Zombie Terror!~ RP

"It is a truth universally accepted, that a zombie in possession of brains, must be in want of more brains."
- Anonymous

And so begins our humble tale. It's a tragedy, really. Our peaceful Earth has been invaded by a strange new virus that transforms all that it infects into bloodthirsty, mindless beasts, only wanting to transform more innocents into bloodthirsty, mindless beasts. But we call them zombies, for Pete's sake (he was eaten by them just a few minutes ago). Nobody knows where it came from, or why it came to be. All that we know, is that it's killing everyone. All hope seems lost: the virus has taken claim to over half the world's biomass in less than a decade, with only a quarter of the entire human population still remaining. Civilization has all but collapsed. The world's governments have crumbled. Society has shattered. The finest soldiers have fallen. Resistance seems all but futile... but for a small group of survivors, living means looking death square in the face: a face with cold, glazed eyes and a set of broken teeth just dying to bite into your flesh.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear diary...

There was the sound of pencil on paper in the corridors of the dimly light house. Inside, a small child scribbled furiously into a small, red book. His once pale face was filthy and sooty with dirt, and his normally messy hair was caked with dried mud. His hands were horrendously dirty as well, some dried blood splattered on his fingers.

How are you doing? I'm sorry, it's been a while since I've written to you. Do you remember me? It's John, he wrote. If anybody would have seen what he'd written in the previous pages, they might have considered him insane. That probably wasn't too far removed from the truth. 5 days, completely alone, sealed off in a locked house probably screwed his mind up a lot. Well, at least he had the comfort that he hadn't actually given his diary a name.

The zombies are still outside. I really want to go out there and show you what it's like, but it's too dangerous. As John placed the period to finish off his sentence, he closed the book, sending dust from the once vibrantly red book everywhere, and stood up. The room was almost completely dark, and utterly silent. That was good. He casually strode over to the window, which was all boarded up to prevent the zombies from getting inside. A little bit of light trickled out from some of the cracks: it was daytime. John yawned, feeling a bit tired. He'd lost track of the actual time a long time ago. Then, all of a sudden, he'd realized how hungry he was.

He walked over to the cupboard, and opened it. There was nothing inside but the wrappers of random crackers and cookies, and some crumbs. He darted his fingers inside, trying to gather them all up, and put whatever he could find into his mouth. He couldn't see anything, and he was sure he'd probably put something disgusting in there, but it was all he could do to stave his hunger. He repeated this process with the rest of the cupboards, the refrigerator, and every other crevice he'd thought he'd stored food. After checking every possible place, the terrible fact finally struck John. He'd completely run out of food. John knew that the day would come eventually, but he'd expected his dad to come home, or something, and take him out of this mess. Even his mom would suffice, despite how cruel she could be. He wanted to see their faces again, their warm, beaming smiles. Only after losing them, did he realize how much he really loved them. Even English homework would be better than this. He sniffled a little, but fought back the tears. His eyes were already red and puffy from a previous crying session.

John grabbed his pencil, and opened the dirty red book again.

Well, diary, it's time. I don't have anymore food left, so I'm going to have to go outside now. You're going to get your wish now. John smiled a little, with the thought that his little red book would be somewhat happy, despite having to go out there, where there were probably a million ravenous zombies. He shut the book and walked over to the lump lying in the corner, which happened to be a backpack. It was already fully prepared with all the stuff that was already in there, being a "Outdoor Survivor's Backpack." There was probably a ton of reserve food and water in there, and the mere thought of him made him extremely hungry. However, he knew better. After reading the manual about six times, he felt proud that knew that he had to walk for sometime first before he had to eat anything, even if he was crawling on the floor.

He grabbed the dusty, green pack onto his back, and slipped it on. There was the sound of metal clashing as the pots and bottles clinked into each other, as John struggled to cope with the weight. He thought about throwing the pack down, and giving up. It was just too heavy. Why did he need to lug this thing around?

But then, he saw his dad's disappointed face, turning away in shame. The vision filled him with energy, and, revitalized, he slung the emerald pack across his back. His hand reached for the lock.

Suddenly, there was a loud crashing noise, and before he knew what was going on, he was on his back, and the head of a groaning zombie protruded from the boards of the door. Broken wood was everywhere, and there was a lot of dust. The thing moaned horribly, its mouth snapping as it reached for his leg with one of its bloodied arms. John screamed, scrambling away just in time before the zombie's long, brittle fingernails scraped across the ceramic floor, grabbing at air. It let out a terrible, blood-curdling shriek, having been denied food.

