Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Grumpy, Oct 21, 2012.

  1. [size=+1]


    [size=+2]“It started as rioting. But right from the beginning you knew this was different. Because it was happening in small villages, market towns. And then it wasn't on the TV any more. It was in the street outside. It was coming in through your windows. It was a virus. An infection. You didn't need a doctor to tell you that. It was the blood. It was something in the blood. By the time they tried to evacuate the cities it was already too late. Army blockades were overrun.

    And that's when the exodus started.”

    - Selena, '28 Days Later'[/size]

    Something is spreading.

    Something in the blood.

    All it takes is a cut, a scratch, a bit of infected blood on an open wound. Then you are gone, lost to mindless fury and sadistic rage as you suddenly attempt to murder anyone and everyone around you. You’ll strangle your partner, murder your children, beat your best friend to death with your bare hands.

    Britain is being overrun.

    The numbers of the infected swell in the day since the infection began, seeping across the country at an unprecedented rate. The hastily-assembled blockades are being overrun. The violence is spreading to the cities.

    London will be next.

    And the only thing left to do will be to run or hide.

    These are the final days of Great Britain.​

    The Rules (open)
    • This RP is set in London, just over 24 hours after the Rage virus was released; keep this in mind with your characters
    • One character per person, please
    • Try and keep up with the direction the game is being taken in by the GM/don’t be a game-breaking fucktard
    • This is a gritty horror story about the death of civilisation and the struggle for survival, not a zombie shoot ‘em up; taking on the Infected is likely to get you killed
    • These aren’t slow, lurching zombies; these are fast, enraged freaks hell-bent on killing anyone who gets in their path
    • This is set in the UK, so anyone with a firearm of any kind better have a damn good reason for it, and anyone who’s somehow packing an assault rifle with reflex sights and enough ammunition to kill an army will be fed to the Infected
    • Have fun, help craft a cool story
    • The OOC can be found here; please keep any and all out of character chatter to that thread, and not this one
    • Like Like x 1
  2. [size=+4]DAY 2 - SPREAD[/size]​

    [size=+3]LONDON, 8:34PM

    I can hear their screeches in the distance as I sprint through the streets of Whitechapel.

    No person would make such a guttural roar. It’s a scream of rage, emitted by something that is no longer human.

    I’m running for my life down streets I was walking to work along just a day ago, my suit in tatters and a bloody claw-hammer clutched in my hand. Running for my life from things I don’t understand, enraged beasts with the faces of the men and women I worked alongside, moved past on my way around town, sat with on the subway.

    All around me is the din of the city dying; sirens and screams echoing over the sound of my heaving breath, the smell of smoke and blood in the air. As I haul myself around another corner I can see figures amidst the gloom; other panicking Londoners… or more of the infected. It’s too dark to see, and I can’t risk sticking around to find out.

    I need to get inside. Off the streets and out of sight.

    Away from them.

    Up ahead I spot a possible escape; an apartment block, it’s door still hanging open. My lungs are already burning from my race through the district, but I give what little I have left in a final dash towards the door. Staggering to a halt and grabbing the handle I swing myself around, chest heaving in air as I stare around the street desperately for signs of others trying to escape the streets of London town.

    And if I see any of them, I’m ready to slam the door and run for safety.[/size]

  3. Across the street, almost opposite the apartment block, a TV repair shop gleamed in white. Bloody handprints marred the window and behind it three sets were on, their pictures cutting out on footage of riot police at Regent's Park. And to one side, from a stairway to the cramped apartment above, a man was backtracking.

    Aaron took slow steps out of the shadow of the shopfront. In his hand a chair-leg was freshly ripped and freshly coated in blood and hair wisps. Blond hair like his own... so very like his own. Some of the spatters were on his face.

    He would not go back to his apartment. He would never go back.

    Puddle water soaked his shoes as he retreated into the road, unaware of his surroundings. Cars were skewed around him, having either crashed or been abandoned. It was as if he alone was backtracking through a wasteland. But this was wishful thinking, for even now bloodshot eyes were turning his way, and howls were ringing out.

    He would not last long.
  4. [size=+1]Those cries aren’t just echoing from the distance anymore.

    They’re getting closer. Too close for this street to be even remotely safe anymore.

    I grip the door and am about to swing it shut when I spot movement across the street; a figure staggering out of a cramped looking apartment next to a TV repair shop. For a second my heart seems to do it’s level best to burst out of my chest; it looks like one of the infected is even closer than I bargained on.

