NSWRPF Archive Zombie Outbreak!

It's a nice day out. You're coming home from your average life in an average city in Louisiana when there's a banging on your door. Naturally, you go to answer it. The moment the door is open wide enough, fresh blood and unrotted skin gleaming in the sun, jumps you. Do you let it tear your jugular out or do you reach for your PowerBook and try to bash its skull in?

RULES:

Obey the TOS.

Respect the other players.

Keep things realistic. Chances are, you're going to have some sort of melee weapon (ie, a crowbar, a skillet) and a small firearm (20-gauge, .22, etc.). NO MILITARY ORDNANCE, EVEN IF YOU PERSONALLY POSSESS IT. Also, no Chuck Norris moves like dual-wielding M60s, quintuple backflip axle kicks that make zombies disintegrate, nothing like that.

NOTHING relating to antidotes or immunizations from the infection. Also, try to remember that this is the zombie outbreak. You're not going to be able to save your entire family, friends, pets, etc. The essence of drama is tragedy.

The height and weight limits are 6'3" and 235 pounds, and no "pure strength" stuff if you come close to one of these maximums. PM me your character sheets for approval.

Try to keep the violence and cussing to a minimum.

Have fun.

Character sheet:

Name:
Age:
Occupation:
Appearance:
Height:
Weight:
Special Marks:
Weapons:
Personality:
Brief Bio:

---

Here's mine.

[b]Name:[/b] Alexander McAndrews
[b]Age:[/b] 17
[b]Occupation:[/b]
[b]Appearance:[/b] Tall and skinny, just heavy enough to avoid the dreaded "underweight" moniker. He's got semi-long brown hair that likes to appear black, dark blue eyes, and a slightly sculpted face. At the time, he's wearing his favourite dark-blue jeans, a brown shirt saying "HOW ABOUT A NICE CUP OF...", and a pair of white socks.
[b]Height:[/b] 6'2"
[b]Weight:[/b] 152 lbs.
[b]Special Marks:[/b]He has no right handprint. Blame a tabletop stove burner and a Grant.
[b]Weapons:[/b] None at the immediate moment. But his dad has a Glock 17 longslide.
[b]Personality:[/b] Quiet and thinking. He won't just run into a horde of zombies without actually thinking about it well beforehand. He doesn't particularly like trusting people, because he's had problems with that in the past. But he will...if he thinks you're truly trustworthy.
[b]Brief Bio:[/b] He's a junior at West Monroe High School. He's reasonably happy now because he just got a date with the hottest girl in school.

 

GM Approved!

Name: Pace Parker
Age: 26
Occupation: Coroner
Appearance: Tall, lanky, rather pale. Could use some more sunlight and a better diet than his current one consisting mostly of fish sticks and Bud Light.
Height: 6'0"
Weight: 148 lbs.
Special Marks: Tattoo of a smiley face on left buttcheek. Attributed to a night of extreme intoxication.
Weapons: Aside from the flimsy knife set in his apartment he recieved from his rather cheap parents as a college graduation present, none.
Personality: He's not much of a people person, although he does have a group of close friends. He's rather shy around those that don't know him, however.
Brief Bio: It's the rare kid that grows up saying, "I want to be a coroner!" In that regard, at the very least, Pace was a rare kid. He had always had a fascination with dead things. His parents would frequently throw fits when he came home with a shoebox that encased the carcass of a squirrel he had carefully peeled off the highway pavement. Multiple visits to a psychologist did little to alleviate his curiousity, and it wasn't long before he was studying anatomy in college. When he graduated, he went straight into the Coroner's Office and soon was examining dead bodies on a regular basis.

 

That character's going to be interesting...

 

*GM Approved*

Name: Simon Black
Age: 35
Occupation: Freelance writer
Appearance: A slightly overweight man with thick glasses and unkempt medium length brown hair. He wears a tattered grey trench coat worn over a white button up shirt with countless stains on it, a pair of worn light blue jeans, and black Converse.
Height: 5' 8"
Weight: 180
Special Marks: Two reddish birth marks under his left eye.
Weapons: A pen in his shirt pocket.
Personality: Pessimistic and sarcastic. He has a negative attitude towards almost everything. Life has made him cynical and uncaring.
Brief Bio: He's freelance (and more often than not) unemployed writer, currently living on the streets due to his chronic lack of income.

