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Post by JazzBuddah on Nov 19, 2008 8:47:42 GMT -5
This is the largest bottling company owned by the pepsi-cola company. This building consists of three stories. The ground floor is where the bottling plant is. The seconnd story is the board room meeting areas and finally the top level houses the CEO’s and the mover and shakers of the company. What makes this building unique is that it is built right next to the railroad tracks. Many survivors have taken shelter here where they live on pepsi waiting for trains to pull in and take them out of the city.
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Fox
Alive
Posts: 12
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Post by Fox on Nov 2, 2012 11:23:16 GMT -5
It was funny, perhaps, watching the dog. Pepsi was no proper liquid for a canine to drink, but with no fresh water about for weeks, and the outdoors unsafe for now, Avira was not up for anything different. She made sure it was diet, to help, though it still made her want to giggle as she smiled, watching the massive, white, beast-like dog lap the precious, dark amber drops from the bottle as she tipped it his way. He was very eager, and very thirsty, so she was more than happy to oblige. As mere thanks for all the work he'd done for her, keeping her alive, listening to what must now be her very annoying voice day in and day out for months since they'd been in Chicago, fighting for their lives for meager supplies and food. Still, he defended her, and with the antigen injected into his system, his no longer at risk from catching the T-Virus, his immune system a well-oiled machine.
Avira laughed as the dog seemed to burp, a strange, guttural noise erupting, short and abrupt from his throat as he blinked. Not surprisingly, he immediately went back to drink the soda afterward. The young woman took a sip from her own soda, enjoying the crisp taste from the luke-warm liquid, ignoring the fact that her taste buds would rather have a cold one. Still, she enjoyed the bread on her knee, and when she finally found Raiden's bottle was empty, she tossed it over her shoulder from the chair she sat in, finding comfort in an executive room she'd found vacant, and tore into the grainy fluff. It wasn't white, but more blackish, but it was the best thing she'd had in weeks.
Someone had actually willingly gave her a piece when she'd given them a bag of wheat she had no use for, and they'd made some bread with it. She was more than grateful, and offered to pay for it somehow, but the woman who gave it to her turned her down and wished her luck, happy to see someone else had made it this far in the hell they now called home.
Avira tore into the bread, devouring it quickly, her hunger too great to ignore. She hadn't eaten properly in days, and with no food to line her stomach, it made for a very unhappy woman. She even found herself licking her fingers after she rubbed the crumbs off her face. Oh, it was delicious. She wished she had more, but she knew she was to be grateful for what she'd managed to get.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Nov 2, 2012 12:21:59 GMT -5
Visualisation of evacuation could not be personified better than the sight of the factory. Picturing the emergency shut off switch being hit turning off all the lights and machinery at once after a call out that zombies were infesting the local area. It was eerie. Bottles still lined the conveyers, sat in stacked crates, piled up on the floor after some container finally buckled after rusting. Here and there the anomalies of post-outbreak could be seen; pools of blood, handprints, makeshift sleeping arrangement. Ghostly and unapologetic in its appearance; anyone who dared set foot inside made clear that they were automatically unwelcome.
She considered opening a bottle for herself. Even though Alex never approved of Pepsi's dastardly taste, anything to fool her buds was acceptable at this point. The girl deterred any thoughts of wetting her tongue with the bronze liquid; it was all most definitely flat by now, and it would probably only lead to a bad case of dehydration. She 'tsked', her own canteen was at her hip and remained half full; survival was paramount, no room for luxuries.
It had lead to more peaceful thoughts, something to take the stress off her shoulders. Alex still kept a hand to her sidearm, almost straddling the grip with the webbing between her index finger and thumb. A habit that had grown on her, just like anyone elses creature comfort. Eventually she came to the conclusion that nothing else populated the factory; no sounds were made, no groaning. Her guard lowered in favor of a more brisk pace to her walk. There was probably a lunch room somewhere in the building with some food still in code.
Granted, she was not out of supplies. It would only be necessary for the trip out of the city and onto the next. Necessities came high in demand when trekking further out into the suburbs or country; it was entirely possible she would run out of food before reaching Iowa's border. Anything easy to ration or came heavy in protein would be reasonable. Still, a chopper lift would be the most desired method of escape over anything else. Unfortunately for Alex she had run her resources dry. Any favors she had were gone, once more in a rut and up to her to figure it out. No big deal.
Power was out stripping the elevator of its uses. The cautious girl was not too interested in opening the pair of chrome doors to a zombie cespool anyway. Further study of the 80's reception area revealed the stairwell entrance, a giant oak door with big red words bolted onto it reading 'Do not obstruct'. The scavenger pushed it open with a meek hand revealing what could have been a doorway into the abyss, darkness, pitchblack made navigating the well troublesome even with an LED flashlight. Alex checked her corners and ceilings taking every measure to avoid a sticky situation, then began to ascend.
