Worse Fates

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Aria

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This takes place months after a disease causes a zombie apocalypse scenario. The zombies in this RP are semi-aggressive but don't wander around seeking out humans to kill like in some zombie stories. In this roleplay living humans tend to be more dangerous than the undead. Anyone can join
My character-
Name- Essa
Age- 18
Gender- Female
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2035- 6 months after the apocalypse-
Once these streets would have been bustling with life this time of night, groups of drunken men and women stumbling out of the bars and nightclubs that lined the street, people stepping into the road to stop taxis and clutching their jackets tight about them as the wind blew. The faint pounding of music playing inside many of the buildings, the laughter of the people crowding the streets and the screeching of car tires would have formed a pleasant sort of cacophony, filling the night sky.

Now there was nothing to be heard but the squeaking of a few rats and the thud of a young woman's steel toed boot as she made a halfhearted attempt at kicking down the side door of one of those previously crowded but now abandoned and run down clubs. She remembered how the glowing signs of the night clubs had been some of the last lights to go out when disease had taken over and turned most of the population into undead monsters, how people had continued to come to this part of the city even as others were trying to evacuate and millions were dying, many of those millions then coming back to a sick parody of life. The lights had finally gone out, though, and now most everyone was dead or undead. The young redheaded teen hadn't seen another living person in the past two months that she'd been hiding in a musty but safe- and free of dead bodies- basement nearby. She'd run out of food a week ago and was now tentatively venturing out into the world again, a knife tucked into the pocket of her jacket in case she encountered someone sick or dangerous.

A few months was all it had taken for all order to be lost in the world, many of the sick wandering around lost, even more of the healthy killing the sick. Some people would encounter someone else and hurt or kill them whether they knew the stranger was ill or not, either not wanting to take chances or harming and robbing people for the fun of it now that anyone that might have arrested them was dead. Groups of aggressive or scared survivors grew in power and the undead wandered the street, sometimes attacking; leaving whatever safe place you might have found was akin to a suicide mission now. But she needed supplies and so far hadn't encountered anyone, dead or not. With a firmer kick, the door to the club opened with a loud clang that made her wince, standing uncertainly in the entryway of a room too dark to see inside.
 
Name: Victor
Age: 23
Gender: Male
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Victor sat on the bar of the abandoned club with his night vision goggles, which he'd stolen from an armory two months ago. "Do you have any idea how rude that was? You don't kick down a man's door, even thought it wasn't really mine until recently. If you really wanted in you could have just knocked," he chuckled creepily. "What do you want?" he asked looking her way. Of course she couldn't see him so he simply watched her. He got down off of the bar and walked around silently so she couldn't pin-point where he was. "How are you? You good? Not a zombie obviously. You would've been dead by now if you were," he laughed insanely. He shot his pistol at the roof to see how scared this girl actually was. He'd hoped she was one of the tough ones. He was looking for a companion. "You ever seen the movie 'Footloose'? It's so great! Oh my gosh if I could just grab Kevin Bacon's head, chop it off, and hang that on a mantle I'd be satisfied for the rest of my life. That'd probably be pretty easy now, assuming that he's a brainless zombie." he laughed again, before shooting about 3 more blanks from his pistol, but this time aiming at her. He looked over her once and smiled. "You're stunning by the way. You're a classy girl aren't you. I love that about you. You and I are becoming quite close aren't we! Like two peas in a pod! So much chemistry between us baby!" he laughed again before walking up to her silently. He 3 feet in front of her and looked at her right in the face. "What's your name pretty girl?"
 
Stiffening at the sound of the man's voice, Essa tried to let her eyes adjust to the dark of the room without stepping inside, unwilling to be in a room with someone she couldn't see- especially when they could clearly see her. She reached into her pocket, gripping the handle of her knife and listening with growing confusion to the stranger babbling. It didn't take her long to realize he was insane or something, and she resisted the urge to step backward as she heard his voice carrying from a different direction than before; he was clearly moving as he talked, coming closer and she didn't say a word as she waited to see him before she bothered to respond. He didn't seem too bothered for an answer to any of his questions anyways. The sound of a gunshot caused her to jerk minutely and pull out her knife, now glaring in the direction of the man's voice. "What the f-" she began, prepared to shout at him and demand that he move to where she could see him, but was interrupted by his next mini rant, something nonsensical about Footloose. She hated that movie; of course the first person she'd seen in months would want to talk about it, she thought irritably.