 

Name: Angel
Age: 18
Occupation: Sales Associate at the local mall
Appearance: Half-Asian, pale skin, short cropped hair.
Height: 5'3"
Weight: 113
Special Marks: Tatoo of a lotus blossom on her left upper arm.
Weapons: Katana (Family heirloom, dates back centuries)
Personality: Angel is a geek to the core. She's extremely knowledgable, and isn't afraid to use it. She hates violence, and usually tries to avoid it. Open, and usuially happy, she is the first one to crack a joke, and try to make everyone smile.
Brief Bio:

Angel recentally gradguated high school this past fall, and has been using her time to save up money for college. She hopes to major in photography with minors in Art Therapy, and Music Education. At the moment, she has two jobs at the mall, one at a shoestore, the other at a specialty giftstore. Her days off are few and far between. She usually spends them reading, sleeping, or on the computer. Her father is a skilled swordaman, who teaches Martial Arts at a local school. He traied Angel from the time she could walk, and this has saved her on many occasions.

Strangely, the latest book in her collection is the Zombie Survival guide. Just the thought of the walking dead scare her. Her manager oftem makes fun of her by chasing her around the store, acting like one.

 

I am **APPROVED**

Name: Brendan Moran
Age: 21
Occupation: Working as a bouncer at the local club
Appearance: He's short and solid, the sorta guy that could make you look up to him, by putting you flat on your butt. His hair is cut short, and he has a neatly goatee. Is wearing jeans and a black t-shirt.
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 180-ish
Special Marks: Scar on his left temple from a fastball.
Weapons: Favourite baseball bat, wood.
Personality: He got work as a bounce because most sane people wouldn't want to argue with him, but he's a pretty friendly guy. Very easy going.
Brief Bio: Plays baseball on the weekends and enjoys hitting the pub for a couple of drinks with his mates.

 

All right, we're going to start when we get ten people or on Thursday, whichever comes first.

 

Approved!
Name: Obidiah Greets
Age: 23
Occupation: Student
Appearance: Long brown curly hair, hazel eyes, clean shaven.
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 183
Special Marks: Scar across forehead
Weapons: Machette
Personality: Doesn't take things too seriously, goofy.
Brief Bio: Obidiah grew up in hawaii, and was sick of island life. He moved to the mainland of the US when he could, which was a couple months ago.

 

Good characters so far.

 

'Tis approved, yo.
Name: Michael Zimmerman
Age: 22
Occupation: Cartoonist for the local paper
Appearance: Slightly lanky, with red hair and green eyes
Height: 6'0
Weight: 165 lb.
Special Marks: None
Weapons: Monkey wrench
Personality: Unnaturally cheerful, even in the gravest situations
Brief Bio: Ever since childhood, Michaels happy disposition has made people think of him as a "looney". Originally, he went to a nearby community college to learn how to paint, but he soon realized he was better with the pencil than with the brush. And he's been drawing political cartoons for the paper ever since.

 

C'mon people...we need some more players!

 

Name: Ernie Martin
Age: 38
Occupation: Construction Worker
Appearance: He once had black hair, but it is now graying. He as gray stubble all over his face. He also has brown eyes. Dark bags are forming under his eyes.
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 204 lbs.
Special Marks: He has an 8" scar on his right forearm, from an accident at work.
Weapons: .22 Pistol, bottles of liquor and beer around his house, hammer and crowbar in the back of his truck
Personality: Ernie has always been a loner. He is shy when around strangers. It is possibly the result of parental abuse as a child.
Brief Bio: Ernie wasn't one of the popluar kids in high school. He had few friends, and even fewer girlfriends. But, Ernie made it through high school and started working in construction. Shortly after, he married his wife, Sarah. Two years later, they had a son, John. When John was five, Sarah left Ernie and took John with him. Ernie took the divorce hard, turning to alcohol to sooth him. He now spends all his time either at work or at home thinking about his son.

 

All right, everyone...when do you guys wanna start?

