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Post by Lunapocalypse on Mar 23, 2010 8:03:26 GMT -5
A carnival ground set up during a Mardis Gras celebration, quickly deserted during a zombie outbreak, among the rides and stalls befitting the location there are also crashed parade floats, stages and zombies and mutated humans in various costumes worn during the event. Some equipment may still be salvageable such as mechanical or electronic parts and whatever food was stored well enough not to spoil. A good number of the populaton was here during the outbreak, so you can expect more then enough infected roaming around the whole area.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Jul 18, 2010 3:07:03 GMT -5
)(Entering from Swampland)(
Colours hid the blood in the street, as if someone had thrown down confetti to mask what would have been a gory sight. So much was left over for interpretation; closing your eyes, it wasn't difficult to imagine how it had played out. A specific area of the street left unmarked by nothing but a fragment of blood, the half moon indicating the berth everyone had given the beginning of the biohazard in New Orleans. Culture reduced to nothing.
The streets were fairly quiet during this time of day. Aya had picked a spot to park the Luna in a dark side alley; it was natural to leave her transport for days on end so any concern was wavered. She kicked at a pink pamphlet which flapped against her leg in the wind, the date of the time of the mardi gras and the outbreak printed on it. The lack of a crowd felt more comfortable anyway, "What made you leave Germany?" she asked Matthew once he'd caught up. Currently they were in the process of finding him a car; anything that would run, but style was still in consideration.
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Post by .Merios on Jul 18, 2010 7:48:17 GMT -5
Matthew peeled himself off the bike, standing on it's right side. He reached up and lifted the hood off of his head, letting it drop to his shoulders. He grasped his backpack and slung it back around to his back, tightening the straps. He readjusted his machete's sheath and started to unbutton his jacket, letting his shirt show from beneath it. His eyes looked over the scenery, he took notice of the layer of confetti and trash that covered the road, as if the outbreak didn't necessarily happen.
"Attacked by an advanced Bio Weapon. I took care of it and had to leave- German soldiers were asking questions and I didn't like the country enough to stay any longer than I needed to."
There weren't many cars on the street as far as he could see, so it would take a while to find one that still ran and wasn't destroyed by the large amount of carnage that would have taken place if someone found out there was a working engine. He moved his right hand to his hip and with his index and thumb he unsnapped his Mateba's buckle on it's holster, his hand resting on the grip. He walked forward a few feet and then stopped, his head looking upwards at he apartments above his head. Apartments meant keys, keys meant key rings and that meant he might find automotive keys within- it was a stretch though. In a pinch, he could hot wire.. It's not a lasting option though- and by no means healthy for the vehicle he may have for a while.
"Know of a good dealer around here?" He said, as if the outbreak never happened. "My credit's shot and I don't think I can afford steep down payments," he said with a grin, the scars on his cheeks crinkling upwards.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Jul 18, 2010 13:06:09 GMT -5
"No good ones," Aya replied, lacking spirit in the humor but adding regardless; she was more curious to whether Matthew regretted leaving Germany considering where the plane had dropped him. All she had were photographic memories of the landscape, "Has to be better than this," she mumbled under her breath while kneeling down, "Rolling, green hills; looked like muscle from the sky. The way the light hits the trees in the morning," resting her cheek against her closed fist, "Could do with a break over there,"
Lifting up an old, brown piece of newspaper, 'A suit?' she uncovered the dead man; from the clothing he wore it was entirely possible to transfer him straight to the casket. A little off beat for such festivities which likely explained the mask he wore to blend in with the crowd; Aya pulled it off displaying a bullet hole. The cadaver itself was already shifting into decay but other than the bullet wound there were no other markings on the dead man's body, "Something sinister happened to you, my friend," she spoke harrowingly while rifling his suit pockets.
A smart phone, wallet full of plastic, and packet of cigarettes, "Don't suppose you smoke..." Aya flung the box away from her onto the cement. The cell turned on alright; its battery hadn't lost its zero point and the suit pocket must have protected it from corrosion; the case was cracked and the top left corner of the LCD display was damaged, but other than that it was salvagable. It looked like a model similar to Aya's, she could use the battery. Any added info in the navigation was a welcome bonus, stuffing it in her back pocket; it seemed the suit's area of operations was New Orleans.
