Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by ChaoticFox
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ChaoticFox The Fabulous Fox

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Lonely World, Season One Prologue





May 3rd, 2018 - Three Months before the St. Mary’s accident…

Highway 407, to Toronto Pearson International Airport




Lizzy cruised down the highway in her white Nissan Sentra, a sporty little car that her mother had bought for her when she had gotten her G2 driver’s license. Despite it’s lackluster engine, it was still pretty fast for a four-cylinder and got amazing gas mileage to boot. She glanced down to the climbing speedometer-- now just barely touching 120km/h, and grinned, pressing a little harder on the gas pedal before pushing in the clutch and dropping down into sixth gear. She bobbed her head along to Blink-182 as she drove, knowing that her control over music would soon be over.

It wasn’t long before she had begun to see signs for the airport and started to make her way to the right side of the highway, veering off onto the ramp towards the arrivals side of Pearson International. She’d been on this route a hundred times, and although this way the first time she was the driver, it felt no different than before. Picking up her mother who had been on yet another business trip, in yet another distant country, talking with yet another potential backer. It was like clockwork. Predictable. She had given up on being upset whenever her mother left, and began to see it as just another week.

She pulled into a parking lot and put it into second before yanking on the emergency brake and turning off the car. Lizzy grabbed her phone and purse, popping her earbuds in before locking the car and making her way inside. The sound of Elton John filled her head as she paced through the airport. She glanced to her phone for a brief moment before quickly sending off a text to her mother.

“You here yet?”

Lizzy pocketed the device before making her way over to the Tim Horton’s tucked off to the side of the corridor, grabbing herself a muffin and coffee before taking a seat at one of the benches. She closed her eyes and lost herself in Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting, the driving guitar hook and Elton’s distinct voice dragging her down into the depths of her musically driven mind as she waited for a response from her returning mother.
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Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by SgtEasy
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SgtEasy S'algood bro

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"You may write me down in history,
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt,
But still, like dust, I rise."

- The First Stanza of Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

Following the white lines painted on the rugby pitch, Jean sighed quietly as he tried to retrace his steps. The last year had been somewhat successful than the years before, and for that, the Ivoirian was thankful. His life had been a mess of twists and turns, uncertainty about his future was always a factor for him. Now though, he was stable. He had no need to worry about Dom or his mother, both far away from him now but still keeping in contact.

It appeared as though that his younger brother had proposed to an old high school friend and invited his older brother to be the best man. Life as a rugby player in the Canadian regionals gave little time for vacation but Jean always had time for his little bro. He was happy for him and in four months, he would watch his wedding with the rare grin on his face. It was unfortunate though, that his brother was so far away from him, his little bundle of joy...

Jean shook away such thoughts, confident that his brother would be okay without him. He called the other day, looking alive and happy with Yevenia, their mother. They would be okay without his support, he assured himself, they would be okay. Reverting his focus to the task at hand, he gazed at the damp grounds underneath his feet. "Now where did I put that necklace..." Receiving a particularly nasty dive tackle during a hospital pass, his necklace had fallen off during the fall and now he had to find it

The sound of roaring engines and excited whooping exploded from the background, making Jean smile a little. The boys were heading out to the bar after practice, going for a night out before the big game tomorrow. They were going to have a friendly, pre-season match with the Eastern Ontario club, their rivals in the league. It was going to be a simple affair, not as many people attending as there would be in big league games but the atmosphere was going to be excitable despite this. Many friendly insults would be thrown and the hardcore fans that would attend would get to have a close look at their favourite teams. His relatively short career of three years had been a list of successes and memorable moments, a rising star in Canadian rugby, many saying that he would be a definite pick for the team sent to the 2019 Rugby World Cup. Although old compared to other players, his past in both High School and College football gave him both the mentality and professional experience.

A glint in the wet grass caught Jean's eye and he walked towards it, picking up a small copper cross on a rusted chain. It was his birth mother's cross and as he stared at it, he tried to bring memories of her to the forefront of his mind. A kind, caring face. Bright eyes, full of hope and love. Blood streaking down the side of her head, the sound of a body going thump on the floor. He shook his head and put it on. There was no need for such thoughts in his mind, the haze of flashbacks and emotions receding back to the inner depths.

As he walked back to his car, Jean's thoughts brought up another event that would happen in the near future. Samantha, an old friend from high school, was coming to town to meet him in a few months. He smiled brightly at the thought of her, taking the alone time to express some emotions. She was always a person of great importance to him and admittedly, interest. Despite the four year gap, they had both attended the same school together and through his younger brother, developed an unlikely friendship. Never doubt the old phrase that opposites attract. Him, the lonely tough jock and her, the ever-positive normal nerd. He scratched his head, thinking of the many interesting things he wanted to happen when she visited as he approached his car. Opting to send a text before he left drinking, the rugby player sent a message to his old friend on Skype.

-- Ur coming 3 months from now. You excited? I am XD --

Jean revved the Ford Mustang loud and proud, whooping his own cheer of excitement as blasted off to catch up to his friends. Blasting Ridin by Chamillionaire in the inside of his car, he grinned another time. The great events to come would give the man a chance to relax after a truly troubled past. However this would not be the case, for Lady Luck was not on his side.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Xalo
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Xalo

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Armagh, Ireland

May 3rd, 2018 - 17:00 WET




The weather in all of its shoddy magnificence made grey of the land, with the anticipation of a dark downpour desiring to unleash in torrents; the last few days of the week having build up what would be this cruel force majeure with no way to argue against it, only endure and hope it moved in without much damage. And amidst the heavy rainfall, was a young Francis taking himself to jogging for salvation from the storm; his only protection was the hood upon his head, though it offered little else at this point. As last, he found himself outside a local pub to rush in for shelter and saving what he could of his mood.

He exhaled a pent breath of relief upon closing the mahogany doors, unzipping his hoodie to hang upon the many other jackets of the coat racks that littered the entryway. "By the love of Mary, will this hell ever let up?" He'd ask to himself in muttered pants, shaking his head in disbelief with the patting of raindrops painting themselves upon the window panes before he'd decide it better to ease his mind with a pint of guinness. The bar stool was comfortable enough if a bit taller than desired, though the selection and bartender (of an enchanting ensemble) gave leeway for him to forget the peeve. With a upward nod of his head to the lovely lass, he'd perk to say; "A kilkenny, if you would."

The minutes rolled by to hours, with Francis downing his pints over the leisure of the clock; with the storm roaring outside into the night, he was in no rush to leave - nor wanting to; the small talk he made with his server, a Miss Haggerty, blessed a titter of laughter of bitter sorrowfulness every now and again. He'd tuck a hand into his right pocket for his phone, flipping through his texts and contacts for what little interaction he did have when he seemed so abstract to the world of social media. A single text from his distant and desired partner Rebecca had skipped his heart, as it had every time before for his virgin heart; she would be his first and- as far as he knew -his only.

"Hey lil' Willy! Hope the storm hasn't drowned you out yet, you still got to get that butt of yours over here in a few months. Xoxo -Rebecca, 17:56

The young man's face warmed, though it was unsure whether from the kilkenny count or blushing; Miss Haggerty questioned in none either way, letting him enjoy the moment while he could, knowing by the lord's good graces that he needed any pick-me-up he could have come his way. In the later hours of the night and watching the nearby flatscreen of the weather forecast estimated for the night, it had become clear that the fury of nature wasn't letting up - at least not for another few days. With that said, Francis groaned childishly to himself as he'd slide from the bar stool, reaching into his wallet for his debit card to pay Miss Haggerty for her time well spent. His hoodie, still heavy with dampness, slid back over his torso and zipped up; he may as well protect what he could of his hair before jogging through the blackened night of downpour and thunder, making headway for Heidi and home.
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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Stekkmen
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Stekkmen Head shotted.

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Samantha Park




"You moving out yet?" Samantha's dad teased, like he did every morning. Only a year out of college, Sammy was struggling to find a real job- a job that would get her a house. The main reason for wanting to get a house was to get her dad to stop asking her to get a house.

"No, Dad, I don't have a house yet. I think I'll put it off a few years just to annoy you, at this rate." Samantha smiled as she looked at her aging father.

"You better not. I'll make you pay rent."

Samantha gasped in mock horror. Her father chuckled heartily and went back into the living room to watch golf. Shudder. Golf? She had no idea how anyone liked watching golf. Not even drunk? The only acceptable form of golf was mini-golf late at night, with all your friends, and completely wasted. Even then, if you had all your friends at night and were drunk- the last thing you should be doing is playing golf.

And yet, there her father sat, comfy on the couch at 10 AM, doing nothing except watching richer, younger men hit balls into holes. What a blast.

Her cereal was getting soggy in her Soy milk (she wasn't a hipster, Soy milk just tastes better!) so she washed out the bowl. Her mother offered to take the bowl from her.

"Mom, I can wash my own dishes, okay? I'm a big girl now."

