N
norevenge
Guest
Original poster
Heinrich replied " i have a baceball bat and a colt revolver full chamber and a box of 100 i have in my backpack"
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an alternative browser.
You should upgrade or use an alternative browser.
- Status
- Not open for further replies.
A
Aria
Guest
Original poster
"Good." Essa gave a satisfied nod, walking the few yards to the end of the alley and trying to pitch her voice so the figure across the street could hear while remaining quiet enough that any nearby zombies wouldn't be attracted to the sound. "Hey, guy lurking over there. Come here- slowly. Keep your hands at your sides and don't touch any weapons you have or I'll kill you, alright?" It was likely that they'd been around when Heinrich had called out in search of others, and had heard her respond, so at this point they had to know there were other people in the area- she doubted they would just leave now. Everyone she'd met either wanted to team up with whoever they could or cause trouble with whoever they could, so in her mind it was impossible that this person would pass up the opportunity of meeting other people. She might as well get the meeting over with now and figure out what their intentions were.
H
Hoss246
Guest
Original poster
Datcher heard the Woman's response, noting their need for a flashlight, knowing full well that soon enough that need might just be superceeded by a more pressing, relentless problem. Her pause in speech presented a minor red flag though, and her questions, and nod in his direction only heightened his alarm.
He'd been made. "There's no time like the present." He thought quietly. Typically, he might scold himself, but there were few other ways around, or out of this right now. His right hand hung at his side, the surpressed Beretta within it's grip blending in amongst the bulk of his clothing, gear, and shadows.
Finally speaking aloud now, his voice carried out, hushed, yet quite clear.
"Yeah, I'm armed alright. It ain't for ya'll though, 'less it needs ta' be." He stepped forward now, exposing himself to the moon's soft, revealing glow, and the visibility that came with it.
He wore a pair of ripped ACU's, jacket and trouses, combat boots that were more red-brown than tan, namely from all the dried blood on them. He'd ditched most of his additional armor long ago. Too heavy. Too cumbersome. He'd opted to keep only his Plate Carrier, and the bullet-stopping plates within, along with his kneepads, and elbow pads. Combined with the Assault Pack on his back, he had all he needed.. For himself, at least. On his head, he wore nothing, save for clear-lensed eye protection. Despite the circumstances, he still wore his patches. U.S. Flag and all. On his left arm, what remained of his Old-World rank, as he now called it, was a single square patch.
Three black stripes, with two 'rocker' bars beneath it.
Looking toward the Woman's form, he asked "Those rounds I heard. They come from here? From your gun?" He still couldn't see her well enough to know that she had no gun to speak of, let alone the true gunman further inside, provided he'd not run out through a back entrance. "Won't be long now.. They'll be on us." Thought Datcher.
They'd been carying on, celebrating from their most recent score. The same as it always was. A pocket of survivors, just trying to get by. They were even friendly. They'd welcomed in the rag-tag group of ne'er-do-wells. The poor people soon found out how misplaced their generosity had been. Everything had been taking from them. Everything, even their lives, in the end, and these Human Degenerates, these, raiders, were happy for it. They were joking amongst each other, just four to their number. What did they have to fear?
Much. The mob that'd been passing outside of the apartment block the Raiders were in, had heard the activity. Heard the commotion. They had a new distraction. In an instant, the previous gunfire was all but forgotten, the sight from which it'd came being just a block away now. The mob converged into the building, quickly occupying the first floor, despite their mindless shuffling. The Raiders, on the 4th, were still clueless.
He'd been made. "There's no time like the present." He thought quietly. Typically, he might scold himself, but there were few other ways around, or out of this right now. His right hand hung at his side, the surpressed Beretta within it's grip blending in amongst the bulk of his clothing, gear, and shadows.
Finally speaking aloud now, his voice carried out, hushed, yet quite clear.
"Yeah, I'm armed alright. It ain't for ya'll though, 'less it needs ta' be." He stepped forward now, exposing himself to the moon's soft, revealing glow, and the visibility that came with it.
He wore a pair of ripped ACU's, jacket and trouses, combat boots that were more red-brown than tan, namely from all the dried blood on them. He'd ditched most of his additional armor long ago. Too heavy. Too cumbersome. He'd opted to keep only his Plate Carrier, and the bullet-stopping plates within, along with his kneepads, and elbow pads. Combined with the Assault Pack on his back, he had all he needed.. For himself, at least. On his head, he wore nothing, save for clear-lensed eye protection. Despite the circumstances, he still wore his patches. U.S. Flag and all. On his left arm, what remained of his Old-World rank, as he now called it, was a single square patch.