Aya returned to her former height to hear laughter. Faint, traveling on the wind leaving the impression that it was all around the two survivors; it could have been coming from anywhere. It echoed, a few final off beats before silence returned. Crazies. Aya held her scout close to her stomach for comfort.
Crafting a use of dialogue out of Matthews light hearted jest, "There's a hotel nearby," dirt and festive debris making satisfying crunches beneath her boots as she slowly strolled down the street, "High class, guy comes out to park your car for you and everthing. All the keys in one place," she had to admit, even that sounded like mischievous fun, "I guess I've always wanted to do the impound check, at least once. Hit a key lock, listen for the corresponding beep and find the make you want,"
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Post by .Merios on Jul 18, 2010 13:38:09 GMT -5
He took care to guard the road while half-watching Aya as she bent down to discover a Suit. Now he seemed more interested in this corpse than the street. He walked over and stood nearby, looking at the mask he was wearing- he hadn't seen masks since the Dublin massacre in '08. She lifted up the mask, seeing the bullet hole and making a comment on his behalf. Matthew's ears picked up the sound of laughter as she stood. A somber look appeared on his face and he turned around, looking down the street for any sign of the culprits.
"Yeah..."
He seemed to be more focused on the laughter, his eyes still fixed in the distance, speaking as if phoning in a response. He noticed some movement far down the street, but he couldn't pin point exactly where nor what it was that made the movement. As if in a trance, he withdrew his Mateba with his right hand, pulling it forward with his right hand and flipping out the cylinder with a jerk of his hand. His left hand spun the cylinder and he snapped it back with his right hand, letting the gun hang at his side. He was tempted to fire off a warning shot, but that could have dangerous consequences.
"Think they've been cleaned out yet?"
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Jul 18, 2010 14:21:57 GMT -5
"Depends whether people got to their transport or not," the street ended at a T-junction, the hotel facing them, "With keys being behind reception I feel it's okay to assume the owners had difficulty taking off. Worst case scenario you find the usher nabbed the Range Rover you want," she stopped at the corner looking down both ends of the boulevard, "Last time I rolled through here the lot looked half occupied. You won't find the best, but it's not like you can't trade it in later," anyone with a picky personality would sure as hell have a hard time living like they did.
White painted wood balcony against crusted red brick. Architecture of the hotel was old, it held the fine line of looking that way for the sake of appealing to a modern audience; the age being the benefit. Decor on the other hand had been touched up over time; far too elaborate for its own good. Intricate designs along the railing, bricks layed in a pattern skirting the roof, pot plants hanging from each level. The only disservice to the grand, old building was the clearly tacked on narrow canopy at the front entrance; residents could stop and pass their car over without being rained on.
Drive paths were featured at both wings of the hotel leading down to the rear of the building, vehicle storage and cargo entrance situated around the back. Trees masked the brick walls bordering other property.
Approaching with caution, Aya opened the grand door leading in. Haggard holes punched through the panes held in each frame; evidence of commotion was ripe but stale in age, "Looks clear," she breathed while stepping over fragments of glass.
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Post by .Merios on Jul 18, 2010 20:18:58 GMT -5
Matthew followed her in, stepping past her once they were inside the building within the lobby area. He lifted his Mateba with his right hand and gripped it tight, his index finger sliding over the trigger. As he stepped up to the receptionist desk to lean over and look behind it, he heard a gunshot off in the distance- it was faint and muffled, but it was clearly a flat, short pistol blast. He turned towards Aya, giving her a 'lets hurry up' sort of look before he turned back around, searching the desk for something.. He gave up and turned to the right, seeing a hallway on either side of him and a door in the back with a clear label on the metal door: "GARAGE". With a smirk, he walked over to it. His free left hand moved to the knob and he turned it- locked.
He backed up a few feet and dropped into a tackle position with his right shoulder forward. He rushed the door, smashing into it with his body weight. The metal door budged and flung open, smacking hard against the concrete wall as it opened, chunks of debris dropped to the ground with a clatter. Without thinking, he moved forward into what looked like a waiting room- there were chairs and benches strewn about the area as well as a vending machine with all the glass shattered and lying on the ground in front. He stepped over to the vending machine and peered in, his eyes scanning the many shelves. His eyes landed on a yellow spongecake in a clear wrapper.
"Jackpot."
