Howard
Posts: 144
|
Post by zpansven on Sept 14, 2007 19:02:58 GMT -5
"Hn." The grunt was soft as it escaped the scientist before he sighed softly. "I have some medical supplies if you having that needs patching up immediately, boyo. But fine. I'll watch yer back til you get home. Sit down and rest until you're ready to go; I'll make certain none of those undead freaks will be able to get in..."
In respect for the man's privacy -- after all Brett himself loathed being seen while so vulnerable after being revived or even when wounded -- the quasi-sane brunette stepped back towards the door he had come through; shouldn't bee too hard to make a temporary barricade while the man healed; after all he'd only seen a couple shamblers around. Of course, in this city, that didn't mean much -- the rest of the horde could be resting in a ruined building somewhere...
|
|
|
Post by Red Dawson on Sept 17, 2007 10:12:39 GMT -5
"I think it best if we just get moving right now." He didn't like hanging around the areas he came back to life in. Red had often noticed that unsavory types liked to hang around areas where they discovered a body; whether it was a rotter or a psycho - the opportunity for a quick easy kill was usually the only thing on their minds. Sure his body was still stiff and the joints ached when they moved but he wasn't going to waste time around here. He needed to get up on a roof, just to get his bearings. Along with the other items that were taken from his rucksack, his GPS was missing and, with his memory selectively coming back in portions, he would need some visual cue to base his movement on.
He took out his revolver slowly so as not to alarm the dark-haired man. Nobody but Red knew that the weapon was empty but that didn't matter - if you had a visible shooting iron, it made others think twice about assuming you were an easy target. He gave a little stretch and looked about for a way to access the roof. He had soon realized that the man didn't step through from the outside like he had originally thought. Instead, he must have came from a room that had a window - perhaps a stairwell. "Hey," he asked casually, "are there stairs to the roof past that doorway?" If there were, then his unnamed associate might know if it had access to other buildings nearby as well.
|
|
zpansven
Free Runner
![*](http://artdragon.mine.nu/~kat/urbandead/plainaxe.gif) ![*](http://artdragon.mine.nu/~kat/urbandead/plainaxe.gif)
Karen Howard
Posts: 144
|
Post by zpansven on Sept 18, 2007 13:12:41 GMT -5
"Yeah, there's stairs -- but they a bit wobbly so it's best to walk lightly, boyo. There was a couple makeshift bridges up on the roof leading...east and south from here I think, while the bridge for the building to the north appears to have collapsed. I don't know this 'burb so if that means anything to you...." Brett shrugged, discreetly eyeing the revolver; the light was too dim for him to get a good look at the weapon, to tell if it was even useable. If it was...he could spare a couple rounds. Just a couple to help the newly revived man get back to whatever safehouse he had waiting. The scientist watched as the red-haired man moved stiffly; with the weather turning cold, he probably had woken with stiff joints after coming back to the right side. Knowing that had to hurt like a sonovab*tch, Brett's respect for the man had gone up -- some would have insisted on waiting, resting, but this man wanted to leave, get home immediately. Sure it was rather paranoid, but in this city, paranoia was a sign of having survived long enough to adapt. With a deliberate turn to expose his back to the red-haired man, the quasi-sane scientist lead his new 'friend' to the stairwell in a slow sort of swagger to keep pace with the other man's aching joints and newly revived muscles. "Everything's rather flat here, lots of level rooftops so I can't tell most of them apart. Helps with the bridge system, but makes it hard for a person to find where they're going if they're new to the 'burb," the dark-haired scientist complained as he stopped by the window that led to the roof's access via the fire escape, waiting for the red-haired man to join him. In the hard sunlight, the scientist's dark hair gleamed, as did his beardless face; despite the late afternoon, there was no trace of stubble visible on his lean face or pointed chin -- one could almost mistake him for having freshly shaved. The red-head found himself looking down at the newcomer, whom had either been too far away for an actual height comparison or standing on something to look taller. He was remarkably clean compared to the newly revived man, taking time and effort to reduce any possible way for a zombie to trail his scent. With far less grime and a beardless face, the scientist looked and probably was younger then his new 'friend', even with how the city had aged people, he still looked in his early to mid-twenties, even with a hint of silver hair at his temples. ((Brett has a secret...can you tell what that secret is? The clues are all in the description ![;)](//storage.proboards.com/forum/images/smiley/wink.png) ))
|
|