Three black stripes, with two 'rocker' bars beneath it.
Looking toward the Woman's form, he asked "Those rounds I heard. They come from here? From your gun?" He still couldn't see her well enough to know that she had no gun to speak of, let alone the true gunman further inside, provided he'd not run out through a back entrance. "Won't be long now.. They'll be on us." Thought Datcher.
They'd been carying on, celebrating from their most recent score. The same as it always was. A pocket of survivors, just trying to get by. They were even friendly. They'd welcomed in the rag-tag group of ne'er-do-wells. The poor people soon found out how misplaced their generosity had been. Everything had been taking from them. Everything, even their lives, in the end, and these Human Degenerates, these, raiders, were happy for it. They were joking amongst each other, just four to their number. What did they have to fear?
Much. The mob that'd been passing outside of the apartment block the Raiders were in, had heard the activity. Heard the commotion. They had a new distraction. In an instant, the previous gunfire was all but forgotten, the sight from which it'd came being just a block away now. The mob converged into the building, quickly occupying the first floor, despite their mindless shuffling. The Raiders, on the 4th, were still clueless.
Last edited by a moderator:
N
norevenge
Guest
Original poster
Heinrich had a bad feeling about this guy and gets ready almost like in a wild west with out the stance to draw his revolver at the slightest hint of danger. but upon seeing the us army uniforman Heinrich dropped hand from near his gun. Heinrich remembers that he found an old but working PPSh-41 in and old gun store from the old farm he passed on the way to the city . he had left it back at the car behind him from where he had come from and it had 2 drum mags with it. "a lucky find cant believe i forgot about that " Thought Heinrich
Last edited by a moderator:
A
Aria
Guest
Original poster
Essa's eyebrows raised at the approaching man's attire, gaze assessing him coolly as he came near. She wasn't yet sure if she should be comfortable with the fact that he was armed despite what he'd said, and she toyed absently with her knife, reminding herself to be ready- just in case. Anything could happen. While she was prepared for zombies and not particularly worried about them at the moment, living people made her...uneasy, to say the least. The undead behaved predictably to some extent; those that were still alive tended to be unreliable, and, in her experience, nuts. For this man's sake she hoped he wasn't as unstable as the person she'd encountered earlier. She was not about to deal with any of that insanity nonsense again, she thought with a huff of annoyance at the mere idea of it.
The stranger's questions brought her pause, and she tilted her head, contemplating her answer and leaving him to wait in silence for several moments while she decided what to tell him. "Not my gun, but they came from over here. So far I haven't seen any zombies attracted by the noise." However, if he had heard the gunshots, she thought, there was a good chance several undead had heard too, if not an entire horde. Still facing the newcomer, she took several steps back into the relative safety of the alleyway, where she had an easy way out if necessary. The steel door to the club she still hadn't had an opportunity to explore was broken thanks to her steel toed combat boots, but she was sure she could bar it against zombies if necessary.
The stranger's questions brought her pause, and she tilted her head, contemplating her answer and leaving him to wait in silence for several moments while she decided what to tell him. "Not my gun, but they came from over here. So far I haven't seen any zombies attracted by the noise." However, if he had heard the gunshots, she thought, there was a good chance several undead had heard too, if not an entire horde. Still facing the newcomer, she took several steps back into the relative safety of the alleyway, where she had an easy way out if necessary. The steel door to the club she still hadn't had an opportunity to explore was broken thanks to her steel toed combat boots, but she was sure she could bar it against zombies if necessary.
H
Hoss246
Guest
Original poster
Datcher remained where he was, feeling his current position was suitable enough. He didn't need NVG's to know he was being assessed, being looked over. He thought he'd seen the other Male prepare to draw his gun, but in the same moment, the Man appeared to relax. Datcher didn't blame him for being jittery, but internally complimented the Man's choice. He wasn't in the mood for a firefight. Not right now. The Woman's answer confirmed what he'd suspected. Datcher had always taken silent pride in being right. Always. But that was before all of this. Before hell had relocated to Earth. Now? He hated being right. Most of the time..