He reached in carefully and pulled it out, checking the plastic for any tears or cuts. He continued further on in the room, looking at the window in front of him which had a door next to it, leading into what looked like a garage or a showroom. He tore open the packaging with his teeth and took a bite out of the spongecake. His movements slowed to a stop, his face instantly scrunching up. There was a party in his mouth and everyone was puking. He spat out the twinkie, throwing what was left to the side. He spent a few seconds clearing out his throat and mouth of what remained.
"They definitely have an expiration date.." He mumbled, shaking his head hard to the left and right before moving to open the door into the garage.
He turned the handle and pushed open the metal door, revealing a large open showroom floor. It was odd, even for him, to see a showroom in a hotel. He shrugged and headed inside, scanning the area. There were banquet tables strewn about with perfect symmetry with streamers dotting the ceiling as well as some sort of machine in the center of the room. It took him a moment to recognize it, but he saw the machine was a large telescope- broken down into it's more vital parts. He walked past it, his head followed the contours of the machine's curves. That's when he stopped- he hadn't noticed it before because he was so interested in the room, but the area was getting progressively darker the further he went in and now he was almost in completely blackness. Once he came to his senses, he began to hear shuffling and what sounded like footsteps- he counted the footsteps as Aya's but he wasn't sure about the shuffling. At last, his idea about what it was came to fruition- there was a moan, echoing throughout the room. One after another, he listened as moaning and painful gasping filled the air- the sounds of the living dead. Plural.
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Post by Mikey on Jul 19, 2010 4:55:24 GMT -5
What had it been? Weeks? A month even? Tyson didn’t remember, it had been quite some time. Quite some time since he had gotten off that island. He still couldn’t believe it. He’d been working for Sincell for months, a company he had thought had gone under when Dragonfly revealed the truth from Tokyo. Live from Tokyo, crimes against humanity live and in the flesh. He still got a snicker out of that, the line he muttered when the news was flashed all over the PMCD base. Fu*k… That’d been even longer ago. A year, maybe? Good god. So much time, ****ed away.
Didn’t take long for him to f**k that place up when he learned. The AFDS, bunch of radicals bent on killing every bio weapon in the world. Sure, might seem radical, might even be called terrorists by some governments, but they were good guys. Their computer tech, she was the one who had shown him just who it was he was working for. He still couldn’t believe it, how stupid he’d been. Didn’t even know who was signing his paychecks… What killed him most was, when he went on his killing spree that ended with the facility leader, he was killing friends. People he had bunked with, ate with, sat around and bulls*** with, went into combat with… Good men, all of them. Maybe even as deluded as he was, real good guys who didn’t know it was a bunch of Nazi’s they were working for, he killed them all just the same. It weighed on his mind, every night. The last one almost pleading, as Tyson had his hands around the mans throat and choked the life out of him.
One last bullet, into the heart of the islands leader, and he was gone. He hopped a boat using his status as cover one last time before he killed the driver and got the hell out of dodge. He docked in Florida, moved through the state carrying his s*** in a box in the bed of a truck he’d stolen. Gotten here, and he’d just been laying low. Sincell had to know he’d survived, they knew a lot of s*** they shouldn’t. Best thing to do was lay low in a place they wouldn’t come for him, a highly infected zone that was pretty populated. Who in their right mind would hide here? Tyson hadn’t been in a clinical right mind for some time. He was right at home here. Had himself the penthouse of the biggest hotel he’d come across, had food and water and plenty of bullets. He didn’t leave but once a week or so, when the infected seemed to be settling down. Went and got more food or water, hording it for his stay. Just in case.
And today was one of those days. He stood at the door, his Desert Eagle tucked into a holster he’d made out of scrap leather and holding a Remington 870 that he had picked up and sawn down. He didn’t wear his armor or any other gear, didn’t want the form he was known better as to be recognized. He’d even grown out his hair a bit, even a beard. He looked normal, as opposed to the bald and clean shaven look he usually went with. The big scar on his face was still as visible as ever, just a bit too high to be covered by the beard. He pushed open the door and looked around the place. Nothing up here, as always. He’d cleared it out good. Deactivated the elevators and barricaded the door to the stairwell. He moved the furniture from the stairwell door and went down, having deactivated the alarm to it, just in case it wasn’t connected to the main power grid or was powered by a generator. He moved down the stairs in a quiet manner and out into the main lobby. Again, deserted. Good, meant he hadn’t been followed the last time. He went out into the street, knowing the best way would be to go out on foot. He never traveled more than a few blocks way anyway. He supposed he’d need to go further when he picked the place clean, but hopefully he’d be able to leave before that happened.