Her mother frowned. "I wish you weren't. I remember when you were just a little girl, this tall." She made a gesture at her knees. "Oh, one time, we all went to the playground and you said you were a doctor, and you played with all the little children and you were a doctor, one of them was a firemen, speaking of firemen, remember that one time when you set fire to those sticks in our backyard when you were 6? Such a little troublemaker back then. You're much better now though- your father made sure to that. No more books for you young lady! Oh, those were the days. It seems like only yesterday you were a little girl, about this high..." Making another gesture at her knees.

Samantha crossed her eyes dramatically, feigning death by boredom. Her mother made a noise and lightly pushed her in the shoulder.

"Sammy, you shouldn't treat your poor old mother like that!" She said. Before Samantha realized it, she had taken her cereal bowl and was washing it in the kitchen sink. How did she do that?

Her smart phone buzzed in the back pocket of her jeans. She reached in, to see that she had gotten a few texts over night, followed up by one from a friend of hers. Jean-Jacques, from high school. His younger brother Dom was a pretty popular character at the time if she recalled correctly, and he introduced her to his brother- Jean.

They seemed to hit it off pretty well at the time- and they both wanted to reconnect. You could never use enough friends.

Plus, he was like, super buff. She checked the message, and a small smile spread across her lips.

-- Ur coming 3 months from now. You excited? I am XD --


Her fingers went to work typing out the message.

-- yep! :) sry it couldn't happen sooner! SUPER busy with the job search!! should have some free time when it comes around tho!! --


She sent the message. Another text- this one from her brother, Steven. He's the one who started calling her Sammy.

-- Hey, Sammy. Just checkin' in on my little sis. Need any money? I've got money, because I've got a job. How is that job search going by the way? Need any money?--


Damn you, Steven. "Need any money"? Why are older brothers so good at annoying their younger siblings? It was all good meaning banter, but Sammy took it very seriously. She had to think of something to annoy him back. Hmm. It'd come to her later. She put her phone back into her back pocket.

"You better not be thinking of dating that Jean boy. I won't have my daughter married to a french man!" Mother said. For some reason, she had adopted "hating" the french people of Canada- like they were some kind of rival college football team.

"Mom-" Sammy laughed. "Mom, he's not from France. He's from-"

"AaaaaaaahhhI do not care! He is french! His name is Jean-Jacques! That is the most french name I have ever heard."

Her father laughed from the living room- apparently listening in.

"It wouldn't matter anyway, Mom. He's just a friend."

Her mother gave her a deadpan look. "Oh, yes. Of course. Just friends." She said, sarcasm soaking her words. Samantha smiled and turned away quickly to hide her blushing. How did she even know she was texting him? She passed her father on the way to her room, who also gave her a knowing look. Man! What the heck? It was in three months! They were acting like she and Jean just walked out of her room with frazzled hair like some kind of sit-com.

She quietly closed the door behind her and the quiet voice of the golf announcer became muffled. Her laptop was sitting there in sleep mode. Tapping her wireless mouse brought the computer to life once again- and the sight of a million resume tabs and a depressingly empty inbox. No responses over the night. She sighed, reminding herself that her degree wouldn't go to waste.

She spent the next few hours online- doing research, looking into job opportunities, playing some casual game. Suddenly, her eyes widened. She had it! She had it figured out.

She just thought of the perfect comeback to her brother!

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Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Zhaliora
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Zhaliora Fallen Angel

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It had been a hectic few weeks in Asia. One week in India to meet with a representative from the Indian government. The minister of infrastructure no less, along with a smaller delegation. They wanted to form a contract for a major solar power plant in a mountain range in the southern tip of India. It's close to the equator so they hoped that it would pay off many times over within a few years. It was nice to see countries switching from fossil fuels to renewable sources. It was a massive job though.

After a week of going to the site to see it for herself, planning, taking measurements, looking up the infrastructure in the area. And from the traffic she was almost amazed that she had not been killed already. Despite the government blocking off most of the area around it, getting there was another thing entirely.

Next on the list was China. A new factory to supply materials for the Indian instalation. Possibly even more due to the high demand that just kept piling up. She had already planned one factory in Canada and one in Germany. It was nice though that the Chinese government were willing to sponsor the factory slightly since it was planned to be massive and bring in quite a few jobs. Not only that, they wanted their own power plant. Their announcement a few years back were finally coming into fruition.

After that it was Japan. She heavily relied on electronics from Japan to get everything up and running. In a way she was happy that her company had grown to the extent where she did not have to program and install everything, but that did not stop her from sticking her nose into things anyway.

Her plan was to get a few days of vacation in Japan before going back home. But that plan never came to fruition. The second day into her vacation and she was already swarmed by emails from sites all over the globe. Amanda had given up and just started working to get a shipment delay sorted out and calling the affected customers and different suppliers to work out a new timetable.

Finally though she was on her way home. But even that turned for the worse as her layover got delayed by a day so she had to spend the night in LA. At least it let her make a few phone calls to US clients and suppliers.

Despite traveling as much as she does, she had never been able to sleep on an airplane and the layover was just a couple of hours. Not enough time to get a proper night's sleep. So by the time she arrived in Toronto Amanda was not in a happy mood. Not only that, but she had promised to spend some time with Lizzy once she got home, but the phone kept ringing.

She turned her phone to quiet calls and took a few deep breaths as she stood by the bagging area. Finally some calm and quiet. *Beep* Amanda almost jumped as she stood when her phone went off loudly. She was just about to curse when she was who sent the message. She stared at it for a few moments before replying.

"Yes. I'm heading over to the usual spot."

Amanda pressed send and started making her way over to the shop. She had a haggard look about her. Bags under her eyes and unkempt hair. Tired, exhausted, she waved at Lizzy, hoping to catch her attention.

Lizzy titled her head back as she let the last remaining drops of coffee fall from the paper cup into her mouth. The warm, bitter-sweet liquid warmed her to the core, casting away the cold brought on by the dreary and rainy day. She continued to bob her head gently to the music that filled her ears, only interrupted by the gentle ring signifying she had received a text. "Finally." she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes ever so slightly.

She looked up to see an exhausted Amanda walking across the floor over to her, a sight she had seen more times than she cared to admit. Lizzy stood and reluctantly took out her earbuds, plastering a gentle smile on her face that may or may not have been genuine and began to walk over to her mother. "Hey Mom.." she said gently, if not in a slightly cold tone towards Amanda, the words sounding foreign in her head. "What happened? You were supposed to be here yesterday."

Not waiting for an answer, Lizzy walked over and took one of the bags from her mother and began to lead the way to the car, a mix of slight happiness and partial irritation visible over her face. It was supposed to have been her day out with a few friends, not picking up her dear mother from the airport.

Amanda sighed as Lizzy asked. "The pilot got sick, believe it or not. And they could not find a replacement pilot in time for the flight so they postponed it." She didn't even have time to say thank you to her daughter before she was already on the move towards the car.

No sooner than that they got to the car Amanda's phone started buzzing. She gave it a tired look before putting it away. "I'm sorry Lizzy," she said and gently patted her daughter on the head. "I'll make it up to you." She didn't wait for an answer as she loaded her bag into the trunk and soon after sat down in the passenger seat. The car was a bit cramped for her tastes, but it was Lizzy's choice after all.

She leaned towards the radio and turned on the local news channel. To see if she had missed anything while flying and during the layover. Nothing too out of the ordinary, as her phone buzzed again. She decided to ignore it once again. She was going to keep the rule, she felt like she had to. It just felt like she was losing her daughter.

"I mean, thats what you said last time.....And the time before." She turned and looked out the window as she backed up the car, then turned back around and put the car into gear. "And the time before that." She tapped the gas a little harder on purpose, before easing up and driving like she normally would.

"So how was Asia? Or was it Europe this time, they all kinda blend together." Lizzy looked over her shoulder before merging back onto the highway. She glanced over to her mother briefly, before stating the obvious. "You gonna answer that, or are you gonna just let it keep ringing?"

Amanda looked out the window and sighed deeply. "Asia; India, China and Japan. Things are progressing quite well. I'm even thinking about stepping down quite a bit of responsibilities. I know I've said that before, but this time I'm serious about it." She didn't even know if she trusted her own words after she had said them.

She looked at her phone when it was mentioned before turning it off and tossed it to the back. "No, not today. I'll drop by the office either tomorrow or the day after that. I guess I'll have a thousand emails to go through after that."

"Right, and I'm running for Prime Minister next year. Seriously, you've been saying that since this business took off." She scoffed gently to herself and pushed on the gas, veering into the far right lane, before accelerating aggresively to around 130km/h. Lizzy shook her head and flicked on her music once again, gently tapping her hand to the beat of X Ambassadors, Renegades and the gentle acoustic that came with it.

And then she began to sing along, her voice soft and quaint, contrary to the bustling and busy city that they lived in. She lost herself briefly in the music, calming her mind and clearing her thoughts. "Where are you? Because you're certainly not here with me."

"Speaking of the PM, they called me and asked if I wanted to become an advisor for energy solutions." Amanda said and chuckled as she looked out the window. Her mind was so far gone that she didn't even notice the speed picking up high. Neither that the radio had switched from news to music.