The sound and brief explosive light of three more gunshots drew a shriek from Essa, her anger and unease growing. She'd caught a quick glimpse at the man, who seemed to be wearing goggles, and moments later he was right in front of her. "Are you nuts?!" She demanded, holding her knife between the two of them and scowling at him. Essa shook her head, glaring up at the man from her admittedly unimpressive height of 5'4", her annoyance and uneasiness causing her to rant at him even though he seemed unstable and upsetting him was probably the most foolish thing she could do. "Of course you are. You like 'Footloose.' What do you even think you're doing creeping around and firing blanks at people?"
 
Name: Heinrich
Age: 18
Gender: Male
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the word "Lucky" echoed though Heinrich's head as he left a nuclear power plant . he opens the door and the hinges squeak. Heinrich finches reading his baseball bat he had found from a dead survivor who had been hiding in the power station with him none of the other 4 had survived Heinrich felt guilty leaving them to die whilst fleeing in to the airlock to hide. the light of the sun shines in his eyes as he walks though the empty car park. Heinrich bumps in to a car and flinches waiting for the car alarm to go of but it never does. with a sigh of relief he carries on towards the city in hope of finding food .
 
"Am I nuts?...or am I just crazy in the head. Am I a little coo coo maybe? You ever heard of a little place called High Mountain asylum? Asylum for the most dangerous men in the world? It's held somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle? Remember that day on the news when the asylum supposedly 'blew up'?" he chuckled once more. "Well maybe that was caused by yours truly." He smiled. "So yeah maybe I am a little coo coo, but I prefer the technical term, insane. You never answered my question Sassy. What's your name?"
 
upon reaching the city Heinrich passed a club where he heard voices inside but no light. he stops and calls out from round the corner where he is hiding "hello anyone there ?"
 
Relaxing a small amount, Essa stared blankly at the man through his bizarre ranting, arching an eyebrow and sighing. "Fantastic. A a violent lunatic." She grumbled, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm Essa- it's nice to meet you. Well," She paused, shook her head, "not really. What's in there?" Peering past him, Essa tried to get a better glimpse of what was inside the dark room, the faint glow from outside only illuminating a small area by the open door. Glancing between the room and the man's goggles, presumably night vision goggles, she was contemplating asking for them long enough to search the room herself when a voice rang out from around the corner, her grip tightening on her knife again, body tensing as she looked towards the entrance to the alley they stood in, not responding to whoever had called out.
 
Name: Datcher
Gender: Male
Age: 31

Six months. Just half a year. Datcher had known too well how fast such a period of time could pass. In his line of work, a couple months would pass in the blink of an eye. What was six? Oh, but these months were different, now weren't they?
It finally happened. Humanity's reset button had finally been pushed. It was long over-due, in Datcher's eyes. He'd often been labled a Cynic by friends, peers, and family alike, but he just called it as he saw it.

No. Humanity earned this little change on their place in the Universe. But would Datcher just lay down, and wait for his own end to come? Hell no.
His family was gone. His friends were gone. The Country he'd pledged allegiance to, had fallen. But he hadn't. And he thanked his past for it every morning. He'd been roaming every since his Post had torn itself apart, quite litteraly in some ways. It'd been a great place. Plenty of Soldiers to defend it. Plenty, but not enough. Their enemy was not intelligent, organized, or armed.. But they were numorous, and persistant. Once the perimiter had been breached, it fell in hours. A shame.
But of course, Datcher had long left it. He and many others like him, all of which had gone their own ways. Datcher had drove as far as he could, and once his MRAP had run out of fuel, he gathered his gear, and everyhting he could cary, and left the rolling Fortress were it had gone idle.

It was better to move on foot anyway. But that was then. This was now.

Several blocks from the scarcely occupied, former Nightclub, a throng of undead had been lingering. Dozens of the reanimated corpses, all in various states of decay. Some missing limbs, others just patches of skin. Most of them had tattered clothing, be it from the cause of their demise, or what they'd been through after they'd had their Humanity ripped from them. Amongst their numbers, one particular form would stick out. The fellow was large, just breaking 6 feet, with a noteably encumbered body, though be it from fat, muscle, or otherwise, it'd be hard to say, because of the encompasing black trench coat he wore. His face, what little of it could be seen in the darkness, was pale, all of it's life having left some time ago. It was stiff, cool, and almost glossy to look at, almost oily-appearing beneath the clumps of torn flesh, and dried blood.