He went outside and started moving, stopping when he happened to look over to his side. A door that was kicked in, hadn’t been like that last time he’d been out. Hmm… Well, he hadn’t survived this long by letting s*** like that go uninvestigated. He held the shotgun up and moved foreword. Footprints inside. Not many, two sets. Both fairly small, one of them more so. Woman? Man of very small stature? The other was a man of average stature, he could tell that. He really needed to read up on woman’s shoes, it’d help this kind of thing.
He didn’t have to go far, keeping as quiet as he could when he heard a sound. A few of them. Zombies. Odd… For them to cause this kind of precise damage. He moved in, thinking they were the only thing he needed to worry about when he got a sight. It was a woman… Or a very skinny man. He only say him or her from behind at the moment, and they were alone. But they did have a weapon, a rifle stabbed across their back.
“Freeze.” He said, quietly. “One wrong move, your dead.” He added, leveling the barrel with the figures back. It didn’t look like a zombie from behind, but it could have been a fresh one. He’d seen ones that looked damn near human. Heart attacks and the like, when they first turned it was damn near impossible to tell. Unless you got a look at the eyes. The foggy, milky eyes, as well as the almost board look they gave you.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Jul 19, 2010 10:46:28 GMT -5
Something about the switch between aesthetics stepping inside the building seemed popular among architects; this being a fact picked up on from buildings explored. The outer shell was purely for retaining the essence of New Orleans while inside it turned into a proper 5 star hotel. Marble everything, high ceiling, and elevators seemed out of place; designed purely for the wealthy tourist. Aya couldn't complain, 'There's gotta be a couple of untouched rooms. Nice place to relax. A spa would be alright in this weather,'Matthew left an expression of haste as a sharp report discharged perhaps only blocks away. Point taken, 'Man has guts to make noise. The network of carriers would already be relaying the position,' she joined Matthew at the reception, hopping over the desk, 'if the gunman chose to lead a wild goose chase in our direction it could compromise us too,' she would call him a noob if that happened, 'Then again, it may have been an unavoidable confrontation,'Frustration grew on her counterpart's face; Aya waved Matthew telling him she'd continue searching the reception so he could look elsewhere. Paper was abundant. In fact the long desk masked its mess incredibly well from guests, 'No regard for cleanliness,' she scowled ditching the idea of finding paperwork on valet routine. The sound of metal crunching caused Aya's head to pop up from behind the desk, investigating; Matthew had simply made an entrance, 'Pretty tough for a human,' she thought, returning to her post-apocalypse paper management. Black letters against gold plate screwed to a door denoting 'Staff' looked like a good spot to search, 'What the...?' Aya had grabbed for a handle to discover there was none. A metal box sat where the means of opening should have been; numbers 0-9 plus X,Y,Z inscribed on the buttons for its combination, "Date - of - initial - outbreak," the Ivory girl joked while punching the metal niblets. Still locked, 'Worth a try. Last lock had that combo,' her fingers dug into the metal and she tore the box off of the door, a 'gentle' push caused it to open. It was management, leading off to other various staff rooms. The only untidy malefactor in the room was the dust, 'Evacced before the carriers came inside,' her eyes wandered the white office, desks, printing tech; a piece of paper on the wall displayed a map, its title was evacuation procedure, 'In case of emergency, all employees must relocate to designated safe zones...' she read while picking dry mud from her pants, 'Rear Garden and Garage,' leaning back and crossing her arms, moving to search one of the many highlighted spots that might hide the valet keys, "Well if they didn't get any further than that then we'll know where the bulk of the carriers are,"Just as the girl's personal sentence had ended a choking sound emitted back from beyond the reception. Concern for her companion took immediate priority. Aya hopped the desk again and crossed the plaza to where Matthew had trailed off to. “Freeze. One wrong move, you're dead.” Ironically Aya had frozen before the man had engaged his demand, stuck mid step; did she have time to evade? 'Don't argue with a firearm,' her hands remained low but her palms pointed outwards, slowly she rotated on the balls of her feet like a mannequin in a display. The face before her broke the mold. "Ty?" she leaned in meekly to observe the man; he looked very different, but there was no mistaking that scar, "Tyson!" her arms extended outwards, acting to engage in a righteous handshake with her old comrade, happy to see a familiar face in months, "What the hell are you doing in Louisiana? I thought you'd stuck with Claypoole back with the PMC," she took a step back to give the man space, "Christ, you really look like you've gone the way of the survivor," she gestured her chin commenting on the Tyson's facial hair; it suited him strangely enough, especially out of armor.