Lizzy's question brought her back though. "I'm somewhere....somewhere far away...away from work, together with you. But whenever I imagine such a thing there is always a phone ringing or someone calling for me." She sighed deeply. "I don't know if you want to spend time with me Lizzy, but I've got at least today if you do. They should be able to last without me for at least a few hours."

Suddenly her emergency phone rang. "God damn it!" she cursed loudly before picking it up. "What!?" The annoyance was quite clear in her voice. The other side was quiet for a moment before speaking up hesitantly.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but the infrastructure minister is outside of the house and wants to see you. Apparently it's quite urgent, and you did not pick up on your normal phone." Their live-in nanny and maid was on the other side of the line.

There was a long pause before Amanda spoke. "Tell him that we'll be home soon...." She ended the call before looking at Lizzy with an expression of resignation. "I'll try to get it over with quickly. Ok? We can do something after...."

"Whatever, Amanda." Her tone was cold as she spat the name as if it were an insult. She turned the music up and went quiet, focusing on the road while she tried to hide a tear running down the left side of her face.
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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by hagroden
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hagroden Atomic Angel

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Dural Warra




"Good Morning Newnham Campus, It's a beautiful 26 degrees out today with A nice cool Breeze."
His eyes opened slowly, the loud alarm of a radio blaring just a foot away from his bed under an Economics' exam Result with a large 99% in red marker scrawled atop the front. Sitting up with a loud sigh, he placed his feet on the cold hardwood floor as he reached for the pack of cigarettes sitting on the corner of his night-stand. With the gently click of his Zippo, he inhaled the icy smoke with pleasure as the slight buzz of a nicotine rush fully awakened him. Standing up, he gently pulled open the window to his dorm room and relished the cool morning breeze as the sun peaked over the horizon. Holding the cigarette in his mouth, he lowered the blaring volume of his alarm to an acceptable level, acknowledging the bright blue 6:15 A.M. displayed across it's screen.

Taking another slow pull from his cigarette, he pulled on his jeans and socks as the radio continued to drone on in the Background.
"...And with just a week left in the year, expect the late-night music too be at an all-time high, so you early-birds better sleep with earmuffs or have an extra cup of coffee ready for the morning, because it's going to be painfully loud until the sun peaks. I'm your host Eric Johnson and this, is Seneca Local."
The radio was cut short as Darul reset it for the next morning, dropping his cigarette into the empty ashtray as he pocketed the pack in his light Jacket. Locking the door as he walked out, he pushed his earbuds in and hit the "Play" button on his ancient I-Pod Nano, walking to the upbeat tunes of Streetlight Manifesto.


Darul pulled out from the Campus parking lot in his Black 2010 Hyundai Elantra. Glancing at the radio he saw it was about 2:45 in the afternoon, and he was free until his 4-10 shift at the dealership. Thanks to his hedonistic mentality and sly charisma he was capable of pulling of the dirtiest of sales and becoming one of the best salesman of his branch. With the added bonus of a 25% commission rate at a Brand New dealership, he made an incredibly pretty penny that made his coworkers and employers wonder why he even bothered with furthering his education.

Thanks to the constant shrug of a response, his peers and coworkers were unaware that his plans were far from settling as an auto-dealer. After finishing his Bachelors in Accounting, he planned to go into law school. With degrees in both Law and Accounting and moral flexibility, he'd find his way into a corporate firm and quickly work his way up the food chain until creating a corporate firm of his own that'd hired only the best and brightest.


Darul gave a nod to the small group of students waiting at his regular meeting spot, a handful of jocks on GPA scholarships with rich parents, his best customers. Pulling a file from his glove-box, he gestured for the group to approach, opening the file and producing six paper-clipped packets, organized by name.

"Derek, Six-Fifty. Kyle, Six-Twenty. Alex, Seven-Ten. Nathan, Five-Ten. Chris, Five-Seventy Five. And Jayson, Nine hundred even. Good luck on those exams boys, but don't do too well or you'll get caught."
He listed with a smirk, taking the bonds of bills one by one, up to Jayson, whom he eyed with a growing look of irritation.

"Fuck you abo, I'm not paying nine-hundred for some fucking answer keys."
The man stated with obvious anger, not paying enough attention to notice the other five backing away from him, knowing what was to come.

With a mean look in His eyes, Dural unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car-door, stepping out and walking to the other side, looking into the Jock's eyes from less than a quarter metre away.

"You know the deal Jay, we talked prices less than a week ago and you agreed. Three Hundred for each of your exams"
"But you charged those other guys way less for the same number of exams, the fucks your problem?"
"Different courses, different fees, now pay up before I make that empty skull of yours bounce off the pavement."
"Yeah right Boonga!"
And with that, Darul reached quickly into the passenger side of his car and grabbed his club, smashing it into the man's head in a near instant. With a loud yelp, the man backed away grasping his now-bleeding forehead, glaring at Darul with gritted teeth. Stepping forward, he punched Darul hard in the stomach, who in response gasped for breath as the wind was knocked out of him. Taking another hit, this time to the face, Darul swung the club low, feeling an agonising crack reverberate through the wood as it made contact with the man's knee, breaking the joint almost instantly. As the man dropped to his knee in pain, Darul kicked him hard in the jaw, causing him to fall forward completely. Spitting blood into the grass, Darul walked forward and grabbed the Man's head by the hair, then smashed it hard into the concrete.

With that, he walked back into his car, speeding away as the man lay crumbled on the sidewalk.
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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Solaris
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Solaris Accursed Blasphemer

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Phoenix “Ace” Lancaster






Deep in the wilderness, south of Algonquin Provincial Park

November, 11, 2017



You have power over your mind, not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.
Marcus Aurelius




It was late in the afternoon, trees with orange leaves, an orange sky with dark clouds looming above. It was slightly misty and the ground was damp. A young man was laying on the moist dead leaves that blanketed the forest floor, rifle butt pressed against his should and its barrel resting on his backpack. He held its sturdy polymer grip with his cold hand as he peered through its scope with laser-like vision.

”Three fifty…. no…. three seventy five…. no…. four hundred meters… just about there…

After saying this to himself, he fell silent. Moments seemed like minutes as he took deep, paced breaths, hot exhaust flowing out of his mouth with each exhale. His mark, an elusive stag, he had been tracing it for a few weeks and it was a wondrous machine of nature. Powerful, lean muscles, large, contorted antlers, and stood with its chest puffed out for the purpose of bolstering its swagger, though it was the only deer in that field, I suppose it must have made a habit of it.

Meanwhile the young firebrand still watching vigilantly from his cozy position atop the ridge had slowed his heart rate immensely, he was calm, the crosshairs of his rifle aimed a few inches above the deer’s heart. His mind was clear, his conscious did not speak to him, even the white noise of his subconscious had mysteriously disappeared. Again, to him, time seemed to slow, he heard only the low hum of his own breath. The of the scene he saw through his scope seemed sharp and detailed. It was time, all of the factors have converged onto this moment, the tracking, the mapping, deduction, induction, and finally, luck. He slowly began to squeeze the trigger, and a high pitched bang echoed throughout the beautiful wilderness.

Birds perched high in the trees hastily took flight, and mammals on the forest floor floors scattered to their dens. It was as if the wilderness’s animal kingdom was itself a living thing, and the Hunter’s bullet had triggered it to respond with a momentary surge of adrenaline. The trees that towered over all, of course did not respond, they simply stood there swaying in the wind, indifferently observing, flame colored leaves falling preparing for the winter season.

The dead brown leaves that lay all over the forest floor were splattered with crimson blood, and they were joined by a brown dead deer. The young man stared through the scope of his rifle for a few more seconds to confirm his kill, he saw its lifeless body, and was happy that he wouldn’t have to endure any more tracking for the day. He stood up, taking one deep breath and began to head towards the deer’s carcass. He made haste and was delighted to find that greedy scavengers had not yet attempted to claim his kill for themselves. He field dressed the deer, and used his camp axe to cut down some tree branches of medium girth. He fastened them together with cordage to make a wooden frame which he tied the deer’s corpse to.

He then proceeded to drag the deer back to the central part of his Uncle Jack’s estate. Despite not having had a particularly well-paying job, he did gain an equal amount of inheritance to his two older siblings, and now owns a large tract of wilderness where he can go hunting and trapping and a large, lakeside cabin and workshop where he basically pursues his passions and hobbies. After a grueling forty minute hike during which it started to rain, the pitter patter of raindrops which the hunter found calming to the mind, helped make the hike less agonizing.

By the time he returned to the manor, he was not surprised that Jack had abandoned his forge to seek shelter inside due to the rain. The weather conditions slowly deteriorating and the sky slowly turning darker, he knew that he had to move fast. In no time at all, he skinned and butchered the deer, placing its different cuts in an iced cooler and prepping the hide for further processing. At this point he was soaked. He entered the manor, which it really wasn’t all too spectacular, slightly larger than a two story middle-income home. He wiped his boots on a mat and walked in, the heavy thumping of his boots clearly audible throughout the house.




”Uncle jack!! Uncle Jack!!”