"Well you're about to. Those rounds attracted a mob that had been on Parkton Avenue. Jus' a few blocks back, and a couple streets over." He paused, looking down the street, quickly becoming perfectly still, not even breathing now. Sure enough, there they were.. Barely visible, but still there.. Except..
"Guess they're goin' off the cour--" He'd not had a chance to finish, his sentence being interupted by the sudden outburst of gunfire. Anyone remotely familiar with firearms would be able to pick out a submachine gun, maybe two.. Pistols, and of course, the Z-day favorite, a shotgun. And then..
Silence.. Datcher could still see the stragglers outside, anxiously ambling around, but couldn't tell what they were going after. Either way, it was clear they'd found a new source of sustenance for the night. If it was a building they were after, one the ones inside had fed, they'd still be kept in by the rest outside, eager to get their own fill. It'd keep up for at least the rest of the evening, provided nothing else attracted attention.
With a bemused look upon his dirtied face, he said "I stand correct. Guess ya'll's guests won't be showin' up afterall. I don't reccomend waitin' around for 'em though." He then backed up, still obviously there, yet not quite as exposed, using his position of concealment to kneel down, and pull his pack off, and infront of him. As he'd expected. Some of the retention straps had come undone. Getting it to fit beneath that trench coat, without getting caught on his Plate Carrier had been a bastard of a task to complete. Loose straps on their own weren't that bad, but if a Zed had a chance to grab it, it'd make for a very, very bad day for Datcher. As his hands worked, his sidearm still in his grip, he kept glancing up at the two, ensuring neither one had made any unwelcome movements.
Then he started thinking, trying to recall what street he was on.. He cursed beneath his breath, his memory failing him. He did -not- want to have to pull out the map. Not that it was hard. In fact, it was easy. Now folding the damn thing back up? That was a pain. He could never get the stupid things to cooperate. "Hell with it.." He muttered. Looking up now, he glanced to the Man, and then the Woman, noting she'd taken to the shadows a bit more as well.
"Any idea what street we're on here, Ma'am? I lost track of my position as I moved away from that mob."
"Well you're about to. Those rounds attracted a mob that had been on Parkton Avenue. Jus' a few blocks back, and a couple streets over." He paused, looking down the street, quickly becoming perfectly still, not even breathing now. Sure enough, there they were.. Barely visible, but still there.. Except..
"Guess they're goin' off the cour--" He'd not had a chance to finish, his sentence being interupted by the sudden outburst of gunfire. Anyone remotely familiar with firearms would be able to pick out a submachine gun, maybe two.. Pistols, and of course, the Z-day favorite, a shotgun. And then..
Silence.. Datcher could still see the stragglers outside, anxiously ambling around, but couldn't tell what they were going after. Either way, it was clear they'd found a new source of sustenance for the night. If it was a building they were after, one the ones inside had fed, they'd still be kept in by the rest outside, eager to get their own fill. It'd keep up for at least the rest of the evening, provided nothing else attracted attention.
With a bemused look upon his dirtied face, he said "I stand correct. Guess ya'll's guests won't be showin' up afterall. I don't reccomend waitin' around for 'em though." He then backed up, still obviously there, yet not quite as exposed, using his position of concealment to kneel down, and pull his pack off, and infront of him. As he'd expected. Some of the retention straps had come undone. Getting it to fit beneath that trench coat, without getting caught on his Plate Carrier had been a bastard of a task to complete. Loose straps on their own weren't that bad, but if a Zed had a chance to grab it, it'd make for a very, very bad day for Datcher. As his hands worked, his sidearm still in his grip, he kept glancing up at the two, ensuring neither one had made any unwelcome movements.
Then he started thinking, trying to recall what street he was on.. He cursed beneath his breath, his memory failing him. He did -not- want to have to pull out the map. Not that it was hard. In fact, it was easy. Now folding the damn thing back up? That was a pain. He could never get the stupid things to cooperate. "Hell with it.." He muttered. Looking up now, he glanced to the Man, and then the Woman, noting she'd taken to the shadows a bit more as well.
"Any idea what street we're on here, Ma'am? I lost track of my position as I moved away from that mob."
N
norevenge
Guest
Original poster
hearing moans from a far Heinrich thought it would be a good idea to get his bag from behind him and rearrange things and prep the PPSh-41 in case a horde appears. placing the bag in front of him he pulls out the unloaded PPSh-41 and loads it and puts it over his shoulder on by a strap and keeps a weary eye on the dark allyways around him.
- Status
- Not open for further replies.