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Post by .Merios on Jul 19, 2010 16:12:18 GMT -5
Matthew didn't have night vision, and he sure as hell didn't have technology akin to it. He turned back towards the way he came, looking down the length of the showroom- the light from the doorway was blocked out by a mass of bodies, the moaning drowning out thought- there were at least twenty undead in the dark room. Matthew's heart skipped a beat as he moved his free left hand to his belt, gripping a his Mag-lite and lifting it, depressing the button and spinning in a circle. Wherever the circular beam of light cut through the darkness, he saw rotting bodies and decay. He was truly surrounded.
He moved the light and crossed his left arm underneath his right, allowing for light wherever he aimed his autorevolver. He spun around towards the exit- it was no more than fifty feet in front of him, through the mass of bodies which he now thought of as numbering in the late twenties or early thirties. His flashlight bathed a shambler in fluorescent light as he lifted his revolver at it, lifting his sights and rushing towards the creature. He took his first shot, squeezing the trigger and sending a .357 round into the neck of the infected corpse. The sound from the muzzle cracked in the air, echoing out of the room and over the sound of the constant moaning.
As the zombie that he hit began to drop, he dropped into a tackling stance from earlier and slammed into the monster, using it as something of a battering ram as he stopped, sending the creature smashing into the group of undead behind it. He wasn't out of the clear yet, the horde was closing in on either side of him. Matthew quickly sunk into a roadie-run and charged through the path the collapsing zed made. The room was still black, he could see nothing other than the mass of arms reaching out for him as he shouldered into another undead to his right, using his force to knock it into a banquet table, snapping the frail wood in half, dropping the plates and other miscellaneous items on top of the living corpse that broke it.
Matthew quickly stood- he now saw his exit. It was the door leading into the garage, and he had to move fast. He lifted his Mateba once more and fired twice, two slugs smashing into one of the undead in the crowd in front of him. The light from his flashlight revealed the metal door that lead to the garage clearly, and he was within feet of it. He made a mad dash to the door, not stopping to open it as he shouldered through, the metal crunching under his strength as the door dented in the center, cracking the door frame on either side as it was lifted from it's hinges and clattered to the concrete ground. The room ahead of him had an odor of stale air and gasoline, yet he couldn't see any more than a few inches in front of his face.
He quickly turned around and dropped his weapon and flashlight, grasping the door and lifting it without much of a problem, pressing it back into the doorframe that now didn't adhere to it's former shape- the door began to fail against the mass of bodies pressing up against it. Matthew thought quickly and pulled the door back, moving it horizontal and placing it against the door frame. He held it in place with his left hand and pulled his right leg back and then brought his knee forward with gusto, connecting his knee to the metal door, denting it into the doorframe, holding it steady.
He stopped to breath, watching as the zombies struggled against the improvised barrier he had made. Soon, a few zombies found out crawling was a new method of movement and began doing so. Matthew reached down to retrieve his flashlight and Mateba and moved to aim the weapon downward, leveling the barrel at the undead that was crawling. He squeezed the trigger, sending a slug into the top of it's cranium, streaking the concrete ground with coagulated blood and brain matter. He finally turned towards the garage now, lifting his flashlight and making a sweep with it, the light swathing through the darkness.
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Post by Mikey on Jul 19, 2010 16:57:31 GMT -5
Tyson watched the figure, not sure if his mind was playing tricks on him for a moment. Could that be Aya? The squad leader that had led him and several others through some hairy s*** and on to save the day? The woman who had up and disappeared without a trace when Operation Rainstorm was finished, after she had liberated it from that prick who ran it. Tyson couldn’t even remember the dude’s name, but he knew the dude was a jerk off.
She came foreword, grasped his hand in a shake, a grip that seemed out of place for a woman of her stature. Well, compared to him anyway. She’d towered over several of the guys, all of the other gals, in their squad, much like he towered over just about anyone in the whole PMC. He gripped her hand back, letting go of the Remington with his right hand and holding it by the pump with his left. She stepped back and gave him a look, he did the same to her. She didn’t look very different, and yet… She looked very different. Same build, same figure, sure. Something in her eyes. She was the same Aya he knew, but she wasn’t… As crazy as that sounded. But he didn’t care about that. He found a friend, something he needed badly. It’d been some time since he’d seen even another human being, and even longer before he saw a truly friendly face.
