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Post by NotAvailable on May 26, 2011 13:34:09 GMT -5
Angela had began to errupt in coughs and gags, holding the back of her sleeve upto her nose. Her eyes watered terribly as she turned away from the scene. She wasn't sure if it was the smell or the sight that brought tears. Probably both. When Marc took it harder than she had, she'd reached out, holding his shoulder a bit.
"C-C'mon, let's k-keep moving," she told him, gesturing towards the end of the hall where there was a dead end and dead potted plant. Four more rooms existed and one of those doors were wide opened. She'd waited for him to get his composure back together and once he had, she'd continued moving down the hall, her sleeve up against her nose and her crowbar in her grasp.
She'd jiggled the door knob of the first of the four remaining doors, no dice. It was locked. The pungent smell was overwelming the further they'd moved. Infact, Angela had began to wonder if all these other locked doors were piled with bodies. When she moved towards the opened door, there were more of them. They were bloated, rotting, bodies with holes between their eyes. There was a scent of gasoline that mixed with the corpse smell as well.
"Marc, do you smell that? I smell gas..."
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Marc Firewing
Zombie Hunter
The Chicago Typewriter
Zombie Hunter Extraordinaire.
Posts: 227
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Post by Marc Firewing on May 26, 2011 14:01:51 GMT -5
Pulling himself to his feet, they continued to try the doors. The further they went in however, it seemed that the apartment complex became a large stockpile of bodies. They were all undead, all now eliminated from either slit throats or bullets to the brains. It was also, however, as if someone had been stockpiling them for a reason. Then, the scent of gasoline filled his nostrils, strong and violently beginning to burn at his nostrils as they approached deeper into the complex.
"This...This is a graveyard...Someone's got plans for this place...We need to move."
The sudden exhaustion was immediately struck away as he took a right down the hall which started to lead towards the back. But the scent of gasoline was too unbearable to continue on, as being in the middle of it would be suicide should a single spark go off. Either that, or death via suffocation. A voice began to sing a song in a delightful manner as someone was approaching down the hall that connected to this one. Reaching over and placing his hand over her mouth, he tugged the female and moved behind an indent in the wall that was big enough to hide them from sight.
"I~ don't want to set the world on fi-ire~! I just want to sta-art~ A flame in your heart~"
Marc eased out his breathing, hearing the voice get louder as it approached their previous position and stopped. Starting to calmly slip out of his jacket as quietly as he could without removing his backpack, he wrapped it over the female's head at the sound of a match being struck. It didn't light, two more strikes and suddenly the entire hallway burst into flames as Marc's instant reaction was to shield the female in the corner with his body even though the flames exploded next to them on the other side of the small indent. The voice ceased and turned into painful screams as the psychopathic man was burned alive until the screams subsided. Looking down at Angela, Marc began to speak in a calmed voice.
"Are you okay?"
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Post by NotAvailable on May 26, 2011 14:22:28 GMT -5
The sounds of crackling flames, burst of heat and hysterical laughter had meshed together into a haunting experience, forcing Angela to cringe and tremble as Marc had shielded her from the flames. The halls began to lit up rapidly and burn through the rooms where the decaying corpses were. The smell of burning bodies, it was just the cherry ontop of it all.
The unbearable heat made Angela sweat and heave when Marc asked her if she was alight. She'd coughed uncontrollably and looked out at the fires. "I-I'm fine, what do we do? The fire's spreading wildly!" she responded, warily.
The stretch of flames licked against the walls they hid between, eating the floral wall paper up like acid.
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Marc Firewing
Zombie Hunter
The Chicago Typewriter
Zombie Hunter Extraordinaire.
Posts: 227
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Post by Marc Firewing on May 26, 2011 14:40:28 GMT -5
"Have you ever seen movies where people run through the fire and barely make it out the back of the building before the entire place is up in flames? Yeah we're not doing that. Keep your mouth covered."
Marc was calm for the situation, having learned that freaking out would eventually lead to their demise. A cough came from his throat here and there as he looked around with teary eyes, pointing to the door beside them that said 'Employees only' and was locked with a simple lock. Kicking off the ground, Marc used his speed and followed it up with a harsh kick to the door to make it slam open and nearly break off its hinges. Moving back to her he grasped her free hand and began to tug her with him into the room. Looking about for the nearest window that would lead into the building next to the complex.