He didn’t appear to be downstairs, it was mostly open, he observed there to be no activity in the kitchen or the “lounge” as he would call it. He started his way up the creaking stairs.

”Resting perhaps?”

He thought to himself as he opened the door of Jack’s bedroom, only to find it empty.

”rats”

He thought. He thought for a second.

”ahhh… That must be it then.”

He said to himself as he opened the door to his Uncle’s study to find him immersed in a novel. He quickly noticed his nephews presence and with his eyes still fixated on the book and in a monotone voice he said

“Hey Phoenix, how did the hunt good, did you finally get him?”

”Lets just say we’ll be eating good tomorrow.”

Replied Phoenix, a satisfied grin grew on his face. Jack also smiled, he stood up, placing his book, open and face down on his desk. Following this, Jack excitedly said.

“oh really? How far and how many shots?”

”One at four-hundred

“OOOOO, that terrible, four hundred shots at one meter…”

Jack said sarcastically, Phoenix shot back, also in a sarcastic tone of voice.

“I know, I know, I really have to work on that trigger pull”

“No, but seriously, good work out there… that reminds me, do you know what day it is?”

Said Jack, his demeanor returning to normal. Phoenix paused for a second to think.

"....Damn, it’s my birthday?”

He was surprised, he got so caught up in this new way of life that he almost forgot.

“yes, and I think I may have a present for you… ACE”

He said, trying to give a hint.

”…I don’t get it”

Replied Phoenix.

“What is that weapon that you tightly grasp in your left and after all of your hunts?”

”Surely you jest… I couldn’t, this is your service rifl-“

“no buts”

He was cut off.

“you earned it, you really put a lot of effort into your marksmanship skills, and though four-hundred meters isn’t that amazing, hitting the heart of a dear at that range… I’m impressed, and besides, if I ever rejoin the military, which I probably will do once you’re on your feet, I’ll get a newer, better rifle.”

He picked up his book and began to walk towards the door

”t-thank you”

Replied Ace, overjoyed that he now has a rifle. (Though he wasn’t really old enough to own one) Jack put his hand on Phoenix’s shoulder and said

“there’s no need for thanks, I’ll continue to read elsewhere, since you’re back, I’m sure you’ll want to do your own reading”

With that he left the room, Phoenix clutched the rifle, now his with both hands and grinned. He made a fist and pumped his elbow back.

”YESSS!!”

He uttered excitedly.




He quickly refocused on the task at hand, leaning the rifle against the desk and walking over to one of the bookshelves. He picked out a textbook he had been studying. One of the sciences that utterly fascinated him was chemistry, so he now held an old college chemistry textbook which he laid out on the table and opened it to the chapter he left off at. He opened a notebook, grabbed a pencil and got busy. For three hours he worked nonstop, taking detailed notes and completing the problem sets for two chapters. Afterwards he was tired as hell. He grabbed his rifle and went downstairs and began to climb the ladder to the loft, where he kept all of his stuff and would sleep at during the colder seasons. He placed his rifle, placing it next to his gear and took off most of his clothes, leaving only his grey undershirt and boxer-briefs. He laid down in his sleeping bag, and being spent, he fell into a deep slumber almost immediately.
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Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Kingdom of Nohr
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Kingdom of Nohr

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"Tail! Wake up! Tail You're late for work come on wake up!"

Thalia woke up to being frantically dragged off her bed.

"Hmm-? What's going on?" Thalia asked while being dragged by her feet.

"We're late for work come on!" Thalia recognized the voice as Kate.

Thalia scrambled up from the floor before looking at the clock that read 6:34. She looked back over at Kate but she was already dashing around half dressed while also slurping coffee from her Three Days Grace mug.

Thalia closed her bedroom door and started to get dressed herself before running out to the living room and running after the now dressed Kate down the halls of the apartment building.

"I'm driving!" Thalia yelled after Kate as they ran down the halls.

"Fine! But I drive home!"

They both climbed into the Minivan and sped off towards Tim Hortons.

"What happened? Why did you wake me up so late?" Thalia asked.

"Forgot to set my alarm, didn't realize I had a shift today."

Thalia laughed.

"Hate when that happens. Wait- it's not even 7! Today is Thursday right? I don't have my shift until 8! HA!" She exclaimed.

"HEY! Don't rub it in! I don't choose my shifts!" Kate snapped back.

"If you did they would be 2pm to 3pm and quite imaginary." Thalia Snorted.

"True that. Oh- we're here now."

"Oh! I never would have noticed! Not like you know... I'm driving?! But nooooo! I Just let it drive itself, fell asleep too!" Thalia said jokingly.

"Stop wasting time we're late and we nee-"

Thalia cut her off.

"/You/ are late. I am just really early! Better hurry up!"

Kate quickly scrambled out of her side of the car as Thalia got out slowly laughing as she ran in.

As Kate got behind the counter Thalia walked up slowly to her.

"Hey Kate? I'll Have a Medium Coffee, Three Milk, Half sugar, a boston creme donut, Bacon English Breakfast Sandwich and 10 timbits to go! One of each kind!"

Kate smirked before mouthing "I hate you" to Thalia as she went to finish the order.

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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by ChaoticFox
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ChaoticFox The Fabulous Fox

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Lonely World, Season One







August 29th, 2018 - One Week after the accident…

01:30 | The Smith Household




A thunderstorm had rolled in as darkness covered the city like a veil. Up until now, the blackness of the asphalt streets had never been rivaled by the night. Up until now, they hadn’t seen a country-wide-- no, a worldwide disaster such as this one. The power was still on in about half of the city. Lights still speckled the downtown streets of Toronto, but left the more isolated suburbs and rural areas shrouded in dark.




Lizzy gently shifted one of the blind panels aside and peered through the tiny sliver of window that she could see. Outside, the rain still fell in the dead of night, the clouds blocking out any remaining light that the moon would have casted upon the now silent city. The young brunette’s eyes scanned across the dark street, though what she was looking for remained unknown.

“I don’t see anything..” She whispered back in the direction of her mother, her voice quivering as she did. Lizzy’s mind raced, a thunderstorm of emotions more violent than the storm outside, raged inside of her head. At first, it had been panic like most people would’ve felt. Then came the true fear and the overwhelming nature of what had happened had hit her. Finally, a wave of sadness, before she had finally accepted the situation and started to wonder about their future. However long-- or short, that may be.

She slumped back down against the wall of the house, her knife grasped gently in her hand. A shiver went up her spine as she thought of the dead body in the next room over, the person that had all but raised her, gone from this world. A single tear rolled down her face, almost invisible in the dark, but still present. A show of mourning for her. Lizzy balled a fist; She would not be overtaken so easily.

“...S-so...now what?”
Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Xalo
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Xalo

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Al Flaherty's Outdoor Store, Toronto, Canada

August 29th, 2018 - 19:25 EST

rainymood.com


"For the love of Mary, would the rain ever end?" -Francis


The downpour hailed down without mercy from the abyssal sky, with black clouds crying for what felt like ages and lightning bringing flashes of revelation in the darkness; the weather brought no immediate relief to Francis' mind as his eyes traversed quicker than he did for the new scourge that haunted the country, averting to his utmost extent from the infected. His exposed hands from his crimson hoodie trembled with a mixture of unfiltered fear and adrenaline pushing his every fiber, tugging between the realms of fight or flee - with the latter opportunity gaining the upper hand. His every breath brought permeating clouds to preclude his vision of clarity for short moments, only raising his infuriating ever so slightly; he was adamant for protecting himself, with proper amounts of munitions before he'd find his own short supply dwindled to nothing - as he would shortly follow after in such a bind.

He remained kneeled at the edge of the alleyway, holding his breath and peering out into the light-forsaken street for what demons this hell held; stragglers limped in their expected uncoordinated manner with ghastly groans, leaving both a mixture of relief and strain. "Bloody hell..." He muttered from under his breath as the cloud of his air raised out in front of his eyes, ducking back behind the alley to look for the side entrance into the Outdoor Store. The sounds of the infected's groans still echoing relentless, calling out to the world of their unnatural hunger. Within the narrow alley remained several plastic trash cans laying on up straight, mostly empty; Will moved them in a line near the street, offering an objective and visual barrier to deter any infected from approaching or seeing him. The side entrance in the alleyway was a standard door - but unfortunately locked, as Francis soon realized as the door's knob jiggled yet offered no release. "Fff-... You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me here." His eyes glanced about as he'd look up at sky, and a crack of lightning streaming across the sky and offering boisterous booms from the resounding thunder; a 'click' in his head striking an idea to mind.

Francis stood higher in his stance, on his tip toes as he'd ready to see the next flash of blinding light flicker down on them all. An awkward minute ticking by ever so slowly before a flash would appear, meeting with a nearby explosion of thunder resounding from the sky - now was the time! His weight shifted onto his front foot as his rear met with the wood besides the knob, cracking in the door as he broke the mechanism under the guise of nature's voice to conceal himself. With the door smashed open, he'd crouch his way inside and prop the door to at remain as shut as he could with a nearby door stopper. Hesitantly, his volume and breath calmed to seek hearing any shifting or footsteps within the walls of the store; silence fell, save for the muffled groans from behind unbroken panes from the streetside view, a good sign that nobody remained within - at least not infected. No lights remained lit within the building, still under the darkness of the night, with only his adjusted sight to allow him to be guided; his gat following in his caution with each step gliding over the ground and stepping flatly upon the tiles, wincing at the slightest squeak that his damp heels made. But at last, he was opened to the array of opportunity that the outdoor store offered.