 

Name: James Spadafora
Age: 27
Occupation: Bank Teller/Student
Appearance: Brown Hair, brown Eyes, medium build.
Height: 5?8?
Weight: 190
Special Marks: N/A
Weapons: Hatchet, Proficiency with a Mannlicher-Schonauer 1925
Personality: Suspicious, Sarcastic. Seemingly aloof and cold, but often looking outside the box for solutions.
Brief Bio: Having washed away his youth with beer and idleness, James had been given a second chance. His folks had bailed him out of a bad situation. Ad gradually he had worked off debt and gotten his life in order. He?d ordered his life with specific and unyielding regimens of work and play. Now he works at a local bank as a teller, and is only a few months from graduation where he can go into management training. Finally, things seem to be looking up.

 

Aiight...we've got nine players, so it's time to start kicking zombie ass.

But that's next post. Lemme clarify the rules a bit.

-If you find military ordnance after a time, you can use it. The rule against it in the first post was relating to having it from the get-go.

-We are in this town in Louisiana. Consult this map if you are unsure about street names, major arteries, important locations, etc.

-Use as much OOC as you like...but do try to have some roleplay in your posts.

-Characters can group together, but let's not have everyone in one big group. It's no fun if everyone is.

-Use this site for weapon information.

-When you get a firearm or have one at start, keep track of your ammunition to the best of your ability.

-It is May 15, 2007, at 6:52 AM. It's preferable to keep track of the date and time, but characters will forget eventually, and that is completely understandable.

-HAVE FUN!

 

Rules aside...let's get down to the nitty gritty!
_________________

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEE

I slammed my hand down onto the snooze button of my alarm clock, sat up in bed, and gave what was arguably my longest yawn ever. The clock read 6:52; the Xs over the dates on my Halo 2 calendar stopping at the fifteenth. I had half a mind to just go back to sleep, but it was a Wednesday, and that meant a school day. I gave another yawn as I got up.

Both my parents had already left. They had to get up early to scrape together the high-middle-class living we were used to. I was beginning to get excited because the last day of school was very close at hand. I gave another huge yawn as I laced up my two-day-old black Converse.

"Ahh, ****..." I muttered, exiting my room in favour of the kitchen.

The keys to my Chevrolet Colorado were on the key rack on the wall. I took them and threw them on the marble centre island, then went for the refrigerator for a box of cereal.

Did I want Cocoa Puffs or Fruity Pebbles?

There was more in the latter box, so I decided on it. Found a bowl, a spoon, some milk...breakfast time. The cereal crunched loudly under my teeth. The clock built into the refrigerator door now read 7:01. The weird feeling you get when the time you've got to get somewhere is ticking began to set in, but I had plenty of time, and I didn't live too far away from the school. I continued enjoying my cereal.

I was halfway in the process of putting my bowl in the sink when I heard a loud banging on the front door.

"Who in God and ATI is calling at this time?"

Naturally, I answered the door.

What I found standing on my welcome mat wasn't much of a normal sight.

It was a girl of about ten. She was wearing a purple and blue-striped sweater, a black skirt, and white stockings. Her dirty-blonde hair was tangled and matted over a monstrous missing chunk from her neck, which had drenched her clothes with blood. Her eyes were glazed over.

"Holy ****..." I said, walking toward her to help. "Are you all right?"

As I did, she gave the very last sound I'd expect a human being to utter. An anamalistic snarl as she lunged for me. I jumped out of my skin and grabbed her sweater to prevent her from giving me a similar bite to the neck. She pushed me back for a time, then we crashed to the living room floor.

I'd seen Day of the Dead enough times to know that this girl wasn't a girl. It was a zombie.

And zombies are quite bad.

I tried to wrestle myself free of its undead grip, all the while trying to deny it my jugular. With both legs, I kicked her in the chest, sending her flying far enough away to lunge for a certain location in the house.

My dad kept his Glock 17 longslide under the couch cushions. I grabbed the one in particular I was looking for, threw it aside, and there it was, its very long black slide quite noticeable.

But the ex-girl was again upon me. I only had time to take hand of the gun. I swung at its head, and connected. The zombie crashed through the plate-glass coffee table. I kicked it in the chest and neck a few times to manually place some distance between us.

Then I grabbed the nineteen-round magazine.

I slapped it into the pistol, and jerked back the slide.