There were two windows, one close by and one farther off and down the room. Both of the windows were sealed shut by a key lock which meant only one option. Mustering up what little left of the strength he had, Marc picked up the nearby chair that was nestled under a desk and hurled it through the window and watched it shatter. He motioned for her to go first after he looked outside and made sure there were no infected.
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Post by NotAvailable on May 26, 2011 14:50:54 GMT -5
Angela shielded her face from the shattering glass as the chair flew through it. Marc helped her over the window, but in that time she'd managed to grasp onto the windowsill and cut the hell out the palm of her hand, grimacing, she leapt out and turned back to see if Marc was following suit.
The undead weren't anywhere near and she couldn't even hear any nearby. Still, she kept shifting glances side to side to nsure their safety. Black, thick smoke began to rise from the broken windows until the sounds of multiple, bursting windows could be heard wrapping all the way around the first floor of the apartments a flames came roaring out of them.
Grasping Marc's arm to help him out, they'd sucessfully escaped the complex and began jogging away from the site. When they were further down the road, she'd picked her palm up and glanced at it, seeing a nice shard of glass stuck vertically inside.
"Oh..." she sighed, sadly and in pain. She couldn't take it out right now without thick cloth to apply pressure to stop the bleeding, it was deep andpossibly needed stitching.
"Well..." she began. "I'm glad I can't play the piano or violin anymore. Can we...can we go to hospital?" she asked, pitifully.
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Marc Firewing
Zombie Hunter
The Chicago Typewriter
Zombie Hunter Extraordinaire.
Posts: 227
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Post by Marc Firewing on May 26, 2011 15:11:57 GMT -5
Upon climbing out, his coughs were heavy and hard while they began to move down the street. His face was covered in smoke as there was a sudden explosion from the apartment complex. Looking back at it, Marc saw the entire place starting to go up in flames. Exhaling a heavy sigh, he looked back to her to ask if she was okay before he saw the glass shard in her hand. Eyes slightly widened as he gently took hold of her wrist and fingers to examine it. If they removed the shard, she would lose blood way too fast, they would definitely need to get to the hospital for supplies. "Yeah...Yeah we can't do it out here, if we can just find some rubbing alcohol, some wire and a needle I can stitch this right up." He spoke as he pulled the handgun from its holster and began walking with her towards the hospital. His walking was slightly fast-paced so as to get there before she lost too much blood. Their destination was the hospital, and they were going to have to move quickly before the wound got infected. [-Marc and Angel are now moving to Saint Thomas' Hospital.-]
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Post by NotAvailable on Jun 6, 2011 0:08:58 GMT -5
[Angela and Marc are back on Main Street]
Angela wandered close behind Marc up the stairs. Reaching the second floor, it'd been completly clean of infected. It seemed like things were normal enough. Doors were closed, some were open but empty, the lights were still on too.
She'd continued to look along the halls with a short smile. "It looks pretty safe aside from the zeds downstairs," she mentioned. She didn't have any clothes to change into but maybe she'd find some in the other rooms. Even if it meant wearing men's clothes, it'd be dry and warm, wouldn't matter to her.
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Marc Firewing
Zombie Hunter
The Chicago Typewriter
Zombie Hunter Extraordinaire.
Posts: 227
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Post by Marc Firewing on Jun 6, 2011 3:31:54 GMT -5
"Yeah don't let it fool you. I'm sure they all just wandered out of the hotel or are hiding in the rooms waiting for unsuspecting survivors."
He began looking for the room number before sliding the card in and pulling it out as the door unlocked. He opened the door and allowed her to go in first as he closed the door behind them. Tossing the keycard onto the desk that had the TV on it. He pointed to the dressers nearby.
"Some clothes are in there, I went around and stole a bunch of them when I horded up in here during the 1998 outbreak. It's a mixture of everything so I'm sure you'll find something you can enjoy. Shower's through the door."