And then he heard it. A single pop. A gunshot, and close. They -all- heard it. The mob had been idle, just skittering around, without focus. The errant weapon discharge had caught their attention. 'Pop, pop, pop'. Three more reports. The group of undead grouped together now, some of them softly moaning out, as if questioning just what could be so foolish as to disrupt the evening's shroud of silence. They shuffled along the street, rounding the corner, and placing themselves just two blocks away now. They moved slow, but the bulky one amongst them moved slower, his limp, almost drag-like step clearly keeping his speed a low one. The mob pulled away, and he made no effort to match their pace, even if he could manage it. Amongst the volley of soft, almost mournful moans around him, he offered one of his own, low-pitched, long, and guteral. He then deviated away from the crowd, ambling his way into an alley, and moving further into it's dark, welcoming silence.

"Single turn half-way down Parkton-Avenue.. That puts me between Parkton and.. Hell, what was the other street?" Datcher thought to himself. He'd studied the city's map rigorously before entering it. "Always have a plan of action". That line of BS proved helpful after all. He could picture the mpa in his mind, but the streets, and labels, not so much. He'd planned on cutting through the city, stopping only when needed. The gunfire had thrown a wrench in his plan.
"Well so much for that." The bulky man sighed. With a slow look down the alley, and behind him from where he'd come. Nothing that he could see. The mask hindered his vision a bit, but his eyes had adapted to the dark long ago, and without any man-made light sources to revert his eyes, he could still see rather well.

Tugging off the bloodied, flesh and blood-adorned halloween mask(The donor was no longer in need of the contributions.), he cast it aside, adding the worn, stained trench coat with it. He had no need for either now. He continued down the alley, drawing his silenced M9 Beretta from his vest-integrated holster. The undead were easy to slip past, in small numbers. It was the mob he'd departed that worried him. He wasn't about to take part in their siege. As for the poor person, or person's that had lured them, well, Datcher didn't want much to do with them either.

Little did he know that Fate had other things in mind. The alley he'd turned into would span across a double-block, cutting behind various deserted clubs, stores, and offices. It's exit would place him directly beside the club, shrouded in darkness, and stopped no more than 10 feet behind the silloutte at the alley's end, and the street's beginning. He'd not make himself known. Not yet.
 
Heinrich turned as he heard more foot steps coming from the other direction. and then called out towards the club "anyone there? im not going to kill you im friendly, I came from the nuclear power plant there were other survivors but they died when a horde attacked us. Heinrich had a instinct that there was some one in the alleyway something had caught his eye after all and it wasn't the moon playing tricks on him.​
 
With a disbelieving snort Essa spoke up, raising her voice to be heard by whoever was wandering through the street in search of other people, unaware of the crowd of zombies that were also nearby and stumbling towards the sound of voices. "Yeah, sure. Come on over here; walk slowly and keep your hands at your sides or I'll shoot you." He didn't need to know that she didn't have a gun to shoot him with. She watched warily for the approaching stranger, remaining as close to the door as she could without actually stepping inside in case she needed to get away; just because some guy said he was friendly and went in search of other people didn't mean he was actually safe. He could be as nuts as the man standing beside her.
 
Heinrich did as the girl said and says "my name is Heinrich "
 
Datcher could see little of what he'd crept upon, but was able to hear rather well. A Female voice, sounding rather firm, healthy, and perhaps young. The mention of a gun provided mental footnote, giving him yet another thing to keep in mind. He'd had nothing to suggest that she might by lying, and the faux revelation made him think of something else. "What if she's the one that fired those rounds? That'd mean that whole damned mob is... Well, shit." The line of thought passed through his mind rather quickly, it's ultimate result being a sudden, compulsive need to GTFO.

But logic overode his instincts. From the horde's pace, and where he thought the club must be located, he'd guessed he had 10, perhaps 20 minutes. The undead were an easily distracted bunch, after all. For the time being, he had to figure out what he'd do about the group(?) infront of him. The single man had looked back, but showed no noteable reaction. Datcher didn't think he'd been spotted, so his sidearm was kept beside his crouched form. "Come on. Move already." He muttered, relying on the talking from within the building and the sound of night itself to mask his barely audible utterances. All he need was a window. a brief period of time, through which to egress the area.
 
Heinrich then says so what brings you here were you with another group of survivors escaping from a office or homes? he cautiously keeps an eye on the girl hoping that she wont do anything brash and sudden
 
Slowly a man approached, hands at his sides like she'd demanded. Essa didn't bother to hide her distrust as she looked him over with narrowed eyes, holding her knife angled at him like a threat. "I'm Essa." She offered as she met his gaze, eyebrow arched. "I wasn't with a group of survivors; I haven't seen anyone in a few months." This wasn't entirely true- she'd seen people, she just hadn't interacted with any of them, assessing them and deeming them all dangerous. When things had started getting bad, the young female had teamed up with several people only for them to become dangerous gang members, the group's dynamic too unstable for her comfort, and she'd been alone since. "You said you were at the nuclear power plant? How did you get out alive if everyone else died?"
 