This time, the zombie was standing up and coming my way at full-tilt. I shot it in the stomach...probably on accident...doing nothing to deter its charge.

Then I brought it to a stop with my right leg, and aligned the sights perfectly with its blood-dripping mouth.

"You ruined a perfectly good shirt."

BLASH.

The 9x19mm round ended its "life" immediately. Gasping for breath, I walked to the door and shut it.

Figures that the zombie outbreak would start a week after I score the hottest girl in school...

 

May 15, 2007, at 7:00 AM

It had been a restless night.
James Spadafora had wondered with some trepidation if he had improperly filed some bit of financial detritus that was the workings of a bank. Millions of dollars, broken down into digits, ever y day, filtered through their computers. Money that was never really there, backed by nothing but a Federal Promise.
?House of Cards.? He?d suggested when he?d begun working there a few years ago. The Manager had asked him what he thought of the operation at Community Trust Bank. James had quickly run over in his head the scenario of unbacked money and foolishly told what he thought.
?House of Cards.? He?d said. ?The money is backed by nothing but a promise. Credit is just a few lines of code in a Computer. What?s that??
The Manager had looked at him quite horrified. James later learned that it had enarly cost him his job, that little remark of fiduciary impropriety.
But now it was his life. That and school.
So close. So close to graduation. And then he could be a Branch manager at Community Trust. And maybe he?d finally be worth a damn.
So, it wa s afateful morning, when his eyes felt tired and heavy, and his body felt unrested that he rose to go to the Bank. The day that everything changed.
He pulled into the parking lot, parked, locked up and knocked on the door. He glanced over to the ATM machine. Some old transient, probably drunk, was staggering in the lane where cars could pull up to withdraw their money.
The branch manager opened the door. James stepped in,
?Some old drunk near the ATM Machine.? He said as he stepped across the threshold. ?We need to get rid of him before somebody hurts him pulling up.?
The branch manager nodded.
?I?ll take care of it. Just let me back in afterwards.?
James walked up to the front and was about to walk behind his tellers station to get ready for the day, when and Ear-piercing shriek, a high womanly sound, cracked the air from the outside.
James rushed to the door and flung himself outside.
The Drunk was attacking the Branch manager.
A Hole the size of a coaster was torn in the Branch Managers lower forearm. Blood haloed the two men as they rolled around on the macadam, in a passionate embrace reminiscent of lovers. But this was anything but.
The Branch manager let out another woman-shriek as the teeth of the drunk tore his cheek just below the eye.
James seized the Drunk by his shoulders and heaved him off his boss. The drunk tumbled off a small grass embankment and into the bank parking lot.
At first james was only concerned with his bleeding boss, but then he realized, to his perplexity, that the attacker was not a drunk transient. He was dressed in his Sunday best!
As his boss gurgled and bled where he lay, his attacker slowly found his feet and began a very deliberate, but awkward walk towards James and the boss, who was quickly going into shock.
Pale eyes over a carmine, bared-teeth face stared at the two. The mouth opened and a mournful moan escaped. It stretched out his arms towards the two men and shuffled forward.

TAG: Anybody

 

IC as Pace Parker

"Let's see what we've got this morning..." Pace pulled back the white plastic sheet to unveil the hideously contorted face of a dead girl. She was only about twenty or twenty-one, still young. What a shame. The cops had found her half-buried in the muck of the river, only seven or eight blocks away. She'd gotten the works- sexual assault, torture, strangulation; this girl had gone through hell twice before she'd even gotten the chance to get there.

"Looks like you've been through a lot," he remarked. Pace enjoyed talking to the corpses, a fact that raised the eyebrows of some of his more conservative colleagues. They hardened themselves against the horrors of their job by treating the bodies they worked with as objects, not people. If they developed an emotional connections with the corpses they had to examine, they reasoned, their work would become too overwhelming. Pace took the opposite view. It was relaxing to him to have someone to talk to that would always listen, in a way that only dead ears can.

"Some people," Pace said as he pried her cold lips apart to examine the corpse's throat, "Do disgusting things with their lives."

He peered into the esophagus in the brihgt light of the single lamp that illuminated a wide cone of the otherwise dark examination room. There was no question, she'd definitely died of asphixiation. Pace looked up at the sound of a beep from the computer humming over on the desk.

