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Post by NotAvailable on May 25, 2011 21:23:22 GMT -5
Anna's Status: Currently in Russia to visit an old friend... This spacious apartment is occupied by Agent Anna P. McGraw of joint CIA and B.S.A.A. officials. It's often found dimly lit. It also has a large sized bedroom upstairs with a desk and armoir for her clothes and newly acquired tactical gear. A large bathroom downstairs creeping around a short hall with a bookcase nearby. In short, there's a loft-like feel with more than enough space to breathe.
When she is in her apartment, she's usually spending her time downstairs, music blaring through the entire place until a neighbor comes yapping about it. Sometimes she's found in her kitchen, cooking. She tends to enjoy her southern homecooking in longing nostalgia. When she's not doing that, she's reading on the couch, curled up. Needless to say, she's enjoying the benefits of being a member of the B.S.A.A.
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Post by NotAvailable on Jun 29, 2011 14:35:13 GMT -5
A few days ago, prior to Russia...The door to the large loft-like apartment had creaked open. A silhouetted figure could be made out in the dimly lit doorway. Her duffel bag over her shoulder along with her shotgun. A backpack on her other shoulder had hung lazily onto her upper arm as she'd moved further inside, dropping her luggage onto the wooden floors with a resounding thud. Closing the door behind her, she'd erased any sort of trace of light. The woman stood in pitch black until she'd leaned over, switching the lights on, illuminating the downstairs living area. Her face was gloomy and exhausted. If it weren't for Chase's connections, the pilot probably wouldn't have went all the way to Raccoon to pick her up and bring her back. She'd tossed her keys onto the coffee table and plopped down into the sofa with one leg dangling off of it, an arm on her stomach and the other, also dangling off of the couch. She'd stared up into the whirring ceiling fan above, her eyes filled with unwanted emotion. She was forced into returning to HQ where she lived alone and knew next to no one. After a few moments of recollecting the voices in her head, she'd gotten back onto her feet and shuffled over to the kitchen, going through her cabinets. There were a few expired things inside but there were more non-perishable items as well. Things like Jack Daniels. She'd pulled the bottle out, a gift from her employers for enlisting. Afterwords, she'd pulled a glass out and a bottle of Adderall. She red the back of the label and chuckled dryly. "Do not mix with alcohol. Inebriated Side Effects can include nausea, impaired driving, stomach cramping and internal bleeding." Another short chuckle and she'd uncapped the bottle, pouring it into the glass and popping two pills in her mouth. Drowning it in Jack, she'd sighed, relieved. "Nothing Alcohol doesn't already do to ya," she grunted, slipping the bottle into her jacket pocket and taking both the glass and the liquor bottle with her upstairs. As she ascended, she'd shrugged her jackets off, dropping them on the first five steps and then pulled her top shirt off, leaving her with her trademark white tanktop. Placing the bottle down on her desk, she'd laid on the end of the bed, kicking her boots off and sighing again. The lack of sound had began to weigh down on her heavily. There was no laughter, no yelling, no crying, no talking. She'd turned over on her side, curling up, drawing her legs into her chest. No Richard to turn over and see lying beside her. No Aryn curling up against them. It was just her, alone, cold and lonely. After awhile, the redhead began to dive in and out of sleep. The smell of alcohol had sprayed from her shallow breaths against the pillow, bouncing the scent back into her nostrils. She'd began to toss and turn almost periodically every five minutes. The lights in her ceiling above began to flicker and break, bursting with lightning-like flashes around her.Anna flinched in her sleep and groggily screamed out, covering her head with her arms. There were scratching noises on the walls not like the sounds of rats but actual teeth-grinding, scratching from the inside of the walls.Sitting up in bed, she'd trembled and tried to move off from where she laid as she darted the walls, trying to figure out where the noises began and where they ended. Moving made her flinch and look at her hands. They were cut up and bloody, oozing crimson, blotchy, blood with pieces of the shattered light bulb in her hands. The scratching and chittering of the walls had gotten louder and unbearing. Mixed the the sounds of running water, it was noisy.The woman had heard water. The sort of sounds you hear when you're on the beach or sticking your ear up against a sea shell. It was coming from downstairs. Getting out of bed, she'd felt the stabs of the glass in her thighs, sides and arms. There were more glass than there should have been... The walls began to deteriorate and rot. There was this smell of disease and medicine. The watery sounds downstairs had gotten louder and before long, there was a loud plop and splash. The walls had also taken on a horrific swollen texture. Like flesh with boils."Are you going to go see what it is, downstairs?"