John, panting heavily, produced his dad's pistol from its holster, aimed at the zombie's face, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

A deafening explosion erupted from the gun, followed by something warm splattering all over his arm and face. His eyes remained tightly shut for a few moments, before he forced them open. The zombie's head had opened up like a blossoming, crimson flower, the weak, feeble flesh having been torn open from the impact of the bullet. The zombie's dark red blood was all over him, its disgusting stench having found his nose. He hadn't tasted any of it, though, but a lot of it was awfully close to his mouth. His hand holding the gun was still shivering. Trembling, he wiped his face with his free arm, and after staring at the corpse for several minutes, he finally managed to get his tremulous body upright.

His bloodied hands closed in on the knob, and turned, opening the door. Light poured in, and his feet reluctantly pushed him outside, unknowing, and unaware of the people he'd meet, the places he'd see, and the horrors he'd encounter.

The horrors of the apocalypse were a daily thing in Harry's eyes. "Out of the fire and into the thermite" he always says. For over two weeks, he spent his life, sleepless, fearful, waiting to hear the next moan so that he could run as far as he could. He left that terrible place as far as he could behind him, but upon his exit from the quarantine, he found more turmoil, fear, and bloodshed than he had ever encountered. He found an old house, killed the zombified owner, and holed up in his gilded cage for the next few days until the gunfire and screams slowly died out. this time, there was no escape. TV stations died out, radio stations went to static, and the final word spoken by a human were the words of a radio host screaming for god and his life.

"So it begins." He slowly opened the once fortified doors and found nothing. He counted his rifle rounds and handgun rounds. 360 rifle, 150 pistol. He grabbed three cans of food, four bottles of water and set out on the road. He walked closer and closer to the next city. It was there that he was most likely to find transport and ammo.

A groan was heard from behind him. It was a legless man, his entrails sagging behind his crawling body. a sudden, animal rage filled Harry's mind as he ran towards the crippled monster. With a forceful slam, he crushed the monster's skull with his work boots. It stopped groaning after a while and Harry walked away from the pool of blood and brain. It would be a three mile walk from there to the end of the city, and definitely zombies would be along the way.

An hour passed since he had curb-stomped the helpless cripple, and it was then that he was startled by a gunshot. He grabbed his stained ACR and looked around. It was different this time. There were no hordes of zombies around the streets of the Residential districts. "They must be by the city..." It had crossed his mind to check the origin of the gunshot, a house with a few broken boards covering its door. But alas, it was most likely the zombie that won. They usually do.

The door wrenched open and Harry took dead aim at the dark interior. Not a moan of a zombie, but a young boy came out, holding a smoking gun. '

"What in the sweet hell...?"

There were a lot of things he was expecting the moment he walked out of the open doorway. There could have been at least a thousand zombies shambling around. It could have been deserted, the random tumbleweed floating across the desolate landscape. But honestly, the last thing John would have expected was a fully-grown man pointing a gun directly at his face. Quickly, he found himself staring down the utter blackness of the thing's barrel, then at the man's gritty, tough face, and John's eyes grew wide in terror. His legs began to quiver, and before he knew it, he found his butt and back on the floor. The backpack slammed into the ground with a tremendous crash, the random pots and pans clinking as they bumped into each other. The pistol in his hand clattered as it bounced across the cement. His body wracked with fearful paroxysms as all he could do was stare at the gun pointed straight at him.

John sincerely thought he was going to die at that very moment, but then, something even more unexpected happened. The distant drone of a faraway vehicle found his ears, and he listened intently. There was definitely something else out there. The noise was coming to his right, so he turned his head that way, and sure enough, a little, bright, candy-apple red car zoomed down the driveway and skidded to a halt in a matter of seconds. The engine promptly shut down, and a young woman stepped out of the car. John quickly thought about shooting her. He remembered, though, with the force of a flying sledgehammer, that zombies couldn't drive cars.

"Hi!" the woman exclaimed, her face wide with a smile. She had a certain kind of happy, bubbly aura around her, which the man also seemed to notice.

"Uh-uh, h-hi...?!" John stuttered, still on the floor, He pulled himself up, and saw that the man wasn't pointing the gun at him anymore. He gave a silent sigh of relief. Then, there was a long, uncomfortable pause.

"...Y-you have a car, right?" John managed, shattering the awkward silence. "W-we could probably use that to get s-somewhere..." He took another quick glance at the tiny red car, then realized that that probably wasn't the best of ideas.

But going somewhere would have to wait. Just after he had finished speaking, the soul-shattering moan of a zombie pierced the stale air. John's heart skipped a beat.

They knew they were here.

The foot-falls were surprisingly loud and many for what had been safe tranquility, the rotting beasts had been undoubtedly roused by the ruckus. Pots clattering were one thing, but cars, oh car horns were glamorous dinner bells that heralded fresh meat for their gnashing teeth.