He immediately sought for new clothes, adorning himself in dry, thick outfit to better suit himself to the weather outside, including a dark-green waterproof baretta hunting jacket and waterproof boots; an exhale of yearned relief once again washing over him. "Bless you, god. Bloody bless you." He muttered quietly to himself repeatedly as he'd grab a hearty backpack and two 96L camouflaged duffel bags to begin stocking himself up on dry MREs and accessories; taking both a black label tomohawk and benchmade knife to puck away under his belt, six 62-grain 5.56x45 NATO boxes to completely stuff one of the now-filled (and near painfully heavy) duffel bags, stealing a lovely SIG Sauer M400 rifle from behind the counter - as well as ten 20-round STANAG magazines to later loading. Not forgetting his H&K .45, he'd load half of the next duffel bag with .45 ACP ammunication and bottles of water that he could salvage. And finally, his backpack upon his back would be a packed tent, its respective stakes, and a bedroll stuffed to a near uncomforting level. With carry just shy of his own weight in gear, he'd move to return to the same exit he had snuck from in hopes that all would be as planned...

By some miraculous fortune of fate, the barrels remained untouched - sparking another prayer from Francis to thank god in his most dire hour of need; his hands and feet supporting his weight and peering over the bins to see the roamers still at their mindless stranding, offering him a final blessing as he moved a single bin to take to his escape, returning back to the lit side of town. An hour or so of traversing back to a local apartment upon Day Ave to hide upon the roof; the only way up was via the fire escape, one that he made sure would be tedious for even himself to climb with only a rope allowing one to pull down the ladder from its retraction. Once upon the door, he'd sneak back into his room and rest himself for the physically exhausting night that dragged the energy from him, collapsing onto the bed of the barricaded apartment to take rest for the night. It was a victory, and likely the only one for the next several, painful years...
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Zhaliora
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Zhaliora Fallen Angel

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It had been quite a hectic night, a hectic week to be honest. After the first reports of the outbreak her company had been working on the powersupply day and night. Only she and a few had known about what was really going on. Or, even she had not known to what extent it was. She had just been called in to fix their power lines and sewage system. But the infection had spread too quickly. They had not been able to contain it.

For once she had been happy that those doomsdayers had been right. At least when it comes to preperations and constructions. Her company had been working on secure bunkers that could be left self-sustaining for years. At least if the capacity was not overextended, which it probably would be. They had even done a few private ones. Their own cellar was self-sustaining, but not for too long. Along with all her work...she had not tended to it as she should had.

"Good...then perhaps we can avoid any other incidents today...." Amanda said and puffed as she dragged the body of their nanny towards the counter and started putting it into a garbage bag. She had to get rid of it somehow. Not only would it start smelling soon, but the mental trauma for Lizzy.. Not only had she been there...she had to see it as well.

Amanda tried her best to look calm and normal as she returned into the living room of their house. "Now...." she said quietly as she crouched down in front of her daughter and gently placed her hand over her's. "We can either wait here...or we can try to make it to the shelters. That or far away from here."

She tried her best to calm Lizzy down as she gently looked at her. Amanda wiped away some of the grime from her face before slumping down next to her daughter. "I'm sorry about Cait." She finally said and sighed deeply before patting her daughter's shoulder and stood up once again to find something for them to eat.
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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by SgtEasy
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SgtEasy S'algood bro

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Jean & Sammy

A collab between the wonderful @Stekkmen and I

This was wrong. Everything, this whole damn thing was wrong. One moment, he passing the try line, cheered on by his good buddy George. He was a giant of man, broad shoulders, bushy beard and bulging muscles. A perfect prop for the team, one of the rising stars of the Wolfpack. He was a softie at heart, everyone in the club knew so. They knew about his wife and kid, little Emily had visited the club frequently. They remembered when she caught her first pass, and proceeded to tackle her father for the first time. They remembered the sound of her laughter mixed with his, the little girl propped up on his shoulders as they ran around the pitch. They saw her skeletal fingers grab at her father’s throat, pulling him back with inhuman strength as she ravaged his face on the ground. The blood spilling on the green grass. The pained cries of a friend. A comrade. A mate.

One of the watching fans, people who had been watching them train for their upcoming finals, reacted first. He shouted at her, telling her to stop. She continued eating like there was nothing wrong, digging into her father’s eye sockets, his screaming dying down. He approached her and tried to pull her off, gripping her shoulders. The little girl finally stopped and turned, before lunging at the spectator. This was when everyone started running. Jean dropped the ball and ran past the scenes, eyes taking on a detached look, trying not to stare at the scene in front of him. He heard shouting, screaming. People running away. The girl munching on the two corpses.

Jean had seen some gruesome things in the slums. Murder was a regular occurrence, orphans were regularly abused by their very own caretakers. He himself, when he was very young, had witnessed the death of his birth mother. But this horror, this panic. The impending doom he felt in his stomach, these feelings are unmatched in his mind. He shouted at the rest of his team that were still on the pitch, some running like he was, others dumbfounded as they watched their friend’s dead body writhing in front of them.

”Don't just stand there boys! Head to my house, pick up people who need a lift, we need to find out what the fuck is happening!” Jean forced them into action. He didn't know what was happening, why George’s little princess was in the middle of eating someone, but he knew he needed to get people going. Snap them out of their trauma. Tell them what to do so that they forgot what just happened, let them focus on other tasks. It was his decisiveness under pressure that made him a good winger. He just hoped that this would pay off.

Slamming the door of his car, awakening the vehicle into a roar. Jean brought out his phone, hearing the commotions outside as friends took people into their cars and drove off. Dialling 911, he felt his breath accelerate, hands shaking. He was nervous, anticipating the worst. That when he hit "call", no one would answer. This was real fear. The kind that fucked with your head, that rising feeling in your stomach. He shook his head, pressing the green call button and brought his phone to his ear. He had lived through Abidjan, there was no way he could be fearful of this.

No one answered. Instead, an automated voice message ringed through his ear. Jean dropped his phone and swore under his breath, drooping his head down on to the steering wheel. There was no helping them then, it was up to the common people for now. Whatever was happening, it screwed with the emergency services. The sound of cars firing up brought him out, springing him into action. With one last look towards Emily and her father's twitching corpse, he floored it towards his house.

"Fuck! What the fuck!?" He felt like screaming his voice raw. This was his friend, a man he has known for three years now, even before rugby entered his life. And now he was gone, killed by his own grotesque daughter. Police sirens in the background, fires in the surrounding neighbourhood, this was carnage. Whatever was happening, it was something big. Ahead of all his friends, they had formed a line of cars, weaving through abandoned and burning vehicles. His mind focused on the scenes playing out before him, he had forgotten what day it was.

Driving down the highway, speeding across miles of land in a small car with songs reverberating in the small earbuds resting in her ears; That was when Samantha felt the deep feeling of dread flash, like an eye-burning glare off a car’s windshield. Gone as soon as it came; she’d go on to forget about it a few short minutes after. Whatever it was, it proved to be an inconsequential warning. No one, it seemed, was prepared for the downfall of civilization.

Samantha would wonder how she could not have seen the signs. A fire in the second to top story of a skyscraper in the distance? Police cruiser upon police cruiser, zooming to a disaster so far away, and yet so close by? Helicopters buzzing overhead, jets flying high, high above the clouds- just dots against an uncaring blue sky. Traffic would slow to a halt behind her- Samantha was lucky enough to get through before the sudden spike in car accidents brought all automobiles to a stand still. So many wrecks of vehicles- and not a single ambulance. How hadn’t she noticed something was wrong? How hadn’t anyone else? The national emergency tones blaring through the radio came much, much too late.

The high pitched tones emitting from her radio were background noise, to the sight of an overweight man sinking his bloody teeth into the horrified face of a young woman, a bag of groceries scattered along the ground. Her car was pulled alongside Jean’s house, and Samantha Park sat behind the wheel of her car staring catatonic at the gruesome sight. It was the first time she’d ever seen that much blood- the first time she’d ever seen someone die. It was, for everyone, the first time they’d ever seen someone turn on their loved ones so savagely, so feral, and cannibalize them without hesitation. The first time anyone had ever frantically dialed 911, only to be told that all cruisers were deployed already- and that there’d be no help coming.

So when Sammy saw that poor woman being devoured by a neighbor she knew only as Paul, her brain drew a blank. There was no precedent for this- no course of action! Ever as her knuckles turned white and tears began streaming down her face, she could not bring herself to turn around and drive away. The thoughts of calling the police had not even entered her mind- she didn’t know it but it would be an effort in vain anyway.