The fingerprint database had found a match. Pace's heart sunk and he sighed. This was the least favorite part of his job, when he had to stare at those smiling faces in the pictures and try to reconcile them with the mangled carcasses under the spotlight. The computer's screen showed the profile of Marissa Katherine Valencia, a 19-year old college student in West Monroe on break with her family. She'd disappeared two weeks past in the park.

"Nineteen," Pace said into the darkness. "I was wrong." He usually guessed right. But, then again, the bodies he usually examined hadn't been buried under river muck for a week and a half. "You're younger than I thought."

Unnngh.

His eyes flicked back and forth as information scrolled past. The cops suspected a serial killer that had been offing college chicks left and right, making a trail down the eastern seaboard. Now, he was moving west, and poor Marissa was only the latest victim in his wake of death.

Huuungh...ugh.. The corpse's eyelids flicked opened to stare at Pace's back, and its head tilted toward him.

Pace whistled Tainted Love as he kept scrolling down the profile, oblivious. Two days ago, the cops had tracked the perp to Houston, and busted a whorehouse where they thought he was. They were five minutes late. All they found was tire marks and a bloodied heap with steak knives sticking out of it at erratic angles.

Rrraughnnaugh... With a juicy squish, a rotting foot stepped down onto the floor.

Only last night, a New Mexico state trooper thought he'd spotted the beat-up pickup the suspect drove. There was, at this very moment, a SWAT team inbound to apprehend him from an abandoned trailer where he'd holed up.

"Well," Pace said, "looks like your bad guy is going to get nabbed." He closed the window.

He stood up and turned. "Let's get you fixed u-"

But he stopped short, because he was staring into the face of the dead body that only moments ago had been lying out on the examination table. The one eye remaining in its socket was staring at Pace with a look of... hunger.

"BRAAAAAAINNNNSSSS..."

Pace thought, I knew this job would catch up to me one of these days.

He ducked as the zombie lunged forward and snapped her jaws right where his face had been. The undead girl blinked in confusion as she momentarily contemplated why she hadn't ripped off a delicious chunk of Pace's mug, and he sprang to the counter and grabbed a motor saw designed for removing skull sections. It whirred to life at the press of a button, just as the cor

 

IC: Michael Zimmerman
May 15, 2007 at 7:04 AM

"Hello, sun!" Michael Zimmerman said as a ray of sunlight shined across his face. He bounded out of his bed, and got dressed. He was lucky enough to have an hour before he had to go to work. Michael bounced through his house, and made a flying leap onto the couch. He reached for his remote, and turned on the TV.

And there was nothing. There was only static. Michael raised any eyebrow, then shrugged. "Must be the cable or something," he said to himself. He jammed some bread into the toaster, and waited. He looked out the window, and thought he saw something move past it. "Hmm...what could that have been? Oh! Maybe it was an abnormally large kitten!" Michael theorized. He ran to the door, and opened it. A corpse stood there, moaning. Michael blinked, then said, "You're not a kitten!" He closed the door, stood there for a few minutes, then realized he had just shut the door in the face of a zombie.

He backed away from the door, as a mottled hand burst it's way through. Michael ran to the garage, and opened a door. A monkey wrench stared back at him. He grabbed it, then opened the garage door. The zombie stood there, and Michael got a better look at it. It used to be a boy, about 7, maybe 8. Its right arm was amputated at the elbow, and it had a small chunk of its chest gone, showing the lungs. It leaped at him, and Michael raised the wrench.

Michael took a blind swing, and smiled as he hit something. The zombie went sprawling across the floor, and got up again. Apparantly, Michael hit it in the lung, as the organ was bruised. The zombie charged at him once more, and Michael swung again, aiming for the head. He aimed too low, and hit the thing in the cheek. It fell again, and Michael saw his chance.

He ran over, raised the wrench high in the air, and hit the zombie in the forehead. The things eyes rolled back in its head, and it seemed dead. But Micheal wasn't so sure. He ran over to a can of gasoline, poured it over the zombie, and looked around for matches. And there they were, standing on a table. He grabbed the only one in the package, and prayed, then swiped it against the box.