    But his movements are too ponderous, not nearly erratic and violent enough. Plus he clutches a piece of wood in his hands, a broken chair leg smeared with gore. They don’t use weapons, as far as I’m aware; they like the close kill, brutal and bloody and violent, screaming into their victim’s face as they rip chunks out of them or batter them to a pulp.

    This guy’s still one of us.

    And he’s going to get himself killed if he keeps standing in the middle of the street like that.

    “Mate!” I yell over to him, above the din of a dying city, “Mate, over here! You need to get off the street!” I’m taking a risk, exposing myself for even longer like this.

    But right now I could use someone who’s not trying to murder me horribly.[/size]
  5. I carefully made my way out of the attic, my heart was pounding inside my chest. The viral beast had gotten away, but not emptyhanded. My roomate, her last screams rang in my brain as the creature ripped her apart, I could hear shrieks of pain and guttural cries that were inhuman.

    Long moments passed before I decided to make my way out of it, I gripped a sword, a collectible that sat in the attic for what must have been forever. I made my way down slowly. It was then that I saw the smears and splatters of blood, and the mangled body of a girl I'd once known. I shot my eyes tightly, blocking the pain of it and allowing the revulsion in my stomach to settle. I blinked back the tears and waited for my breath to come more evenly.

    I looked at my reflection in the sword, my raven-black hair was in a mess and the magenta streak was frizzed. I looked around the destroyed room; broken glass, disheveled furniture, all marred with blood and gore.

    This wasn't supposed to happen, I was supposed to be on an uneventful trip to London, just to attend a seminar for my job. That plan was gone, but how was I supposed to return to America now? The streets and everybody in it were consumed in chaos.

    I made my way out, running down the streets maniacally wielding the weapon and wondering if it would be of any use. I screamed and stopped immediately, realizing there were two more. But seconds later I realized these were unaffected men. I gasped a sigh of relief "...are you two alright?" I called out.

  6. Aaron turned sharply, one hand wiping blood-flecks from his face, the other gripping the chair leg. He looked to the apartment block, where a manic-faced man was yelling, then further down the street where a sword-wielding American had appeared. A sensory triangle held between them, of mutual shock and confusion, with an undercurrent of primal, unconscious fear.

    They were the only ones - set apart from the bloodshot eyes and snarling lungs that had taken London. And from the same place that fear derived, so too came the instinct to herd, to join the group and establish what was truly happening here.

    Aaron snapped from his daze and motioned to the girl with his chair-leg, even as he weaved between the stranded cars. "Come on! Get inside!" He ran towards the apartment block, craving the darkness of the cave, the presence of the ally. And there was no denying that fear had erased his chivalry. He would not wait for her. He would not check if she was following.

    He was afraid.
  7. [size=+1]Another figure moves out into the street, dark-haired and clutching a sword of all things. I’m all too aware that a day ago this would have struck me as a bizarre sight… but today’s events have forced me to massively re-consider what I define as ‘unusual’. The man who staggered out of the apartment is now moving towards me, having caught on to the encroaching presence of the infected, but this lady hasn’t quite got with the game yet.

    “I’ll be a hell of a lot better once I’m off these fucking streets, love!” I shout across to her, “Now ain’t the time for a conversation; get over here before they spot us!”

    I’m cutting this far too fine already; I should have got inside the minute I found this building and locked the fucking door.

    Too late now, though. I’m hoping she catches on before they round the corner and see her.[/size]
  8. The cartridge was empty - to be fair, he had managed to land a fair few shots on the shambling mess of what would have once been human. With no other alternative, the firearm was thrown with all due force, but it had minimal effect - the air pistol merely bounced off of the savage's torso, serving only to agitate both parties further. The sole alternative he had available, that he deemed viable, was the bloodied cricket bat now clutched desperately in his hand. He hadn't particularly liked the sport, but he'd kept the equipment anyway - though, he expected to use it on unwelcome guests, as opposed to the abominations dragging themselves around the streets of the once-great city. He didn't have time to fight, though. Such a weapon was, relatively speaking, a heavy and clumsy thing. Therefore, it was not what he would have liked to use, but it was better than his bare hands, or a kitchen knife.