It was more than likely that she would sit there and stare for the rest of time- but it was but one and a half minute later of watching this macabre scene unfold that the man she was there to see, Jean, would snap her out of her stupor.

Pulling over a dozen meters from his house, Jean peered at the car in front of him. This was unusual, why would a car stop like that right in front of his driveway? He heard screaming and his memories finally kicked in. Sammy. Visiting in August. In front of his house. Swearing, he feared the worst as he opened his car door, causing confusion in the cars behind him. He ran to his house at full sprint, realising the situation in front of him.

”SAMMY! Snap out of it!” Not thinking straight, Jean warned his friend to get her mind in control in front of her car but also got the attention of the overweight infected man in the process. He turned to face him and screeched, raising his arms towards him, disgusting face filled with hunger. Without hesitation, without even threatening the man, he charged and went for a jab at the man’s stomach. Expecting him to keel over, the rugby player was caught off guard when the man simply took the blow and grabbed him. He was pushed against Sammy’s car, back hitting the door with a thud.

Recovering quickly, Jean prepped a haymaker and wildly swung at the man’s head. The blow struck against his neck, making a sickening crack sound as it bent on an awkward angle. Unfortunately, instead of killing this creature, this just angered it. Screeching even louder, the now identified monster slammed him against Sammy’s car, it’s high pitched screeches sending him reeling. The thing pinned him by the shoulders as he struggled against its weight and strength, mouth wide open as it bent forward to bite his neck. The Ivoirian glared at it, squirming and wriggling against the car.

Crack! Jean stared as it’s head caved in completely, an overhead swing ending its life as blood sprayed all over him and the car behind him. He felt it slump against him, pushing him against Sammy’s door before shoving the corpse away. He directed a small smile at his saviour, Connor the Aussie prop. “I always have to fuckin’ save you mate, every single time.”

Jean pushed off of the door, staring at the large corpse on the ground before spitting on it, making Connor scoff at him before he turned around and headed into the house. Shaking his head, the Ivoirian turned, oblivious to the scary amount of blood on his clothes and face, opening Sammy’s bloodstained door and grinning weakly at her. ”Hey pretty girl, enjoying the view?” He coughed, trying in vain to look cool in front of his friend.

Sammy’s wet, dead eyes met with Jean’s. For a moment, there was no recognition. Then, like headlights piercing a fog, Samantha’s sanity returned. She was afraid- anyone could see it in her eyes- but she was obviously relieved to see Jean. Without meaning too- the images and sounds of that last minute and a half had been completely wiped from her brain. A repressed memory, lost from the archives. Still, her senses returned.

Samantha slammed her left hand down on the unlock button by her hand. What he was doing out there? Trying to look cool!? She had NO idea what the hell was going on, but he needed to get into the fucking car, right fucking now! She rolled down the window and began to shout at him.

“Get in! Get in! Get- get the heck in here!” She decided to not let her inner swearing get the best of her. Wiping at her wet face, Samantha briefly wondered what exactly it was she was so afraid of earlier. After unlocking the door, she frantically dialed 911. A deep dread spread across her face when she was met with a busy tone. She set it to speaker, and let the dial tone play loudly so Jean could hear it.

“What’s happening, Jean? What has happened?” She said, showing him the responseless emergency number through the window.

Grimacing, Jean shook his head and sighed, running a hand through his hair as further police sirens and explosions sounded in the background. ”I don't know Sammy. There's no emergency services and there was one of those…” He paused, hesitating to call these thing’s people, thinking back to Emily’s skeletal face. ”Monsters. Toronto’s a mess Sammy, nothing works. Please don't do anything drastic, I'm not getting in the car. Please get into the house, we can hole up in there with a few other people before all this blows over.” He frankly wasn’t sure whether this event was short or long term but he didn't give a damn, he wanted his friend safe in his house before the military came to deal with this

"Jesus..." From the look on Jean’s face, he’s clearly seen something Sammy hasn’t. She supposed she was going to go in anyway...It was probably only a matter of time until the army shows up or something, right? Frowning worriedly, she clicked open her car door and closed it behind her, remotely locking it.

Jean stepped backward to let her open the door, patiently waiting for her to lock her car before leading Sammy to his house. It was a quaint little thing, a house built very similar to those around it. White picket fencing, white porch, white boards and a green fresh lawn. He absently thought about mowing that lawn the weekend before, how normal it was back then. The nice wave to his neighbour Paul, putting his muddy rugby boots on the mat before the house, following his normal afternoon rituals. Now the neighbourhood was on fire, a friend had just cracked Paul’s skull and he was covered in thick blood.

He lead her to his front door, opening into his living room where many people currently resided. He directed her to sit on the couch before standing before everyone. Sammy slowly sat down glancing up at the worried looking people around the room. All eyes were on him, including her own. It seemed Jean was the leader here, now. She frowned- poor Jean. There were seven people in his rugby team who were all standing with varied expression on their faces, information that he physically frowned at but kept it to himself. He would be mourning much in the coming days it seemed. However, many other people were sat around the room, the general atmosphere being panic. It seemed as though that whatever… event that just took place affected everyone present and was hitting them hard. He heard harsh whispers from where he stood, crying and sniffling, others fiddling with their phones in their hands. He cleared his throat.

Everyone turned their attention towards him, Jean suddenly feeling a sudden pressure as lost eyes locked onto him. He addressed the room with a careful voice ”I-I’m not sure what's happening. I don't know why my neighbour just… He paused, swallowing the swirling saliva before continuing ”Tried to eat me and why there are burning cars in my street. I'm just as confused as all of you. But, I ask you to just stay in my house for now until the military or law enforcement deals with whatever is happening.

A woman stood up, bags under her eyes with dry tears on her cheeks. She was one of the ones fiddling with her phone, looking mad in her stress, blonde hair seemingly unkempt. She stood up straighter as she realised that everyone was looking at her. “W-What about my son? He was at s-school today! I need to get him!” Outcry was bursting throughout the room, concerned people looking out for their loved ones. Jean concerningly looked behind him, checking if the noises attracted any unwanted attention. He waved his arms in a quieting motion, telling everyone to calm down and pointing at the corpse viewable through the living room glass. Once they were more settled, he cleared his throat once more.

"Please, just calm down. I'm sure the authorities would have picked your children or your loved ones to a safe location just like we did. All I ask is that you calm down. We’ll hunker down as this will all blow over soon.” He hoped. This was a large amount of people and he only had food for one person. Sure, emergency supplies could be used and rationed but such a thing could only last a month. As the room quieted down significantly, Connor motioned for the Ivoirian to follow him as he started walking towards one of the various bedrooms connected to the living room via hallway.

Jean nodded and started walking towards him, glancing back at Sammy and giving her a small smile of assurance. She returned a small smile. He was lead into a bedroom with one of his teammates in the bed, covered in blankets and looking extremely sick. He looked at Connor with a quizzical look before closing the door behind him. “He was bitten Jean, by one of those fuckin’ things. One of the boys did sum First Aid and shit but his fever’s gettin’ worse. What do we do?”

Jean looked incredulous before glancing at the sick form of Flyback Joe in the bed. "We take care of him until the authorities arrive of course. Ask one of the people out there if they have anything they need too. It's gonna be a long couple of days till the government deal with this shit, we just need to hang in there.” He ran a hand through his hair, praying to some sort of deity for hope. But Lady Luck was not on his side that day.

Sammy couldn’t exactly remember how long they were all crammed in that house. Tensions were high- as the day crawled on there was still no word from the authorities. No one was coming to save them. When they all went to bed, and when they all woke up and found their nightmares were not over, that must have pushed things over the edge. They needed to do something said some, but it was too dangerous, said others. Sammy didn’t participate in the arguments, and just tried to help Jean to not go crazy from his apparent leadership role in a house full of panicked people.

Then, she heard groaning from the man who was named Flyback Joe amid the arguing. Their sentences and cries were muffled as if she were underwater. But the strange noises Flyback Joe was making seemed obvious only to Sammy. Saying nothing, she creeped over to the room where he was being kept. She’d overheard that he was bitten by one of those...sick people.

But maybe, she thought, maybe he’d be fine. He was in bed- healing. He’d be better, had too. But those thoughts melted away and all that came into her core was a bitter dread. She grabbed a kitchen knife and held it in front of her. She peeked around the corner.



"Joe?" She asked. All that returned was a horrible, gurgling groan. Flashing her head back to Jean, they made eye contact. He understood. He quickly paced into a room, and someone screamed. It was Joe’s scream, then it was Jean’s scream, then it was Sammy’s scream. Blood from the mouth and eyes, Joe had tackled Jean like some kind of rabid dog. They slammed into the wall and to the floor in a heap of limbs. Joe was biting at him with a furious anger, but Jean had his forearm lodged under his throat, keeping him at bay.

In a split second, Sammy had to make a decision. She stepped forward and cut the man in the head, splitting his scalp. He looked up, oblivious to the pain, apparently- or too angry to care. He looked at her with cold, hungry eyes- and the last thing they saw was her knife. She plunged it to the hilt into his right eye and he fell backwards, staring angrily into space. Jean pushed him off, and just then Connor emerged into the room a split second too late to help. There was a knife in Flyback Joe’s eye, a Jean struggling to his feet, and a Samantha with a bloody hand. He made the connection.