The room had been a Suite, it was large and was partially untouched save for the old bloodstains and other such things. The suite was larger than most rooms, and came prepared with a single large King bed as well as a couch. There were a few video game consoles there, some magazines as well as a long locked box hidden underneath the bed. The male began pulling the sewer drenched shirt off his body and sat on the bed, revealing the large jagged X-like scar on his back.
"God it's so good to be in a place I can just relax again..."
He started shifting through the dresser to find some new clothes for him as he blindly pointed towards the bathroom again.
"Oh yeah, and towels are in the closet in there I believe."
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Post by NotAvailable on Jun 6, 2011 18:10:26 GMT -5
Angela squinted her eyes in slight discomfort. It wasn't that she was assuming or even considering making any accusations but the last time she trusted someone in almost a predicament like this one, they'd ended up attacking her. She'd glanced at the man momentarily and shook her head, sighing as she dug through the spare clothes for something.
After a few moments peace she couldn't help but notice the massive scar but seeing as he didn't seem to wanna talk about his past much earlier, she didn't want to pressure him. Instead she grabbd a few articles of clothing and went into the shower.
"I'll be out as soon as possible, thank you," she told him politely before gently shutting the bathroom door closed.
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Marc Firewing
Zombie Hunter
The Chicago Typewriter
Zombie Hunter Extraordinaire.
Posts: 227
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Post by Marc Firewing on Jun 6, 2011 20:47:01 GMT -5
His right hand came to his left shoulder, rubbing into it after she went to take her shower. He felt the tip of the scar on his back and flinched somewhat. He leaned back somewhat as he exhaled softly, feeling his mind rewind in time back to that point before he reached over to a nearby drawer and pulled out a bottle of Jack. Opening it and downing a good portion of the bottle, feeling the alcohol burn down his throat as he tried to ease the pain.
Escaping. That's all it was, he didn't want to deal with it at the moment. Placing the bottle on the nightstand, he began to rub his face and eyes so that he could stay awake until after he had a decent shower. Removing the handgun holster and tossing it onto the bed, he was deaf and blind to the world around him at the moment as he tried to recollect himself. All he needed was a few hours of sleep, then he could protect himself and her as needed.
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Post by NotAvailable on Jun 9, 2011 0:23:50 GMT -5
Angela had taken a comforting, hot, shower. All the gunky muck from the sewage, wounds and passed few nights without a decent shower had been washed away throroughly. The young woman had wrapped a towel around her and stood infront of the mirror to get a good look at herself. She was covered in scars. Some were new and some were faded. Ever since the outbreak occurred months ago she'd been beat up by everyone and everything. Maybe it was time for a change.
Looking down at her hand, she'd sighed yet again. She'd have to disinfect it and give it a fresh gauze. Allowing some time to pass she'd took one last look at her face. She looked tired. Dark circlue ringing her eyes from lack of sleep and her skin was pale. White as a ghost. She'd lost weight, too much, where she was almost to the point of seeing her ribs. She'd have to find more food sometime soon.
About three minutes later, she'd dressed herself with her findings. A navy blue hoodie, black t-shirt and skinny jeans. Her old chucks would have to do for shows when she'd needed them again. Fully dressed, she'd tied her hoodie around her waist and emerged from the bathroom to see Marc was having a drink.
"I'm finished...sorry I took so long."
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Marc Firewing
Zombie Hunter
The Chicago Typewriter
Zombie Hunter Extraordinaire.
Posts: 227
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Post by Marc Firewing on Jun 12, 2011 1:37:16 GMT -5
((OOC; Sorry for the delayed response, it's hard to concentrate with that wall of 'Farts' spamming me in the face lol))
"...took so long."
Her voice echoed through his ears as he looked to her, nodding his head as to acknowledge it was alright. Slowly lifting himself, began walking to the bathroom with clothes in hand and nearly missing a step every now and then. Closing the door behind him, Marc stepped into the shower, beginning to soak within it. He took his soaking wet clothes off as the shower was running, sitting down in it as the alcohol coursed through his system.
He couldn't remember anymore, what it was that he was running from. The tears were mixed in with the water that poured over his face as his breathing was quiet, he refused to let his voice be heard over the running shower. The male exited the shower about half an hour later, getting dressed as he wore blue jeans with a black t-shirt. Marc walked out of the shower rubbing his face with the towel as he then began to dry off his hair.