“I came for Marti Gras, of course. I was a bit late to enjoy the party, but I figured ‘why waste the hotel booking‘.” Tyson said with a smirk. He heard her comment on his beard and smiled, rubbing the thick beard that had grown over the last month. Not so much of a disguise, more of not having the time or resources to stay cleaned up. Didn’t do much to hide who he was to anyone who could both see and knew his face, but it would work in passing. Hell, he hadn’t even spent much time looking at how it had grown out. Maybe he’d keep it. “Ya, corner store ran out of razors.” He joked. It felt good to be able to joke like this. He had only been able to talk to himself, and after a few days he wondered how he’d ever made any friends. He was dull as hell, kind of a prick sometimes. He wasn’t even all that funny. But, they say you cant judge yourself, your biased one way or another.
“So who’s your buddy?” He asked, remembering the footsteps, footprints, and the person she had been calling out to. He didn’t see anyone at the moment, but he had developed tunnel vision when he saw Aya. Force of habit. He wasn’t in the habit of playing things safe, he usually went center of the path and stayed there, under heavy fire and all. “PMCD business?” He asked, hopeful. Another friendly face would make his whole week. Lance? Claypoole? He’d love to see that sum b*tch again. He missed the arguments they used to have, bickering and fighting and screwing with each other to no end, like a couple of children. Something that seemed to evaporate at the first sign of trouble, where they worked like a well oiled machine, just the two of them. Hell, he’d tried to get Matt to come with him, be just the two of them. But, Aya put him in charge of PMCD. He wondered what ol’ Clay thought of that, if he enjoyed sitting behind a desk. Tyson could just imagine him going stir crazy, starting a small outbreak just so he could have zombies to shoot. Sounded like something he’d joke about doing.
That’s when he heard the gunshots. He snapped up the shotgun, tucking his elbow in as far as he could to brace against the recoil of the stock-less weapon. The shots were a ways off, but still in the building. Probably the garage, made sense. Here looking for a car, splitting up. Tyson would bet money she was looking for either keys or a location for where the keys could be. Or she was just looking for something to read. Knowing her, it could be something that simple, she was a simple kind of person last time he had known her.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Jul 19, 2010 21:33:59 GMT -5
Aya chuckled slightly at his response; it seemed Tyson still had his spirit, this was good. Looking to the ground, "Oh, you noticed that?" wondering whether her and Matthew had made it so obvious upon entry, she shook her head, "No. Bumped into him out in the bayou after he decided to do a little sky diving. I'll intodruce you," Aya figured she'd let Matthew decide whether he would tell of his Umbrella background or not; a lot of people didn't react kindly to that sort of history, "He's just down here-"
Speak of the devil. As Aya went to move where Matt had headed gun shots reported from his direction, "Damnit!" she had forgotten about the strange noise she heard earlier, drawing her Browning and skating off through the door. The hall had a gradient of light, illumination from one end of the room quickly died as it traveled to the other side; there was a lot of movement down the far end, "Matthew!" calling out to the jet black; the sound of metal terraforming and further gunshots indicated he was still alive.
After the two ex-PMC mercs eyes adjusted it became clear that the movement at the far wall were a horde, half of them turning to face them, the whites of their eyes floating in the darkness. Aya stepped further in and knelt down low to the side allowing Tyson access with his street sweeper, "Open fire. Take'em all down," she ordered before potshotting from her position.
There must have been three dozen or so, a large pack; Aya recalled Matthew breaking the door in, 'They must have been locked in here, one after the other turning,' whether it was their choice or if it had been by force was a lost story, but the conclusion was clear; enough had gotten stuck to make thinning them out a chore, "Hold," she called in a small break asking for a brief cease once the remaining carriers had gotten too close. She flipped a long table bracing it by the legs and shield bashed into the crowd pushing them backwards and giving the two more room and more time; dropping the table where it were made for a good obstacle to trip over too.
Returning to her position, nothing needed to be said to open fire again; as the remaining zombies sat up their heads became extremely exposed whittling it down to nothing but casual target practice.