“What the fuck happened in here!?” He yelled.

Then it was all over. Sammy kept her head down when it devolved into chaos. A few moments later, Jean had stuffed some random things into his bag and left, Sammy close behind. Something crashed behind them. It was go go go go. What just happened? How can everyone be so aggressive? Why are people turning into monsters?
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Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by ChaoticFox
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ChaoticFox The Fabulous Fox

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Elizabeth and Amanda Smith


August 29th, 2018 - I dunno what to write here now...

03:15 | The Smith Household




"Like hell you're sorry!" Lizzy snapped. Her mind was racing out of control and tears were now streaming down her face. She looked to her mother with stormy eyes before tucking her head down against her knees. Caitlyn was dead....gone. It had all gone so fast. One second, Caitlyn had been in the bathroom, and then there was screaming as the creatures had swarmed her from the bathtub. It was mere moments before she had been turned, the sheer amount of them having overwhelmed the poor woman.

"You barely knew her, not even close to the extent that I did. The only reason you're saying sorry is because now you have take care of me and not run your god damn business!" Lizzy wasn't even thinking as the words poured from her mouth, months of pent of frustration now being forced out in a desperate attempt of self preservation. Her nails dug into her legs as she cried, her breathing shallow and gasping as she vented. It had finally broken her. The overwhelming thoughts of Caitlyn filling her mind and drowning out everything else.

Armanda quietly kept looking through the drawers and shelfs for something to eat when Lizzy vented. She had no retorts. She had nothing to reply with. At least nothing that would make things better. But just like Lizzy, Amanda was at the breaking point. She tried her best to stay calm, taking deep breaths as she grasped the can so hard her knuckles turned white. She poured the contents into a bowl and put it into the microwave and turned it on.

She turned around and walked back into the living room and walked up to a nearby table and grabbed a stack of papers before tossing them into Lizzy's lap. "The papers appointing a CEO of the company that would run it instead of me. So that I could spend more time with you and Cait. Not like it matters now though with the world going to hell." Amanda started fiddling with the hem of her top, a trait she had never gotten over.

I"I really am sorry for all of this. I really am sorry about Cait. Because I know you love her. Even when I was going to step down I was not going to fire her, because i knew you loved her." Amanda walked out of the room again at the sound of a beep and shortly returned with a plate of soup and handed it to Lizzy. "Here, eat up. You're going to need some food." She felt like she wanted to shout and scream, but she never did. Her face was still relativly calm as she spoke and grabbed a nearby hankerchif and handed it to Lizzy. "I know I'm not a good mother, but I do try..."

Lizzy was silent as she ate the semi-warm canned pasta, her breaths still short and shallow as she calmed down. She grudgingly looked at the papers, the bold title of the contract staring her right in the face. With a deep breath and a final bite of pasta, she stood up and walked over and placed her bowl on the counter. Pacing over to the door and into her room, she began to collect a few things of importance-- her drumsticks, pocket knife, cell phone with earbuds --and stuffed them into her small backpack.

She ventured out to the closet next to the doorway, collecting the hatchet she had hidden there. Lizzy had been afraid of people breaking in and had hidden a hatchet by the doorway in some attempt at false security. She grabbed her soft-shell jacket and hiking boots, before getting ready to head into the literal dead of night. "I assume we're leaving then, considering the cellar really isn't a viable option anymore."

"Leaving at night isn't a good option either. If those things can see in the dark then we won't be around for very long. I say we eat out full, then sleep until the morning. We can both fit in the small bunker and if needs be we can leave through the emergency exit. Then as morning comes we pack up as much as we can before we leave." Amanda sighed. She really did not want to leave at night. Who knew what senses the monsters could use. Sight? Smell? Hearing? And if they've improved over a normal person? There were way too many uncertanties for her, too risky.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Xalo
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Xalo

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Local Apartment Complex, Toronto, Canada

August 29th, 2018 - 23:40 EST

Theme Song: We're Killing Strangers


"I'll kill every last one of you bastards!" -Francis


Hours had passed since Francis found himself free from the trek from Al Flaherty's several blocks away, having done nothing but pass unconscious upon the bedroom's king-size since then; his body was exhausted, ached, and oiled from dried sweat left to stain his skin. The clothes stuck to him in a undesired manner, having been beyond the point of care to have removed them upon laying upon the bed initially. What awoke him was the battered sounds of limbs against lumbers, as it seemed someone in another nearby room had taken the attention of a horde of infected; the constant symphony of strikes and cracking wood suggested they were no small number either, giving Francis all the more fuel to his fears of being discovered. His door was loosely secured and barricaded, not enough to hold any dedicated amount like that for too long - a minute or two at best. He'd tip-toe his way along the carpet of the bedroom, grabbing for his M400 to hold tightly to his chest, before making his way closer to the door to peer through the keyhole for whatever mess he could make from this - only to catch glimpse of an infected staring back at the door, causing him to recoil. He'd fall back and crash his back to the ground, causing a loud enough audible collision to drag some of the attention of the horde to his door next; this wasn't going to end well.

Uncoordinated fists and legs began beating upon the door mercilessly, pushing back the screws upon the hinges and bringing the door to a crooked tilt; the mangled, shambling corpses visible from the cracks of visibility. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" He cussed out louder and louder, anguished that he knew the first round would be the signature on the contract; once he unleashed a single bullet from that chamber, every infected in the floor would be bursting through that door. He began rushing for the door, holding faith that the barricade would hold long enough for him to traverse up the fire escape for the roof as a last resort of sanctuary. Midway through slinging the duffel bags over his shoulders - an ear-piercing cry overwhelmed the banging and moans of the forsaken. "Ahhh! Help me, please - somebody help meee!" It was familiar, though - he could not pin where he had heard it before, not at the moment of adrenaline and hell raising. He'd keep muttering to himself as he'd unsling the bags back off his shoulders, pacing back to the main room with four of his STANAG magazines slammed down onto the granite countertop; "Don't be a hero, don't be a hero, don't be a hero, be a hero, be a hero, hell with it!"

His thumb slid down to caress the safety, flipping it over to semi-automatic and signing his death wish provocatively with a bullet expelling from the chamber aimlessly into the door. The crack demanding the attention of the rest of the floor to try and push their way into the doorway. "It's dinnertime, boyos! Come and get a pint while you're fuckin' at it!" More of the door began to break as wood splintered and faltered in, exposing more of the nightmare separating the two sides of the war. He'd bring the ironsights to his gaze, beginning to pick off one after another through the cracks and shreds - some falling as dead weight to make it worse, and others falling miscellaneously to offer nothing but another corpse to trot over. It wouldn't take long after emptying a single magazine where the door would finally cave in completely. Ejecting the mag out onto the counter to pop another one in, he'd take precise shots for their heads and domes to take one after another. His eardrums ringing from lack of protection from the cracking high calibers, deafening him as he'd roar out incoherently. The shambling infected moved ever so closer to the standpoint where Francis demanded to remain, within reach of his remaining three magazines. There were too many to pick, too many approaching, and he had to retreat back for space.

His feet slid back one after another, finishing off the magazine that he'd eject onto the counter again. Two infected within feet of him, and with him having an empty rifle. He'd toss it onto the counter as well to retrieve the H&K 45 from its holster to unleash into both their skulls with two bullets to each. Half a dozen remained approaching him, demanding the last of his current magazine and the next; he aimed for the knees, giving himself the time to aim properly for the heads next on the next sweep of ACP rounds. The ringing in his drums deafened him for the time, unable to hear the distant groans in the hallway that met with the sound of rending flesh from a corpse. He took no time to rush, reloading his pistol to soon holster, then reaching for his rifle again to reload another magazine into as well. His feet stepped over the still bodies, turning out the doorway to see the horrendous sight of a single infected devouring out the throat of a just victim with her body still twitching. His face contorted to that fury, walking behind to administer the stock of his M400 repeatedly to the back of the shambler's skull until it was but a caved-in crevice.