There were no more than a pair maybe, that dotted the distance, but more emerged, all of different stature but still madly scrambling for what they'd heard. Their glazed eyes failed to see anything specific, but they could smell still-living flesh. A warbling bark echoed alongside the rapidly growing group, the family that might have been originally camping there had probably had a dog- a large one of that, it explained the terrible smell that begged how the humans had ignored up to his point.

Leading the assault was a man jaggedly running in his well-worn jeans, the fishing jacket and squished hat indicated he was probably the father, flanking him was his dog of indiscernible breed, torn flesh flapping in the wind and from the force of its own run. The others were of varying heights, but were otherwise still straggling behind.

[For Reference: One Adult, One Child, Two Young Adults, One Dog]

"I'll tell you the rules later, but for now, HIT THEM IN THE HEAD!"

He brought up his rifle and breathed slowly. They were getting closer and faster. Which target was important, which was the easiest to dispatch, who was going to get hit first, all this ran through Harry's mind as he swapped between the sprinter and the dog. He found his target.

"Sorry Fido, gotta put you down!"

The dog's head bobbed back and forth to either avoid bullets or to indicate stupidity. So Harry oped fire on its central mass. The assault rifle rounds ripped through its already tender and rotting flesh, but the dog came closer and closer. It was then that Harry stopped firing and lifted his rifle to cover his face.

Instinctively, the dog jumped right for Harry's neck, but instead of the warm, bloody flesh it expected, it was cold, hard metal, followed by a smack to the pavement below. A hard and over-the-top strike to the skull was enough to dispatch the zombified canine, now it was just the matter of killing the rest of them.

"That was too close, we've gotta keep them at a distance!"

The dog was down with a spurt of blood and jolted whimper, its body giving a final twitch from where it was thrown.

The other male zombie was closing in, apparently deciding that the car was the best target. The rest of his group had also taken up to sprinting, the only one that was really lagging behind was the child that was letting out a terrible wailing sound.

[For Reference: One Adult, Two Young Adults, One Child, One Dog]

Zachary Franks stood among a pile of bodies holding a smoldering M16. He had tried to save them, he had. Zack was an army medic, but wasn't currently deployed. Instead he was in his home town staying with some relatives until he would be called back...

That never happened.

Instead, the H1V1 spread, infecting billions. He and many other surviving town members had fled to the high school gym and barricaded the doors. They had few weapons but Zack had managed to bring his M16 and pistol along with his medical supplies. Unknown to him, many people had already been bitten or scratched by zombies...

He had quarantined all the people who had been bitten but he didn't know scratches could infect. As the townspeople watched in horror as the quarantined turned, many others showed the same symptoms but hid them. The result was people who had turned in the middle of the night. The man who was supposed to keep watch had fallen asleep and it wasn't until after the zombies had all bent down to bite the others that anyone noticed.

Zack had gotten up and shot as many as he could as fast as he could but many had already been scratched or bitten, those who weren't were devoured. After the carnage, Zack was the final survivor and all the sound that could be heard was the moaning of the quarantined zombies.

As Zack stood at the opened barricade door, he felt as if he might as well just die. There was no one left, or there soon would not be. Then, Zack heard a gunshot and he had a realization. Zombies can't shoot guns. Zack quickly made his way over to the source of the shot.

As Zack arrived, he saw a man, a woman, and a child trying to fend off a group of zombies. The woman hesitated in killing a zombie-child. Zack tried to calm down his racing heart and steadied his grip on his M16. He ran moved toward the child from its flank and fired two rounds into its head. The he turned toward the remaining two zombies who were now much closer than he thought.

Zack uttered a profanity and dropped his gun, switching to his pistol. He shot the first one in the head and had to run away from the second one before it got too close.

"Hey Lady! I hope you don't hesitate to kill this zombie!" Zack yelled as he ran as away as fast as he could.

"Forget it! They're getting too close! Everyone, switch to close combat!"

Harry barked at the others as he brought out a pistol and his combat knife and aimed at the taller zombie in the fishing gear.

"GET READY!"

OOC: My intention is to test out the grab break dice roll. For this time, no grabs will hurt your character, you will just do a random action

Sword: Kill zombie that is grabbing you
Shield: Push zombie away
Staff: push zombie away and cripple it
Scroll: SCREAM FOR HELP

Try it out people! Also please decide whether to let Zandyne grab you or if you volunteer for it. Remeber, posts take priority, if you get grabbed, you can't kill it without rolling.

In the case after this, the Scroll will change with the staff and the scream for help option will be preplaced with get injured.