    Bloodstained black trainers pounded against the concrete, the laces slick with blood. Even the rolled-up bottoms of his jeans were flecked with the bodily fluid, though it was most prominent on the once-pristine shirt he wore to work. A typical day at the office had turned into something that resembled a horror film - though, he had been quite glald to smash a plant pot over George's head. He never did like him.
    Eventually, the mud-brown-haired individual found he could stop for some form of rest, and listened for any signs of life - or un-life, as a select few (read: he) had taken to calling it. His strained eyes lifted slightly, however, upon him hearing the cries of people - actual, living people.
    "I'm clean!" he called, figuring that his volume did not matter at this point in time, "No bites! Let me in!"
  9. I ran and pounded my feet against the concrete joining the two males and breathed deep heavy sighs, you could never fe feel totally safe at a time such as this but as soon as I took my place with them I gasped a sigh of relief. I realized my hands were shaking horribly but I clutched the antique weapon, I had no idea if the thing would be of any use or would stand against a monster such as these but what option did I have until I could obtain something more substantial

    I looked at the two men, "So, I guess this would this be a bad time for introductions, should we find safety now?"I know it was a stupid question to ask but at this point I'd rather ditch polite banter and save my ass before something kills me, I'm sure they felt the same way as well.

    Just then another person joined us, I heard his shouts and looked to see a man wielding a cricket bat
  10. I saw shadowy figures from the shattered window. "Alive or dead?" I wondered. I crawled out from behind the rubble, to see if they were survivors too. I clutched the sharp, silver kitchen knife harder just in case they weren't. As I began to stand up I saw they were alive. "Thank goodness!" I thought, "If only I had the nerves to speak to them." I bit my lip, seeing they were all far older than me, I being only 14. After a few seconds I picked up a rock from by my feet, and hurled it out the window frame towards them for attention. "What was that for?" I pondered, wishing i thought things through more. For example, it hadn't been a good idea to wear a fine dress on a day such as this. "Too late now," I thought, as a mucky ribbons fell onto my face.

  11. "Safety.."

    Aaron repeated the American's word... not as question or mockery... simply repeated it, as if the concept of safety had been first casualty of the outbreak, dashed against the wall like arterial spray. He had retreated to the far-side of the stairwell, against the wall in shadow, as if backtracking was all he could manage in his shock. The wooden chair leg hung limply in his hand, like a comfort blanket, forgotten but irremovable.

    "But the..." His words weren't connecting, his language as fragmented as his pulse, as fluid as his sweat. "The police will come down the streets. We should... keep to them... I...."

    Another man was at the panel window, a cricket bat in one hand, knocking with the other, and a smaller shape was behind him, unfurling from the rubble. A teenage girl. There were still people out there. But... the other things... the crazed ones. How could you tell them apart?

    "Don't open it," he said to the bearded man, who still hung by the door handle. "Don't open that door."
  12. I shot this guy a look "Believe it or not, the cops are just as screwed as we are, we're on our on people, this is doomsday come to life". I shocked myself speaking those words, had I really given up hope? It's not like it was the end quite yet, perhaps the whole situation wasn't as bad as it seemed, there must be cops or paramedics, there must be. But some other part of me felt that this wasn't a situation that could be easily be fixed by a few authorities, we were on our own.

    I looked at the younger girl and immediately felt softer, I had a sister that age and it must be horrible for someone so young to be in this situation. I looked around at the group; three men, me, and the little girl. It was a motley and random group but it would work, safety in numbers. If we had to face one viral monstrosity it would be an easier battle to win.
  13. I began to make my way towards the strange group of people, since i'd seemed to have caught their attention. Strange, how only a few hour ago i'd been skiving off school again, sleeping in a tree. Now I was in a world full of disease, terror, and actually talking to grown ups about important matters. The first two I actually knew all too well, yet the third was completely new. At least I had the knife i'd been carving in the tree with. At least I had some protection from who ever they may be- though i'm unsure if i'm talking of the living or dead.
  14. [size=+1]Howling like banshees, the first of the infected come charging around the corner. There’s half a street between us and them, but they’ll close that distance fast.

    “Shit!” My heart’s beating so hard I think it might burst out of my chest; reaching out the doorway I grab the man with the cricket-bat who’s come running towards us and all but throw him inside the apartment, ushering in the teenage girl who’s emerged from the rubble that dots the street and slamming the door shut behind me and throwing my full weight behind it. “They’re fucking coming!” I shout, “Someone get me something to block this door!”

    We’re in a wide stairwell, old stone and peeling wallpaper, the solitary light-bulb that illuminates the room flickering nervously. Several doors dot this level, leading to the various flats of this building, and a set of old stone steps leads upwards into the upper floors of the block.