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Post by .Merios on Jul 19, 2010 22:15:02 GMT -5
As Matthew finished his sweep of the area where he was with the flashlight, he heard the loud report of gunfire from behind him with the accompanying sound of thuds. He turned around, lifting the flashlight and shining it on the barricade he recently smashed into the door. The zombies crowding around the barricade were receding like waves on the shore. He stepped back up to the door, lifting the scarf over his nose and mouth and tightening it behind his head. As soon as there was enough room to walk past the door way, he leaned forward and stepped, stomping with his right foot onto the metal door, breaking it inward and folding it in half, sending it soaring into the room and colliding with an undead body, the metal crushing it as it fell to the ground with a loud clang. Matthew lifted his autorevolver and methodically lifting the revolver and the light simultaneously and aiming at a zombie, squeezing the trigger and moving onto the next, pulling the trigger again. He quickly brought the revolver down and slid it into it's holster with his right hand and reaching into the left side of his jacket, pulling out his sawn-off shotgun and moving his left hand to his waist, opening the shell box and withdrawing a handful of rounds.
He pulled down the scarf and slid two shells into his mouth, biting down and splitting the other four rounds between the fingers of his left hand. He attached the flashlight to the bottom of his shotgun via the under-barrel attachment slot and lifted it with his right hand, shining the light and pointing the barrel at the crowd in front of him. He could hear bullets ripping through the air to his left and right and the sound of flesh rending accompanied with the flat bangs of muzzle fire overwhelmed the sound of moaning. He slid his index and middle finger of his right hand onto both vertical triggers of his shotgun and squeezed the index trigger, sending a .12 gauge buckshot into the crowd, dropping two zombies. Sequentially, he pulled his middle finger trigger, blasting another slug into the group, one head completely exploding and showering the crowd with gore. He flipped the breach down, ducking under a lurch from a carrier and he moved forward, bringing his right arm back and connecting his elbow with the side of it's head, sending it to the floor.
He lifted the shotgun to his face and dropped the two shells into the breach from his mouth with odd accuracy. With a flick of his wrist he snapped the breach back up and walked a bit further into the room, a group of four zombies noticing his presence. He lifted the shotgun up and pulled both triggers simultaneously, the recoil knocking his hand back maybe an inch. The report from the gun sounded like a grenade went off- the visual spectacle from the buckshot had basically the same effect on the center mass of the grouping of undead in front of him.
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Post by Mikey on Jul 20, 2010 9:58:28 GMT -5
Tyson snapped to attention immediately when he heard the gunfire. He reached up to his head, seemingly running his hand through his hair. Aya recognized this motion. Back in the day, he walked around with his mask flipped up. When he needed to do something, he would put it down. Some o the old squad didn’t even know why he wore the f**king thing. The mask alone weighed seven or eight pounds, it was hot, it blocked most of your peripheral vision, it was an all around pain in the ass. Even though he’d never admit it, it was more like an alter ego. When he wore it, he didn’t have to be afraid of anything. He didn’t feel even human, more like a metal skinned monster that struck fear into the enemy.
They were on the way to the other side of the floor, the place they heard the gunshots coming from. It didn’t take long, they didn’t run into anything on the way. And when they got there, it almost felt like someone had set it up like that, giving them some false hope on the run there only to f**k it all up with the thirty something, maybe forty zombies slapped into their laps. Oh well. Not a big thing, not for them.
Aya bent down, going to a knee, allowing Tyson to fire over her head. Good plan, don’t divide the fire. Keep your backs against a wall, so to speak, the sides were well enough watched. And as it was, they were cleaning out the crowd that came toward them easy enough. More gunfire from down the line told him that her friend was either damn good and holding his own, or surrounded and panicking.
The boom from his Remington, and smaller pops from her Browning filled the air, and zombies began to fall down. He had six shells total, and he burned through them pretty quick. Six kills, a few other flesh wounds. It wasn’t hard to aim at this range, even though he had cut the sights off the weapon when he sawed down the barrel to sit flush with the magazine tube. But… he ran dry on shells and had to reload fairly soon. Taking a handful of them from the shell pouch on his belt, he began to feed them in at a rapid pace. He racked the action on the weapon and fed the sixth shell inside. He fired off a few more shots, and it was then that she told him to hold.