Use the nerd die. 7 means you get no damge and you kill it, 13 is you get bitten. Even, its a scratch, odd its a heavy scratch.

Cram wrote:

"Forget it! They're getting too close! Everyone, switch to close combat!"

Harry barked at the others as he brought out a pistol and his combat knife and aimed at the taller zombie in the fishing gear.

"GET READY!"

OOC: My intention is to test out the grab break dice roll. For this time, no grabs will hurt your character, you will just do a random action

Sword: Kill zombie that is grabbing you
Shield: Push zombie away
Staff: push zombie away and cripple it
Scroll: SCREAM FOR HELP

Try it out people! Also please decide whether to let Zandyne grab you or if you volunteer for it. Remeber, posts take priority, if you get grabbed, you can't kill it without rolling.

In the case after this, the Scroll will change with the staff and the scream for help option will be preplaced with get injured.

Use the nerd die. 7 means you get no damage and you kill it, 13 is you get bitten. Even, its a scratch, odd its a heavy scratch.

OOC: Approved!

John shuddered as the first two zombies were dispatched with ruthless efficiency. The dog's sudden death didn't traumatize him very much, but the sight of a man's head being ripped apart right before his eyes was truly shocking. Everything was happening so fast: he didn't know what to do. He found his legs shaking, then realized that his entire body was trembling out of control. Voices from those both dead and alive filled the air. Suddenly, however, John felt a cold hand clamp down on his shoulder. Eyes wide, he whipped his head around, only to find dead, bloodshot eyes boring into him. It was a zombie around his age, and around his height, but its face was so sickeningly distorted and warped, that John was utterly paralyzed. The child zombie, sensing his apprehension, seemed to grin as-

DICE ROLL!!!

.sickling. carried out 1 launched of one Action dice :

:

.sickling. carried out 1 launched of one Nerd Die :

:

OOC: I've noticed that the dice roll is random every time you edit the post, making it impossible to edit your post accordingly. This mechanism is going to require a BIT more planning than we expected.

EDIT: WHEN YOU PERFORM A DICE ROLL, PUT THE REST OF YOUR POST IN A SEPARATE POST. DO NOT EDIT THE POST WITH THE DICE ROLL, FOR THAT WILL ALTER THE DICE ROLL.

Also, the chance of getting injured, I believe, is a bit too high. I think that the number should determine if the character is hurt or not, because if the chance is too high then nobody will make it through this RP.

Here is what it could be:

The normal dice are not used in this RP.

Action Roll:
Sword: Kill zombie (You have a chance of getting injured, but the zombie is dead)
Shield: Fend off zombie (you have 0 chance of getting injured, but the zombie is still alive)
Staff: Repel zombie (You have 0 chance of getting injured, and the zombie is dead)
Scroll: Panic (You have a chance of getting injured, and the zombie is not dead)

Nerd Die Roll: (You only count the nerd die roll IF you roll a Scroll or Sword on the Action Die)
1-7: You take no damage.
8: You are bitten. (+4 to Infection)
9-15: You take no damage.
16: You are scratched (+2 to Infection)
17-20: You take no damage.

Infection is a value between 0-10. 0 is completely uninfected, while 10 is zombified. If you take damage, add Infection Points. When your Infection Points are 10 or above ten, you become a zombie and are removed from the RP. Always put your current Infection Points at the end of your posts! (Zandyne, of course, is an exception) As of now, everyone is at 0, and this battle is an exception. Nobody can gain Infection during this battle.

NOTE: THERE IS NO WAY TO REMOVE INFECTION POINTS.

Rolls:

Action: Scroll

Nerd: 7

(Panic, no damage)

-its face dove for his neck, eager for a bite of his jugular. John's somewhat trained reflexes, caught the zombie mid-lunge, stopping the infectious jaws before they could inflict any damage. Using the rest of his strength, he managed to force the dead child away from him, albeit with some difficulty. The zombie stumbled backward, slightly disoriented. John thrust his hand forward toward the zombie, aiming for its head, until he quickly realized that the gun was no longer in his hand. A freezing chill shot down his spine.

"H-HELLP!!"

INFECTION POINTS: 0

One bang. Two bangs. Three bullets aimed at John's predator from its left. First bullet shot it through the right arm. After a brief pause, two other bullets shot its jaw and its forehead.

If anyone dared looked, there was a teenager with an AK-47 trying to get used to the sights on his firearm. His gun was slightly steaming.

"This gun's terrible, recoiling at every shot. Well it doesn't matter, since I don't fire too often. I should look for a better weapon."