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Post by NotAvailable on Jun 12, 2011 8:31:02 GMT -5
Angela watched Marc struggle to make it to the bathroom, before she could assist, he'd closed the door, successfully making it in. Angela frowned and sat on the chair nearby, next to a desk. She'd stared at the bathroom door, not being able to shake that exhausted, sad, look in Marc's eyes. It was pretty hard to miss.
Being as empathetic as she was, meant this would be a long night with awkward scenarios and sad spells. For the next five minutes, Angela continued to sit there, back facing the desk. She'd began to think more and more about her little brother. She didn't know where he was, who he was with, if he was even alive anymore. He was the only family she had left and she was on the verge of giving up, giving in.
Most people by now have already began to adapt to the outbreak...but she still hadn't. The only real reason she was still alive was because she continued to meet up with people who protected her.
Finally spinning in the chair to face the desk, she'd slouched over, folding her arms over the other and laying on the desk.
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Post by Rhinn on Aug 22, 2011 13:35:03 GMT -5
[Sarai enters Main Street from the Bakery]
Sarai swerved to miss several burned out chasis of what used to be cars on Main Street. She had a distinct feeling that she wanted to be out of the area before nightfall. But looking at the sun as it dipped lower in the sky and then at the path in front of her, it probably wasn’t going to happen. Not only would she be a target for the undead, but any raiders, maruaders or gangs in the area would also be targeting her.
Sighing, she pulled into a parking garage and began to make her way up to the top level. She knew that putting yourself up high would cut off certain escape routes, but it also provided her a platform to defend herself, if she needed to. Out on the streets, that is where the undead wandered and the vermin of this world preyed on the living. Up here, she would be out of their way and hopefully able to get a modest night’s sleep. Her Mercedes Benz was armored, so it would pretty much stop a .50 caliber shell and any zombie from getting in. The only thing that she had to worry about was running out of gas, and being turned over.
Up on the 10th level, she finally was able to get to the top. She parked herself agains the wall in the far corner, away from many of the prying eyes. She quickly turned off her car and the lights, watching the sun fall down below the horizon being replaced by night. It was a beautiful sunset… with most of humanity gone, the smog in the major cities had disipated. As it got darker, she could see up some of the nearby skyscrapers that several of the rooms were occupied, as flashlights shone about and in more than one case, a small fire was lit.
She was tempted to investigate one of the nearby areas, but she decided against it. You never knew who was up there… or what waited for you along the way. The hardest part about being a survivor of the apocalypse was the loneliness. She could go weeks without seeing another person. The times she did, they were usually after something… her car, supplies, food, or more “animalistic” needs. She had killed more than a handful of men who were on that search.
She reached in her bag and pulled out two more bagels, a tin of smoked samon, two bags of cheetos and two bottles of water. She had already made the sandwiches when she realized that Ruth, her former partner in the Mossad was not here. She cursed herself a bit and put the two bags of cheetos and one water back. Since the sandwiches were already made and not going to keep, she decided to eat them.
Surprised by how hungry she was, she down the first sandwich without really tasting it. With part of her appetite fed, she slowed down and enjoyed the last sandwich. The smoky fish was delicious and the water was clean.
Leaning her seat back, she was able to get a good view of the night sky and surrounding buildings. Off in the distance, she saw flashes of light that she knew was from a gun. There was no gunfire return, so Sarai knew it was probably someone defending themselves against the undead. It shut off and there was no more light from that window.
She tried not to think about it, willed herself to believe that it was a good person and that they were safe, but the reality of it was probably something totally different. Popping the last bit of sandwich in her mouth, she drank down the last of her water. Then she pulled a blanket over her and put her TAR in her lap. Her hand she rested on the stock, in quick reach. Her other hand rested on the holster of her Jericho, just in case. Then she watched a little longer and her eyelids became heavy. The night was silent except for the moans of the undead. Sarai grabbed her earplugs and put them in. That moan was worse than any type of interrogation she had ever endured and everyone had come across those people who were stocked and protected, but ended up taking their own lives because of the incessant moaning.
Then she drifted off to sleep.