    So here we are. Three blokes, an American and a teenage girl against a screaming herd of sick people with murder in their hearts.

    And over the din of the situation I can hear helicopter blades and a voice blasting out on a megaphone.

  15. "It'd be nice to know where exactly those security check points are," I thought, but staying silent. Instead studied each member of the group intently, trying to work out who I could trust, and who i couldn't. I then remember one of the men suggesting we block the door. I look around in search of something to use as a barricade against the infected.
  16. He had all but resigned to his fate, upon not being allowed into the building - it was only natural. He did not blame them for their actions, but nor did he feel they were right. Nevertheless, he had turned against the door with his bat clutched in both hands, when he was hauled inside by the other man of the pair inside. Though surprised at this turn of events, he refrained from showing much in the way of surprise, instead opting to stand straight up as soon as he was able. Given the circumstances, they were probably going to be a while. And, unless some nutter had hidden a vast supply of military-grade weaponry somewhere, he didn''t quite see a viable way out in the foreseeable future.

    Disregarding this, he nodded a brief 'thanks' to the man who had pulled him inside, and set off to work on forming makeshift barricade. A plastic chair would not hold off a raging horde. He needed something bigger, something heavier. He thought furniture, but it was unlikely that he would be able to get it to the door in time - the room they were in seemed to be devoid of all but a light bulb, its flashes intermittent. Cricket bat readied, he opened one door with the tentativeness in the action clear, and peered slowly in. He gave the all-clear, but still proceeded with caution. Even if he didn't have a weapon depot's worth of conventional weaponry, he had at least been armed with knowledge. And rushing into a room willy-nilly was essentially you asking to die horribly.
  17. I began to see the panic in the others, and realized none of them seemed to have a clue what to do. I let out a large yawn. "Oh no, not now!" I panicked inside my head, "Now's not the time for another Narcolepsy attack!" I felt a wave of sleepiness begin to rush over me. "Must...resist..." I muttered, "Wait, was that loud?"
  18. I looked at the young girl beside me who appeared to be getting very sleepy. "No, Stay awake! Now is a very bad time to fall asleep" I shrieked in panic. I shook the girl lightly to keep her awake and then looked at the three guys. "Is everything under control? Is that even enough to hold them back?" My heart sank, this could be the definite end, depending on how many beasts were out right about now, we had little chance of living. Any place for safety was surely out of our reach.
  19. The girls were spiralling... into what he couldn't tell. They were both as weird as each other. With the bearded man still bracing the door that left only one expectation for Aaron. He broke from his trance, coming away from the stairwell wall, and rushed after the man with the cricket bat.

    And whatever efforts the man had been making to creep into the apartment were dashed as Aaron pushed straight in past him, moving to the centre of the overheated living room, looking around. The TV in here was still on, cutting in and out on night pictures of helicopters streaking over burning streets. Food was boiling over on the stove, the smell of burned carrots, and charred meat stinking up the oven. One of the windows was shattered - a human-sized breach. And there were posters on every wall: the Spice Girls and Michael Jackson. It was like stepping back in time.

    Aaron's gaze fell on the sofa in the middle of the room. A canapé couch with curving backrest: designed, traditionally, to hold three sitters. But this was a smaller version, hand-crafted for one. Unlike the classic “love-seat” sofas the frame of the canapé was elaborate, carved from cherry hardwood and a smooth maple section that supported the velvet upholstery. There were no other embellishments. The velvet was a single, unbroken sweep across the frame, like a blood torrent.

    Finally a use for his artistic knowledge...

    Aaron rushed to one side of the sofa, squatting, gripping under the frame, then looking at the other man. "Gimme a hand, mate!"
  20. As I saw the panic around me I decided it was one of the times I had to take the pills. I hated taking drugs. They are evil. But with the crazy new world around me, I reached into my pocket for the modafinil. I popped open the packet's corner, took out the pill, and quickly swallowed it. As the sleepiness faded away, it was soon replaced with regret. I'd sworn i'd never take those crazy drugs again. I hadn't even taken them earlier, when I thought I was hallucinating people infected with a horror movie like disease. Although, earlier, in my heart, I knew it felt different from a proper hallucination.

    As the smell of burnt food filled my nostrils, I ran over to the man calling for help to move the ornate, sofa type thing. He seemed to look at it in a weird endearing way. It could just be the drug making me mad though. Not hard when your running from a herd...or flock...or pack...or what ever of humans corrupt with this virus.

    For once I wasn't the one every one saw as the human corrupted by disease.