The teenager was wearing casual clothes with an airsoft vest. He looks ill-equipped just by having no armor, but an airsoft vest. Under that vest was a white shirt with long red sleeves. His black pants has only a few speckles of blood, meaning that he probably only fought one or few zombies throughout his travel. His headphones hang around his neck.

The teenager pulled up his gun again to aim at the adult zombie, "Steady..."

OOC: one zombie left, one adult and I like my action die actions better as the sword would be take no damage+kill it not the staff, plus, if you repel the zombie, would you take damage even if you killed it?

"Only one more! Let's go you bastard!"

OOC: DICE ROLL!!

The member 'Cram' has done the following action : Roll Dice

#1 'Action dice' :


--------------------------------

#2 'Nerd Die' :

Action Die: Staff
Nerd Die: 16

The zombie lunched forward with great ferocity at Harry and it gripped his warm, flesh. It opened its blood stained mouth, ready to clamp down on his juglar when suddenly, a fist plunged into its jaw, breaking it. The zombie stumbled backwards a little and looked up to focus on its meal. It was then that a large, army grade knife plunged into its skull. Its bloody mouth gurgled and bubbled in surprise. Harry pushed the zombie back even more and finally brought his fst back and drove it into the zombie's skull. It fell back with a heavy 'thud' and Harry bent down to withdraw his knife.


"So...Now that we're safe for the next, oh.. FIVE MINUTES, I need to ask you all some questions...

"Who are you all? Why would YOU honk a horn in a zombie infested world, who here is ex-military, and who here can carry their own weight?"

OOC:

ZOMBIE TERROR!

This is Zandyne's special zombie attack.

PREREQUISITES:

ALL NON-INFECTED MUST ROLL AT LEAST 1 SCROLL DURING A SINGLE BATTLE, therefore the entire group is in a state of total panic. When this occurs, zandyne may initiate a ZOMBIE TERROR ATTACK!

ZOMBIE TERROR ATTACK!

When zandyne initiates this all-out zombie attack, all remaining survivors must roll THREE NERD DIE. If the resulting total of all the rolls is GREATER THAN OR EQUAL TO FIFTY, that non-infected is INSTANTLY DEAD. (+10 Infection)

For example:

.sickling. carried out 3 launched of one Nerd Die :

, ,

OOC: continued...

The resultant dice roll is 49. Therefore, the survivor has narrowly escaped death.

NOTE: IF YOU DO ROLL UNDER FIFTY, THEN YOU TAKE NO DAMAGE, EVEN IF YOUR TOTAL ADDS UP TO 8 OR 16.

-ahem-

That is all. Sorry! No post from me, it's too late... D:

John winced as the zombie right in front of him was quickly reduced to a steaming pile of flesh and gore. Blood issued generously from the still-twitching corpse, the zombie still letting out that horrible moan. He couldn't help but feel but the tiniest bit of pity for the helpless creature... even though it probably would have ripped his throat out moments ago. John grabbed his father's gun and placed the barrel to the twitching zombie's head. Then he pulled the trigger.

The recoil from the gun whiplashed across his arm as the gunshot exploded from the weapon; the zombie ceased to move any longer, its head and its contents splayed across the sidewalk like a spilled bucket of crimson paint. The gun dropped from his hand, and his legs quickly followed. He was a lot more exhausted than he thought, and to think that he could just march on out into the outside world and find his parents... John only now realized how foolish he was. They could be anywhere, miles away, trying to escape from these monsters. He didn't care about his "mission" anymore, and he certainly couldn't care less about the tall man barking at the rest of them.

"Who are you all?!?" the man roared. John was suddenly reminded of his mom in a bad mood.

"Why would YOU honk a horn in a zombie infested world," The man pointed accusingly at the owner of the little red car, a young, blonde woman. She replied with a look that could kill.

"Who here is ex-military, and who here can carry their own weight!??" he continued, clearly raving. At this point, John had taken enough. His fingers closed in on the gun's warm metal.

BANG.

A small crater exploded dangerously close to the man's feet. The barrel smoking, John let the gun fall to his side.

"Don't talk like that to me!" John yelled, glaring at the man.

"You probably just think I'm some little kid, BUT YOU'RE WRONG!" John raised his voice to the point that he was practically screaming. He squeezed the trigger once more, and there was another deafening explosion. Another bullet landed fatally close to the man's other foot.

"Y-You don't order me around like that! I-I can carry my own weight! I'm out here looking for my p-parents!" his voice began to falter, as he felt something bulge tightly in his throat. His eyes started to burn.

"I... I..." At that point, he couldn't stop the tears from issuing forth. His trembling body thumped into the concrete as it seemed like his innards were spilling out.

"Not even close" Harry chuckled darkly as he pulled a cigarette from the box in his shirt pocket. He placed it into his mouth with purpose and talked a tad softer than before.