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Fox
Alive
Posts: 12
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Post by Fox on Nov 2, 2012 12:52:09 GMT -5
Her hand massaged the top of the dog's head, greasy white fur desperately in need of a bath. Avira herself could go for a bath, in fact. It had been too long a time when electricity still existed and humans had homes with warm heat to go home to, dinners to fill up on once a long day of non-threatening jobs had been successfully completed. Of course, Avira had never grown up to that. Since her days as a young teen, she'd been tossed rudely out her own home and into a military camp where she was to be trained and disciplined as a cold-blooded killer. Warm dinners not included.
Avira couldn't say she envied the people who'd had luxurious lives, but the young woman never even had a chance to see what it was like to live their kind of day, and now it seemed all hope of such thing was gone for good and she was left to roam the face of this dreary earth, avoiding death at every step.
The undead crowded this city and was just a challenge to get into factory, old and abandoned, with very few survivors left inside. Those who remained usually kept to themselves, only coming out when something dire made itself apparent, and Avira found that was rather respectful, but could lead to a large amount of loneliness.
No, as deadly as it was, she would leave this place once she found herself revitalized as much as she could be, and stocked up on enough supplies to make it out of here. She held no vehicle, and with no car, the trip out the city was to be a long one.
It was then that the noise became apparent to her, the opening of the wide oak doors she'd come across before, and instinct took over. Yes, it could be another survivor, but odds were far and few in between, and Avira was to take no chances. The few remaining here didn't, nearly blowing her head off as she stalked up the stairs when the factory was first stumbled upon.
The young woman jumped out of her seat, her hand catching the bow beside it and grasping an arrow from the quiver laying against the old recurve bow. She knocked it immediately, watching the open door to her executive room, which unfortunately for her, faced the very stairs the steps came from. At least now she'd get an excellent shot.
Raiden growled low, not needing to receive command to know a danger was afoot. "Raiden, watch." The order was sent, and the canine obliged, well-packed muscle bunching up together as he lurched forward, eager to shoot out the door and tackle whatever lay at the bottom of the stairs, but not daring to disobey command. His growl grew louder, and Avira knew the being coming up the staircase was closing in.
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Post by Lunapocalypse on Nov 3, 2012 5:28:45 GMT -5
Wind was the only thing moving through the stairwell; the docile girl turning into a glacial freeze. Her flashlight switched off instantly when she heard the reverbing coyote drawl; its click had masked some of the growl to a point where she thought it had been imagined. What were a dog doing on the business floor of this building? The undead were a tempermental bunch, however their behavior was easy to deal with. When it came to members of a different species - more specifically the canine family - dealing with the threat was another tier of difficulty. For some reason animals did not become sluggish, drooling cadavers like them humans; something anyone could have wished for.
Remaining invisible was easy enough sitting in the darker than black shadows. Her ascent to the doorway had been slow and methodical taking more time than anticipated; Alex refused to peek her head out for a view. The "Cerberus" as infected dogs were referred to in the survivor circles reacted without reason. The smallest evidence of human life caused them to vault forward lest miss a meal; even the faintest whiff. The little PI had not washed in a while; if they were anywhere near they would have smelled her by now. Perhaps getting the upper hand on the hunters was an option.
Another rumble between grit teeth was heard in the air. It sound as if the beast was no more than two rooms away. Surely it would have locked onto her by now? It occurred to Alex that she was not dealing with an infected doberman. Pulling her Browning from its holster she checked that its suppressor was correctly thredded onto the muzzle. A swipe of the thumb turned the safety off. Quietly she removed a grenade from its pouch, slowly dragging the pin out and lifting to spoon off to ignite the primer. The PI counted down from one.
White expanded out from cylinder after it landed squarely in the centre of the corridor blinding anyone who watched it, the bang that followed equally deafening those in range. Alex covered one ear with her shoulder and the other with her offhand leaving her free hand to hold her pistol without losing dexterity. She squinted through the aftermath of the flashbangs disruption, moving in one direction after passing through the doorway, leaving the comfort of the stairwell. The shootist would gun down anyone that entered her vision and hope that anything else that existed in her blindspots had been aptly neutralised by the flashbang.
Nothing living was seen in during her assault. Alex pushed barrelled down an adjacent corridor and barged through a random door into office cubicles, wasting no time to find a place of respite and counting herself lucky no one was waiting for her on the other side.
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