:: EDIT 09/08/2011 ::
A beeping sound within the cab of her SUV woke Sarai up. At first, she barely opened her eyes, not giving anyone on the outside any sign that she was asleep... or dead. The beeping continued and then went off. Seconds later another beep sounded, informing her of a message left on her phone.
Damn it, she thought. She opened her eyes and looked around. Sunshine has just begun to filter through the buildings and reflected off their mirrored survaces. She estimated that it was probably 6 am or so. She reached for her TAR and then relaxed when she saw that there was nothing around her car.
Sarai sat up and stretched, feeling the popping in her joints and the tightness in her muscles. Her stomach grumbled again and she really need to go to the bathroom.
Fumbling for her phone, she hit the "1" button and call. The voice mail came up announcing one missed message.
She wasn't surprised that it still worked. It was a satellite phone that used a Mossad satellite to bounced the signals back and forth. For now, the satellite still worked, which meant the phone did too. She listened to the message.
"Agent Calev, we have information that the rest of the Hamas Cell was attacked by the undead a couple of nights ago. So far we have confirmed the death of 3 of the members. That leaves the cell leader alive. Sources indicated that he is heading to Raccoon City's Areosys Labs. We don't know what he wants there, but it is rumored to produce jet fuel and synthetics. We image he is going to use it as a bomb of sorts."
"Get to the Areosys Labs and stop him by any means necessary."
The message clicked off and Sarai hung up the phone. She had to get to Raccoon City and stop another of Satan's followers from destroying even more innocent life.
But first, she need to use the bathroom. Grabbing her TAR and a roll of toilet paper, she headed off to find a secluded corner behind the truck.
[Sarai is leaving Main Street, bound for Areosys Labs in Raccoon City]
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Post by Caliber on Aug 21, 2012 7:04:51 GMT -5
[Phoenix Galloway has entered Main Street]
Phoenix stepped out of the pouring rain and into the bakery. The sun had just begun to set for the night, and it had been raining for several hours, the downpour slowly growing worse by the minute. A bell above the door jingled as Phoenix let it shut behind her. The shop keeper immediately looked up from his chair and hopped to his feet, standing behind the front counter. Various types of bread lined the display case up front, each having a little toothpick sticking out with a little white flag attached, which listed the pricing. Phoenix gave a quick glance over everything, then approached the shop keeper.
"I'm here for my order," she said dully. Phoenix wasn't necessarily an unfriendly person toward strangers, but the rain had put her in a bad mood.
Phoenix slipped a piece of white paper to the shop keeper. He gave it a quick glance, nodded, then walked off to retrieve the bread.
Despite being dressed in plenty of clothing-- her "Sweeper" suit beneath a black trench coat-- Phoenix still didn't like being in the rain. She didn't have any type of hood, so her hair was soaked. Phoenix hated the feeling of having wet hair, although having it tied into a ponytail kept it out of the way.
The shopkeeper quickly returned with two loaves of fresh, unsliced bread, wrapped in pieces of white paper. "Here you go, ma'am," he side, giving her a smile.
Phoenix returned a subtle smile, though her mood certainly did not reflect it. She took both loaves of bread under her arms, then headed for the door. Taking a deep breath beforehand, Phoenix swung the door open and walked out into the cold, braving the rain once more. As she stepped outside, she immediately ran into a figure whom had been walking the same way she planned to. Phoenix lost her grip on the loaves of bread, and they both slipped out from beneath her arms. She desperately reached out, managing to catch one, though the other fell into the gutter, and was immediately drenched in muddy water.
"F*ck, sorry," Phoenix said reflexively, as it was obviously her fault for so quickly emerging from the bakery.
Phoenix looked down at her feet to notice that her suppressed HK MK23 had somehow come loose from her underarm holster, fallen out of her trenchcoat, and was now sitting on the sidewalk, getting wet. She quickly snatched it up, reached into her trench coat, and affixed it back into its holster. She glanced up at the woman whom she had ran into-- a redhead, dressed in B.S.A.A. attire.
"I take it you're headed the same way I am?" Phoenix asked, incredibly irritated, though feeling awkward and stupid for causing the situation.
Phoenix took a better grip on her one remaining loaf of bread, making sure not to drop it this time.
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