"I'm far from ex-military, but I am a veteran in the sense of fighting these things..." He flicked open the lighter and lit the white paper covered tobacco and took a long drag from it. He held the smoke in his chest before expelling it carefully. "It was not even more than weeks ago when I escaped from that hellhole that was once my city..."

I woke up in a morgue, presumed dead and the first thing I saw were the bodies of the morticians, chewed to a pulp and lying around me. I spent my first day, looking around, dodgin zombies, and finding clothes other than that very drafty hospital gown. As the days went on, more and more of the townsfolk became zombies, and within ten days, all of them had turned. I only met two other people, Jim and Sarah. She...died in my arms...not moments later, I had to put a bullet between her eyes. I spent the next three days, wandereing around the abandoned military base, scouring the area for the keys to the quarantine, only to find a "kill switch" option had been activated. I rushed back to the Industrial District where my good friend Jim was. I came moments after a horrific massacre created by Jim and his gunfire. He had been betten and he hated to know that he would become one of them. He pleaded with me to end his misery, but I coudn't do it. He snatched the M9 from me and brought it up to his temple, he said "Don't let them eat me" and he pulled the trigger. His final gift was a pound of C4 and a detonation device, hastily crafted out of a used cellphone. That C4 blew a hole in the steel barricade around the city. And it was that hole that I saw the chaos of the world outside. The infection had already spread and it was then that I knew it was over.

The cig had only been half used when Harry finally removed it from his mouth. He pointed to the kid. "Its why I asked you all those questions. I need to know who to kill first, and kill later." He chuckled once again. "You all may not realize this, but you-no, WE'RE all going to die. Its a matter of how and when." He placed the cig back in his mouth and calmly stated in a cold monotone, "The world you know of is gone, there is no safe house, there is no rescue vehicle, the military has not left weapons for us, its over."

He slowly started off towards the Industrial district, he then stopped and turned around. He said coldly "That kid will kill you all, maybe when he's a zombie, maybe when hes human, who knows, all I know is that I won't be around..." He gave the three of the the bird as he walked off briskly. "GOOD LUCK!"

Spoiler:

I don't wha...? What TP?

The teenager scratched his head, "Woah woah woah, hold up!" He tried getting Harry's attention. After about ten yelling words going "Hey!", he thought it would be best to create a misfire right at Harry and Kerri's foot right after the kick. Just one bullet tap to somewhere near them could leave the teenager a bad impression, but he had to get the two their attention. "Back up, Cigar Man! This adult next to you," he was referring to Kerri, "is right. First, I have to agree that the small boy," he pointed at John, "is very easily frightened. Who isn't when they faced their first apocalyptic invasion? You can't tell me you haven't panicked once! You might have gotten used to it, but the rest of us can't exactly get used to the world around us, not yet at least. Second, flipping us off just because we fear the world? Not exactly a reasonable way to insult us. Third, if you leave, you will die alone. I'm not kidding.

"One time, my friends and I were holding up somewhere 34 blocks away just three days ago. We all stood with each other to the end. I ended up branching off from the group for food. Just when another invasion strikes at me, I panicked. I was so loud my friends came running to my rescue. That's when I learned to smart up and stay with someone that can save you.

"...But... those two are dead. Just yesterday." Hell, his hand was still shaking his AK-47. The teen just shook his head as he remembered that he's with a new group. "Oh, just to let you know, I'm Dale. I'm going to join you guys... if... that's alright... you... know..." His last sentence already shows that he's not a confident guy.

Spoiler:

OOC:I'm just following my character's behavior, his belief is that the smaller a group is, the better it can survive. YOUR JOB is the convince him otherwise. Also, the Italicized text was the cue for everyone to LISTEN TO HIS STORY. It justifies his behavior. Notice how everyone he met died horrifically? Also, once this is resolved, all posts regarding this will be "BALEETED"

Also, he wasn't yelling! His main purpose is self-preservation, so he wouldn't be yelling in a zombie infested area. I had PERIODS, not EXCLAMATION POINTS so...yeah.... WTF everyone?

"Hmph." Harry bent down to pick up his grounded cig. He looked at it once and grimaced at its blood and dirt covered body. "I..." Harry though about it. How WOULD he defend himself against a horde? He couldn't just run again. There was no military base in the city. There was no truck to take him to safety. As much as he hated to admit it, he hadn't gotten much sleep and only now he noticed his fatigue.

"Wait..." He stiffened up and finally swallowed his pride. "You're right. I can't defend myself against a large horde, but I won't stay with a loudmouthed bitch and a wailing baby." He bit his lip. Maybe that would've gone smoother if he wasn't so pissed about the slap across the face.