"Are you afraid? What a f*cking coward."
"Maybe if you would have done everything right, stopped doing things your way, they'd be alive. Everyone would be alive."
"Richard can't help you now. Not like he cared anyway. You were never important to him and you never will be. Aryn is better off without you anyway."
[There were sounds of oxygen tanks and steady beeps pacing in and out.]
"What's that noise? Where's Lucy? You've gotta find Lucy!"
Anna covered her ears and shook her head. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't rid herself of the voices. The voices of doubt and guilt. They continued to run together in long, jumbled, responses. They'd raised their voices louder and louder, trying to overlap each other. It was unbearable. The water, the walls, the light fixtures, were all f*cking with her.
"Stop...stop...stop! STOP! STOP! STOP! STOOOOP!!" she screamed, face as red as her hair was.
There was sudden silence. The walls were flat and normal. The ocean sounds drifted further away. There was complete silence.
Gasping awake, Anna had panted, sweating profusely as she'd scanned the lit up room, intricately. Looking up at the ceiling, the lights were fine and her body was untouched by glass or blood. Catching her breath, she'd buried her face into her hands, sobbing.
This has to stop...I need to go somewhere else...anywhere but here...
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The very next morning, the redhead had been packing a few things. She knew of some good friends she needed to see again. Maybe for some sort of closure of one chapter of her life. If she were going to survive the apocalypse, she had to get these things out of the way.
She'd showered and had a fresh change of clothes. Lavender and Vanilla soap was a nice change of pace from lemon scented dish soap. It wasn't smart to have this scent in the urban scapes with undead but where she was going it wouldn't be much of a problem. She knew that by the time she'd get there, the scent would have softened and been near unnoticeable anyway.
She'd lingered in the shower for quite some time, trying to regain her composure. Her hallucinations had been pretty rough but never that bad where it was a confusing, jumbled, mess. They'd disappeared for awhile though, of course she was with someone she cared about, it must have soothed her. Now that that was gone, it was back again and screwing with her worse than before.
Now she'd been packing her things. A few sweeps of oil and cloth over her shotgun and it was clean, shining and loaded. Same treatment for both her sidearms and trench knife, they would seem brand new if not for all the chipped and scratched paint. She'd gathered some ammunition from the armory, courtesy of her friend that keeps up with it. She'd restocked her belt with shells and stocked her pouches with a couple of magazines for both the Beretta and the Colt. Fresh First Aid supply on her rear pack had been comforting as well. Slipping her newly maintained sidearms in both holsters under each arm, she'd clipped her belt around her waist, clipping another holster to her thigh which connected with the belt. A newly acquired sheath for her polished trench knife.
She'd pulled her boots on and without hesitation, she'd slowly placed her foot back onto the ground, sitting on the couch momentarily to register her thoughts. She couldn't shake this guilt that nestled into every nook and cranny of her mind. A newly risen guilt had joined in. Had she's abandoned Richard and Aryn? The entire checkpoint? No, she didn't care for the checkpoint. Not in the least, that she was sure of... she only stayed for them.
Now here she was, leaving for Russia thanks to her pilot friend who will more than likely tell the Lieutenant where she was heading off to, thinking it was under his orders. He was a rookie, what'd he know? SOA's are to go out in pairs, not singles.
There was a sudden knock at her door. It was probably the pilot. He was too chivalrous for his own good. Standing up to her feet, she'd grasped ahold of her bag. Not much in it but her standard leather racer jacket, a hoodie and an even bigger, snow, jacket. It was supposed to be freezing there in Russia and she'd need all the warmth she could get to survive those temperatures. She had her Balaclava tucked in her belt as well, protect her head from the elements.
Moving toward the door, the fully equipped agent stopped to look at her reflection in the mirror. She looks awfully tired and weary. A grunt and she was out the door.
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