He kept the weapon aimed, holding it up with one hand when she moved across his line of fire, and resumed aim to mop up if one of those things got to close. It didn’t happen, especially when she picked up a table and used it like a battering ram. Stuff like that, it was always a surprise to see her do it. Even thought Tyson knew she was something more than human. He’d been the one to witness her yanked out of that train, a licker’s tongue through her chest. The scar on her throat that was anything but superficial at the time. And yet she still stood here in front of him. Yet another reason he left the PMCD. What they did to her, it had never sat well with him.
As soon as she was back and out of the danger zone, he resumed firing. This time, when he fired off the sixth shell in his weapon, he let it drop to his side, and then to the ground as he pulled out his sidearm. The Desert Eagle he’d had for some time, the sidearm that ensured one round was enough. He supposed the Glock would have been a bit more low key to bring with him but, he was sacrificing so much in firepower and protection, he wanted to be able to make up for it in one way.
He aimed the weapon, a round in the chamber and the safety off, lining up a shot for the better part of a second. The heavy weapon had almost zero sway in his large hands, and the booming report of the .44 Magnum round that exited the barrel made almost zero kick. That was less about his strength and more of the huge barrel extension, turned the seven inch barrel into a twelve inch barrel, with compensator cuts along the whole thing. The gases had so many places to go, there were none left coming out the tip of the barrel to cause a kick. It didn’t take much for the crowd to go down to almost nothing. At least the half or so that was after them.
“We going in to get him?” Tyson asked, not knowing if the guy was good enough to get out himself or needed the two former military operatives to come and pull him out. There was still gunfire going on every now and again, shotgun shells this time. But that didn’t mean anything. Anyone could fire a weapon. To fire it and hit something well enough to kill it, that was another story.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Jul 20, 2010 11:17:27 GMT -5
Hitting the carriers successfully was proving to be challenging on several factors; Aya had to get all selective hearing about it to drone out Tyson's Remington, then the darkness itself didn't help; she found herself abusing her redeye a lot more than usual for the green glow of the T-virus but that meant her iron sights vanished, '3... 2. 1...' reload; there wasn't any time to be conscious of pouching the empty mag, she would just have to remember to pick it up. “We going in to get him?” Consideration. Aya went standby to look at the big picture. After Tyson had finished his query the door at the right side of the room jettisoned from its position completely mangled and smashed into the left wall billowing smoke, 'Frick. Another mutant?' she feared for Matthew's life. Instead the sky diver himself stepped through, directly into their line of fire no less, and engaged the horde, 'This is intriguing,' Aya had to push the suspicion behind her for the moment, "Circle round to the right," she upped from her crouch maintaining a low posture to let Tyson continue firing, snatching the empty mag, "We'll back up into the garage, give these guys a bottleneck to suffer in,"Roadie running and weaving between tables, it was difficult not to stumble over dead bodies. Aya kept an eye for any loose crawlers ready to deal with them if they decided to grab either her or Ty; twice the Browning discharged in the darkness. Quarter circle complete, meeting with Matthew near the door just as he skillfully executed a carrier. The garage was just as dark, if not darker, than the banquet hall. Aya leaned in to check, 'Has to be clear if Matt wasn't jumped from behind,' she tapped Tyson on the shoulder before scrambling inside and heading for the centre. It was cold, held a distinct automotive olfactory, 'Could be a hazard if we're caught firing wild in here,' she double checked their new environment, the garage continuing off to the right and out of sight; any hiding spots would mask threats well. Primarily the horde in the hall took all of her agro, Matt and Ty had caught up to her at this stage leaving her a clear field of view to mow down the helpless carriers as they clawed their way through the bottleneck. There was no doubt they all had smiles on their faces. Silence after the final gunshot would either feel welcome or uncomfortable; Aya was a little sour that half her backup ammo had been spent yet reloaded with no regrets, "Nice work," her voice bounced solo off the concrete walls, "That was a lot of undead," standing from her kneel, "Your efficiency hasn't suffered one bit since we last operated together, Ty," smiling as she clicked the slide shut; it was in their blood to remain sharp. Next to Matthew's flashlight a second method of illumination clicked on from Aya's smart phone holding it out, "Tyson, meet Matthew," the cone shined in Matt's face, "Matt... Ty," drifting over to the hairy behemoth. She stepped past between them and shone the circle of light into the depths of the garage, "Tyson's a part of my old PMC unit. Second best trigger finger in the world..." Aya made an arrogant turn, "After mine,"
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