Datcher had begun inching foreward now, slowly getting closer to the end of the alley. He didn't have the time to back-track by now, but he couldn't wait forever, either. With each half-step, the heel of his boot was slowly lowered onto the ground, gradually easing down until his toes were flat as well. "Heel-to-toe, heel-to-toe. No puddles, no paper, no rocks." He reminded himself mentally. It helped to stave off the anxiety he'd begun feeling.
The man infront of him seemed more and more focused on the Female occupant of the building, allowing Datcher to be so bold as to rise, now in a half-stand, an almost squat like stance, yet still upright, while his pistol was infront of him at the low-ready.

Roughly a block and a half away, the horde grew near, it's numbers just breaking 40 now. They'd long forgotten about the gunfire. They knew of only movement, and the moans of their undead bretheran. Lifeless, mostly brainless automatons, with little more than a short attention span, a horde mentality. By now, their compulsive cries into the night might be audible by the living near the club, should silence have a chance to fall over the area once more, in lieu of chatter.
 
Heinrich replies"i hid in a decontamination chamber " question feeling a lump in his throat and almost feeling sick with guilt
 
With a roll of her eyes, Essa shook her head at Heinrich, not failing to note the expression of guilt on his face but demanding more information anyways. "I'm gonna need to know more than that. When were you attacked? How did you manage to hide in the decontamination chamber and survive if no one else did? Tell me exactly what happened." Maybe she was being cruel interrogating him like this when the people he'd been with had all been killed by zombies, but she wasn't about to spend another moment with some stranger she didn't trust. "And what weapons do you have?" Maybe some good would come out of this encounter, she thought, if he had more appropriate weapons than her with her single, small knife.
She heard a distant groan, but it didn't sound too close, nor did she notice the rest of the noises the horde made as it wandered at a creeping rate towards the street they were on.
 
Survival demanded many things. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. Rules changes, barriers were moved, and exceptions were made. Datcher was never a man to hide from his problems. Even in his career. Granted, they didn't always see him before he did, them, but by no means was he hiding. But now? Stealth, and tact went hand in hand, often turning into what Datcher once despised: Scurrying for cover, and hiding. It often became mandatory. He'd already had to do it more times than he'd liked. So when the man ahead made his confession, Datcher could bear no judgement onto him. Shit happened, and happened plenty, these days.
The Woman's echoed voice was spot on, though. There was always more information. More background. More to know. One sob story wasn't a ticket to companionship. If that was the case, Datcher figured he was due for an entire entourage.

"Fifty-Seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, Four minutes. One, two.." He counted off mentally, still keeping tabs how much time he had. Wit heach second, it looked worse. In just another second, he'd already decided on his contingency plan. As for the present, he straightened all the way now, the prospect of being spotted becoming an acceptable outcome. The Man infront of him seemed.. Well, docile. As for the Woman, she sounded sane, and logical. The two made for a plesant combination. After the last town he'd passed through, Datcher was in no mood for more lunatics, or physcopaths.

Now that he was fully upright, a glance in his direction might reveal his sillouette, a tall, built-looking figure, wearing some form of vest. The shadows consumed all other details.. That is, if there was anyone to see them.
 
Heinrich replies to Essa "the group got atacked last night and in the dark there was mass panic i stayed calm and instructed those who where free of zombies atacking them to run with me towards the decontamination unit and they all got jumped by some zombies in A sector down where decontamination room is we were so close, i just manage to get in at the cost of the others."
 
His explanation seemed convincing enough, and Essa eyed him with a slightly less wary gaze, lips pursed in a scowl as she slowly nodded. "Well...it sucks that the group you were with died." She remarked. This was her idea of offering her condolences, and before Heinrich could respond she carried on in a business-like fashion, gaze scanning the part of the street visible from their location. "Do you have a flashlight or something? I was trying to figure out what's inside this place, if there's anything that might be useful and if it's safe to stay here. I guess you could-" She paused, eyes narrowing at the sight of someone standing in the shadows nearby. Great, she thought sarcastically, yet another person to deal with. She'd been on her own for so long that the presence of other people wouldn't hurt- if they were trustworthy- and surviving might be easier with other people on her side, but mostly she felt distrust and apprehension towards every stranger she encountered, certain they'd end up being like the group she'd started off with."Do you have a gun? Some kind of weapon?" She nodded her head in the direction of the figure, wanting to make Heinrich aware of the new presence and prepare for another potential danger as soon as possible.
 
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