"What I mean is..." He cooled down and said steadily, "You need to learn how to shut up. Both of you." He rubbed his neck nervously. "After we rest, I'll show you my plan. Just...Please... let me get some rest..."

Dale watched Harry trying to grab some rest. It was obvious that he's seen worse. Of course, he wanted to get to know his new teammates. "So yeah... Is it okay if I get to know you all? I just got here myself." He looked around to the group in a hope for a response.

OOC: Sorr y about not postin but ive been busy with school/robo/my mom hogging the computer all day

Zach just stood off to the side and watched the seen unfold. 4 rounds fired. 2 from a pistol. 2 from an AK. 4 different soundwaves echoing off all the abandoned houses and cars. 4 soundwaves each with a high chance of attracting more zombies. Zack was about average when it came to confidence but he took a deep breath and tried to sound serious.

Zach stepped forward. "It seems I'm the only ex-military here. My name is Zachary Franks but call me Zack. I was an army medic and have weapons training. I was holed up in a building around here with some survivors before they all...well...turned. I have some knowledge about how zombies act and how people turn. It seems that even scratches can lead to infection. Most people just considered the scratches to be scratches which caused people to turn while our guard was down. As you can tell, I'm the only one left from the place I was hiding in."

"Now. Since you guys have all agreed to stop yelling till we get somewhere safe, we should get somewhere safe. There is a high chance that the gunshots and even talking have echoed and some zombies may already be coming."

Zack went over to his dropped M16 and held it with the muzzle pointing toward the floor. "I personally don't think we should go toward the main city. More people means more zombies. I doubt even our military could stop the spread of zombies without bombing the place and even then there is a small chance."

A cold sweat ran down Zack's armpits and he tried to stop shaking. "If we hope to survive as long as possible, we will need to stay away from the zombies and close to each other..."

Spoiler:

"Uhg, finally, someone who is useful." However, Harry was slightly perturbed. "What did you say?" He remembered how Zack said that minor scratches can become infectious. He looked cautiosly at his old scars from the tragedy in that hellhole. "You might be wrong about that..." He lifted his arm and rolled his jacket sleeves up to his shoulders. His arms were littered with gauze and minor scratches. "If you were right, then I would be eating you right now..."

He pulled his sleeves down again. "I think only if the wound lis large enough will it become infected, and when that happens, we just gotta use antiseptic and gauze. That's what happened with me.."

He rubbed his neck nervously and finally choked out, "We need to get inside ASAP"

OOC: Zandyne said taht only MAJOR SCRATCHES COUNT. (i.e. a scratch like where you're bleeding pretty badly or like a cut really) scratches from nails do not count AND the scratches can be treated with antiseptic and gauze OR antiseptic and a cauterization method. (Gun barrel, Lighter)

The woman's warm, soft hand continued to make its way across John's back, comforting him. It was a while before the tears stopped rushing forth like a broken dam, spilling out all over his face and onto the ground. Out of all the things he wanted, he just wanted to be with his dad. That was all he simply wanted, but deep inside, he knew that it was far from possible. With that thought in mind, John sniffed as he messily wiped his nose with the back of his hand, blew into a tissue, and pulled himself to his quaking feet. His eyes were still wet, and horribly puffy. It felt like he had cried himself dry.

"T-thanks..." he murmured, trying to put whatever gratitude he had left into his words.

There didn't seem to be any zombies left in the place, or any of them coming anytime soon as John noticed by the not-so-subtle lack of moaning, gunfire, distinct putrid odor, and the sight of blood flying everywhere. The rest of the group happened to be talking about something, so he decided to join them.

"-hope to survive as long as possible, we will need to stay away from the zombies and close to each other..." it was a new unfamiliar voice. John whipped his head around to find another tall man, around the age of the blonde girl. He too, like the others, appeared to have experienced the zombie terror knee deep, as John noticed by the copious amounts of bloodstains on his skin, clothes, and hair.

""Uhg, finally, someone who is useful..." John recognized that voice immediately. The gruff, older man started to talk about something about "eating you all" and if someone was "wrong", and John was utterly confused. What he did happen to catch, however, were words about "infection" and "only if the wound is big enough".

"So," he thought, "little scratches won't turn me into one of those... things..." The thought of a huge, rotting face, materialized inside his head, and John frightfully pushed it aside. That was definitely the last thing he wanted to happen to him.

"We need to get inside ASAP," the man spoke again. John decided to butt in at that moment.

"I-If you're looking for a place to stay," he started, "we could stay in my house," John motioned towards the lump of wood and metal that looked vaguely at a house.