A small flame flickered on the match, and Michael pumped his fist in the air as he saw it was lighted. He ran over to the zombie, and dropped the match in the hole he had cut in its forehead. He poured a tad more gasoline in the hole, then watched the zombie burn.

Suddenly, the thing started screaming, a shrill, high scream. Michael put his hands over his ears, and watched it thrash around. After a few moments of shrieking, its body became limp, and it was truly dead. Michael made his way back inside the house, and sat there. Things had just gone from great...to not-so-great.

TAG: Anyone

 

IC: Brendan Moran, 6:52 am

Brendan glanced at the clock on the dash as he pulled into the driveway of his home. not even 7 yet, not to bad. He was just reaching for the door handle when someone slammed against the car with an inhuman screech. They kept screeching as they pounded their fists against the front windscreen. "OI! Get of my car you freak!" but the guy just kept screaming and smashing at the window. When it started to crack, Brendan grabbed his baseball bat off the back seat and slammed the door open. The crazy man was thrown back by the hit, and Brendan got his first good look at him. "Oh man, what happened to you?" He had huge chunks of flesh ripped off his face and arms. His clothing was tattered and his hair was wild.
But his eyes. His eyes were dead.
The man didn't say anything, he just screached again and lunged for Brendans throat. He jumped back, putting some distance between them, "come on man, I don't wanna fight you."
He didn't reply, just kept on coming forwards. With a sigh Brendan cocked his bat, why don't they ever just back off?
He swung into the guys stomach, expecting to hear a rush of air but nothing came. The crazy guy staggered sideways with the hit then lunged forward again.
This time Brendan didn't hold back, he swung hard. Ribs cracked and the man dropped like a brick. When Brendan bent down to check if he was still alive he saw all the magots crawling through his wounds, and his skin was deathly cold. "Who... No, what are you man?"

 

IC: Ernie Martin

May 15, 2007, at 6:52 AM

Ernie slowly opened his eyes and looked around the room. Everything was a blur. He sat up and wiped his eyes; a bottle of whiskey fell to the floor. Ernie noticed he had passed out on his couch in his living room...again. He was still in his white undershirt and blue jeans and was still wearing his boots. He picked up the bottle and took a swig. He squinted his eyes, gulped, then wiped his mouth.

Suddenly, he heard a loud rasp on the front door. A few seconds later, another bash. A few seconds after that, a third crash. Ernie began walking slowly to the door as the banging on his door continued. He peeked out the window next to the door, and saw a severly disfigured almost corpse-like man throwing himself against the door. Ernie turned his head a looked at the bottle of whiskey he was holding and took another drink. He shook his head and looked back outside. It was still there. The hideous man turned towards the window. It let about a growl-like howl and ran for the window.

Ernie jumped back as the thing crashed its head through the window. It reached its hands through and broke the rest of the window. The creature stepped through the window and began walking to Ernie. Ernie took one more swig of his drink then clubbed the man on the back of the head, shattering the bottle. The creature let out another howl as it fell to the floor.

Ernie couldn't believe what he just saw. Something was terribly wrong. He ran across the house to his bedroom and opened the top drawer of his dresser. He pulled out his .22 pistol and loaded a twenty round clip. He dug around some more and found his second clip. He picked his keys and wallet off the top and ran outside to his truck. He got in and locked his doors. He burned out as he exited his driveway and headed to the police station.

TAG: Any

 

7:11 AM
__________

My first plan of action was to get out of the city. But there was one major problem.

Everyone else in West Monroe had the exact same idea. At least I made it onto Interstate 20 before I was caught in the hellish snarl. Every single lane and the median was jammed with traffic leading out of the city, which was rapidly becoming a warzone. Up ahead, I saw a monstrous fire, burning far beyond any control.

I tried to listen to some music to help me calm down, but all the stations were broadcasting the same thing.

??emergency broadcast message for the entire Monroe/West Monroe area. Unknown violent aggressors have been reported attacking civilians in the area. Police strongly advise all citizens to stay in their homes and await further instructions. DO NOT try to flee or rescue friends or loved ones. Ensure that all doors and windows are firmly locked and barricaded. Avoid all physical contact with the assailants. Do not panic. Local emergency officials have mobilized to bring a stop to these attacks. Stay tuned to emergency broadcast stations for further instructions pertaining to potential evacuation of the Monroe/West Monroe area, as well as for emergency shelters in the area.?