"W-we don't have any food, but-"he turned around for a look as well, and suddenly thought about how he could have called that a home.

"...o-or not." John stuttered. He quickly turned around, his face red with embarrassment. He wasn't used to talking to big people. "But my mom owns an apartment somewhere not too far..."

"An apartment?" Dale wondered. "Then could you lead us to your apartment? Maybe we can think of a way to get out of this city. If possible, we can try to contact someone online and send an S.O.S." He looked at the rest of the group, mostly at Harry. "Get inside? I think it's best if we relocated to something that has a phone and a computer. Maybe we can signal something from John's apartment rooftop, though signaling can be extremely dangerous."

"That won't work," he said to Kerri, "I doubt that there will be people supporting wireless since there are barely anyone controlling the wireless in this area. You can try, but I believe that a hooked up computer would establish a better way to call for help. So we can only use your car as long as we only have one weapon? Can't say I call shotgun or have anything to put in the truck. Thing is, I don't have a backpack. I'm fine with holding my own. In fact, I'm good with cramming myself in a tight room." He took his thoughts next, "We might face trouble at a gas station, assuming there are no stupid people that blew it up somehow. I ran into a few destroyed gas stations... maybe. Or was that my hometown?"

"Yes, but a gas station will be a coin flip situation." Harry stopped himself. Perhaps he needed to explain. "Well, what I mean is, it could be very dangerous, or be one of the safest places so far." He rubbed his chin, "Was it three no- two... Two weeks after the infection started, the hospitals were freakin' deadly, zombies everywhere, no weapons, food or medical supplies. It was a death trap." Harry shuddered slightly at the thought of them even going near a hospital. The gas station might have a few zombies, but its the problem with the cars was large and needed to be immediately adressed.

"How much gas can your car carry?" Harry turned to the woman's car and looked at it awkwardly. "Quite a small car actually, are you sure you can pancake the zombies with it?"

"Also lady, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that knowing how to
cut an appendix out, isn't gonna help with zombies trying to rip your
flesh apart. Besides, if you were a diagnostician, you would be more useful as you could identify drugs and help with medical administration. But, your skills may come in handy if any of us get cut or cancer."

It was then that something clicked in Harry's mind. As if, he knew what someone was going to say before they said it. As fleeting as it was, he still felt the need to rudely blurt out "My name is Harry dammit...."

In the backgroud, people heard a vioce. "FINALLY! SOMEONE INTRODUCED TO ME!" Dale coughed a little bit. "Harry's probably onto something. Maybe Kerri could heal our wounds, but that does not mean she can cure us from these crazy sonava... I mean, I always hide behind my friends. I should have died back there yesterday, but..." Dale stopped himself. Looks like he rather keep his friendly incident to himself.

Drag3ndz wrote:

Dale watched Henry trying to grab some rest. It was obvious that he's seen worse. Of course, he wanted to get to know his new teammates. "So yeah... Is it okay if I get to know you all? I just got here myself." He looked around to the group in a hope for a response.

John looked at the little, candy-apple red car. After Harry mentioned it, he realized that it was indeed really small. He wondered, secretly, if everyone could fit in that little machine. But, really, what he should have been wondering is how effectively a car would be able to transport anything. In the new world, the streets and highways were most likely clogged and congested with abandoned cars, easily rendering all vehicle travel useless. But alas, John was too young and naive to think of such things. He only knew that cars were a quicker form of travel.

He also wasn't used to talking to strangers, as his parents constantly advised him not to. But things had changed now. He'd have to change too, starting with conquering his fear of taller people. He knew that he'd have to get to know these people quite closely, as they might as well be his next family. He felt a little tinge in the back of spine at the thought of that.

"M-my name's John," he said, reluctantly holding out a trembling hand.

Dale took John's hand and shook, "Hi, nice to meet you." From Kerri's response, he pulled out his phone. "See this? This thing has not been getting reception since the apocolypse happened. I still think we should hold up in a place with a stable connection." He walks towards the car. "Well people, I say that we drive to the nearest gas station, hoping the worst is not the one we see as is." He headed towards the trunk and put in any of his accessories in there. He then went to the left of the car and opened the door. He went inside and buckled his seat belt. "What are ya waiting for? Enter the safe house- er, car!"

OOC: Oh come on! How do we know if 1 = battle? And just how often are you going to keep rolling that die?

Drag3ndz wrote:

OOC: Oh come on! How do we know if 1 = battle? And just how often are you going to keep rolling that die?

OOC: Oh, I added it in the Discussion Thread. 1, 10, or 20 results in a battle.

OOC: Oh... I'm guessing that it will take place in the car. Ya know what that means? CHASE SCENE, right?