I scoffed. No one was even trying to follow this advice. A line of police cars trailed into West Monroe via the breakdown lane, sirens blaring, armed and armoured officers behind the wheels. Riot police toting monstrous automatic weapons strode among the tangle of vehicles, probably trying to protect the exodus.

The passenger-side door of my truck opened. I looked over to find an example of the weapons the cops were carrying being pointed at my face. Behind it was a ski-masked man with a murderous look on his face.

"Get out of the truck slowly and don't say a word." he said.

Even though I was armed, I refused to argue. Making sure my Glock was still tucked into my belt , I raised my hands and got out of the truck.

"Good man," the man said, getting in behind me.

He turned down the emergency lane and peeled off, leaving me standing there in disbelief.

This was bad.

Very bad.

 

OOC: Sanc I stole you emergency broadcast thing, I hope you're fine with that.

ICbidiah Greets
May 15th, 5:43AM

"Damn it! You dumb noob!" I yelled as my group and I died in World of Warcraft.
I had been up all night playing that game. I prepared to log off after that death, but I was interrupted by jingling of keys. I decided it was a neighbor, but a key slid into the door knob, and it began to shake furiously. I looked through the eye hole to meet with the eyes of a man who looked like he needed medical attention.
I glanced at the clock and it read 5:54 A.M.
I picked up the phone and the blankets that had been sitting on the couch I slept on. "hhhhhsssssstttttt" leaked through the man's mouth and fogged up the eye hole. I opened the door of my appartment on Pine Terrace Dr. "Are you......" Before I could finish my question the man lunged tword me. I jumped backwards but found myself on the hard tiled floor, by fault of the blanket I had been carrying.
He bit at the soles of my shoes, and actually got a good rubbery chunk out of one. I realized this man was looking to kill me, so I quickly looked around the room for a weapon. I crawled backwards to my computer, looked up at the moniter and had an idea the was destin for failure. I stood up and the strange man crawled tword me, turned around and picked up my monitor.
"Freak......." I said as I attempted to slam my monitor onto it's head, but it was pulled from my hands by the wires still running to my computer, and the power outlet. it slammed to the floor beneath the compter with a crunch.
The monster was now snapping and grabbing at my feet. I tried to kick it in the face but it grabbed my foot in response. It bit another chuck of rubber from the bottom of my shoe, as I slipped my foot from it. The monster knawed on it for a while before noticing my delicious flesh was not in it.
It seemed he wasn't very inteligent, or agile.
Quickly thinking I remembered the machete I bought the day before to cut down a tree for an experiment.
I ran for the closet in the farest part of my appartment, when I reached it I nearly broke the old door off of it's hinges in a panic. I picked up the machete, that I had sharpend after purchasing it, and waited for the monster to come down the hall. He predictably followed me, and met his end, when I slammed the blade into his skull.
"What the hell is he?" I thought.
I turned to the T.V. for answers because I had sucessfully destroyed my computer.
BLOOMP. The screen lit up with a scrolling message about multiple attacks.
??emergency broadcast message for the entire Monroe/West Monroe area. Unknown violent aggressors have been reported attacking civilians in the area. Police strongly advise all citizens to stay in their homes and await further instructions. DO NOT try to flee or rescue friends or loved ones. Ensure that all doors and windows are firmly locked and barricaded. Avoid all physical contact with the assailants. Do not panic. Local emergency officials have mobilized to bring a stop to these attacks. Stay tuned to emergency broadcast stations for further instructions pertaining to potential evacuation of the Monroe/West Monroe area, as well as for emergency shelters in the area.?
As I watched the television I had forgotten to close my front door, a mistake that put me in quite the predicament. Three more of the blood covered monsters entered my appartment. I ran to the one I had just dispatched, and wrestled my machete from the grip of the undead skull. With a series of crunches and squishes the blade came free. I smashed into the trio of monsters in an attempted to leave my appartment. I made it throught he first two, but the third grabbed my arm. I brought the blade down onto the monsters elbow, and I broke free, but with an unwanted present.

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