He'd look up to the still-living victim of the torn throat, bleeding crimson onto herself for the last few moments of her life. A disturbing gurgling noise making its way from her mouth, tormenting Francis as he'd widen his eyes - and drop his rifle. His hands raised to cup his mouth with watering eyes, as he butchered out the name; "R-Rebecca?" Alas, the victim before him had been his beloved Rebecca, gurgling - begging for mercy before inevitably falling still, dead... Quaking hands balled into fists as he'd fall to his knees, pressing the heels of his palms to his brow, and broke down into shameless tears. The man broken and shattered by what had been done, and his inability to save his own girlfriend... Minutes flying by, and all that interupted poor Francis' sorrow was the sounds of more approaching infected finding their way up the stairwell upon the opposite side of the hall - and they'd be only a minute or so before on his position if he chose not to act. A hand slid across his nose with a sniffle to wipe, reaching for his rifle he had dropped to aim to Rebecca's crown, praying quietly to whatever forsaken god was watching over; "H-holy father, f...f-forgive me." The bullet lodged itself into her dome, giving Francis the alleviation that at least she would not suffer the fate of the afterlife. The sullen, shaken soul marched back to his room for the rest of his gear, stowing away the empty magazine and making his way down the fire escape; the city was no longer safe, not the dark side at least. He'd sneak his way down the downpour and darkness, vowing a promise. "I'll kill every last one of you bastards!"
Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by PrivateVentures
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PrivateVentures Purveyor of the Finest Exoskeletons

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Joseph Ferrier


Her hair glowed like the sun, in white-gold curls, thick and deep. She stood in front of the window, transcendent beauty, clad only in a white silk robe, the cloth translucent in the morning light. She held a cigarette in one hand. Her breath smelled like coffee and smoke. Her skin smelled like lavender, and that perfume I like. Her skin was so soft. In that light, she was an angel, holding inside her blue eyes all the divine light of God-

Blood dripped from my forehead. More, from my nose. My right leg ached, a sharp flare of pain each time I tried to pivot my knee. My vision was blurry. My head swam, and I grasped, desperate, at straws of memory that slipped through my fingers like water.

Screaming. I thought, there was screaming.

But there had been more than screaming, had there not? There had been sirens, gunshots... And screaming.

There was fire and smoke, filling the air...

But what happened before?

I rolled over to examine my surroundings. My flask, reflecting the sun's white, smiling face, bore a wound from the day's ordeals, a bullet hole, perhaps a .22 or .32 calibre, stood, juxtaposed against the stainless steel. Whiskey poured from the puncture like blood from a wound, my little soldier slowly bleeding out in a Vancouver alley.

Why are there no passerby? But, maybe, there were, and I just hadn't noticed. Or, maybe there were none, because this was still a disaster site. Or maybe-

Another scream. Piercing, female, mortal terror if I'd ever heard it. I forced myself to my feet. My knee threatened to buckle beneath me, and it ached like rain.

There were gunshots, light, rhythmic pops that denoted the offending weapon both semiautomatic and small-arms, likely a small calibre rifle or handgun. Then, there was another sound: a low, deep growl of a moan. It had the sound of a grazing animal, but bore the edge of a predator. And above it all, it sounded human, in a way.

Another memory tore its way to the forefront of my mind, of me, flashing my badge at several young men, standing on the sidelines-

The sidelines of what?

Why, of the disaster, of course. I reached into my jacket for my gun. Surprisingly, it was still there. I was almost certain that someone had robbed me while I lay there. After all, I had no way of knowing just how long I'd been there... But judging from the time of day in my memory, it must not have been long.

As I slipped my gun from its holster and racked the slide, the noises stopped. Not just the screaming. The moaning and the gunshots too. The latter gave two last little struggling pops, the universal sign for "Shooter Down". I kept my gun out, and checked the safety. "Red equals dead", I said to no one in particular, while I limped out onto...

"Main street?" It was completely empty. "God damn..."

Then another memory hit me. TVs, stacked up in a grid, each displaying the same anchorwoman, each showcasing the same story, focused on 'seminecrotic reanimation'. But what had happened next?

Fire. Smoke. A thrown bottle? A Molotov cocktail. A Molotov Cocktail through the window, and the electronics shop had burned. The man inside had been trapped-

Stay on target. What happened next?

My boots crunched on broken glass like eggshells, the silent street serving to magnify my every noise-

"WAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!" Someone charged straight through a nearby shop's glass door, the plate glass bending and bursting out like lethal glitter as a man's silhoutte cheese-grated itself on the doorframe. Brown blood gushed from the man's wounds like toothpaste, congealing in his veins. I had time for only one thought: WHAT THE FUCK-

Stinking, putrid flesh plowed into me, with all the weight of an obese linebacker focused behind two palms as they struck my chest and shoulder, fingers gripping my jacket as the man forced me to the ground. My hand struck the open grate on the sidewalk, rusted metal tearing a rude gash across my knuckles. The man went wild, all but foaming at the mouth, in an attempt to bite and even lick at the blood that bubbled up from my fist like a fucked-up fountain of youth.

I could hear more moaning in the shop, the one this freak had torn out of. There was the sound of shuffling, something breaking as dozens of feet stepped onto it, the sickening CRACK of a splintering bone-

My bone. My cut arm. I screamed when a white flash of agony tore through my brain like Apollo's chariot. My left arm reacted instinctively, slugging a savage blow with my elbow across the man's jaw, throwing him face-first into a fire hydrant. He was unfazed, and kept ahold of my broken arm with his hands.

My knife was swift, and my aim true. The blade sank into flesh, then a sudden give, as steel penetrated skull, and my attacker lay dead at my feet. No longer was my screaming in pain, but in fury, the "battle-rage" that Vikings liked to talk about. But the bodies shoved one another aside, peeling and tearing the flesh from their arms and faces as they pushed through their peers through the shattered door, glass drawing oozing slash-lines on their rotten skin.

I had only enough time to curse my luck and recover my firearm. I ran.

I had two destinations in mind. The first, my apartment, on the corner of Majestic and Sterling. The second, my office, wherein lived a Mossberg 1014, with two hundred Ten-gauge shells that I most certainly was not allowed to have in this country. Ah well.

Once an American, always an American.

Another memory: young men, familiar- Bad men. Gang members. Stomping me. A boot in my ribs. Air Jordans dancing on my face. A baseball bat, maybe, or a piece of pipe, on my shoulders. Then, screaming. Them, screaming. I ran then, too, when I saw the hands.

The hands all over him. They pulled him down. They peeled him open. They felt around inside. I didnt see any of these things happen, as I was long gone. But I know that they did happen.

The same fate that awaits us all. As I ran for the second time that day, so far as I could recall, a poem came to mind.

I am Oxymandias, king of kings.
Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair.
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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Stekkmen
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Stekkmen Head shotted.

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Samantha Park

Hey, little sis, got any change?

No Steve. Am only six.

What? What kind of lame person has no money when they're six? I was a millionaire at your age.

No you weren't!

Yes I was. Probably because of my magic powers.

You don't have majigal powers, Steve.

Yes, I do. Watch.

What?

Just watch my face. It's a magic power. See? I pulled a quarter out of your ear.

Wow! How did you do that!? Can you teach me?

Maybe some day.


"Hey, Jean?" Sammy pulled back the covers of the house they made themselves at home in. The early morning sun was peaking in through the wooden boards someone had nailed at some point. The morning sun slipping through the boards created a line pattern on her face, of dark and light. The home was empty- the only thing left was pictures of the family that had lived here. Sad stuff. She tried not to think about what was happening to her family until they got there. It'd do no good to worry about them, would it? Just a lot of bother. She was lucky to be with Jean, though. For the first few days there she was just as panicked as anyone. Like a big...a big herd mentality across the whole world just overtook her like anyone else. Panic, panic, panic! Everyone's going to die! You should turn on your friends and dropkick your grandma down the stairs. No thanks, she'll pass.

"Jean?" Maybe he wasn't awake yet. Or probably not paying attention. Or being quiet and sulky. Didn't really matter, she supposed.

She had her eyes right up between the boards, looking at the empty street in front of her. A bird fluttered it's pretty blue wings up in a tree. The sun was shining, the clouds were puffy white. The grass was green and glittering with morning due- and there was an ominous small blood stain on the neighbor's drive way. The earth doesn't give a shit. I mean, darn. The earth doesn't give a darn. Sorry, Dad.

"When we have to fight those sick people again..." And she knew they would have too at some point. "Do you think they'll be like zombies in all those movies? Is it 'go for the head rules'? Or is it 'you cannot kill that which has no life' rules?"

Her tone was joking, but there was genuine curiosity and worry in it as well. Are these sick people unstoppable? Is the world over? Or is there something someone could do about it? She wasn't sure why she thought Jean had an answer. She just wanted to talk to someone about it.
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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by SgtEasy
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SgtEasy S'algood bro

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Jean & Sammy


"We're into the last minute as Jameson finds Jacques with a final throw! Let me tell you Philly, this man is called the Lightning for a reason, one of the biggest men in the field but he flies like he's twinkletoes! Look at him! Dodge left, dodge right, duck under the arm of Cray as the Irishman tries to pull him down! Coming up to 10 meters from the try line, he's facing fierce opposition from the Ottawa Harlequins. Jay Johnson, the captain of the Harlequins looks to tackle Jacques right where it hurts! But with a one, two, three step dodge and he scores a try on the last second! Toronto won and moving on to the finals against their rivals. Lemme tell you Philly, that was one of the best tries I've seen in Canadian Union history! Jacques is a coming star in the League-"

Indiscernible sounds awoke Jean, the sun peering from the boarded windows into his wide eyes. He hissed quietly, his vision going white before he slowly opened his eyes again. He moaned, holding his head in pain as a small headache struck against him. Sammy didn't know this but he had been drinking the previous night, once they found this house. He let her go to sleep inside the bedroom while sleeping on the couch that faced away from her current position. They had been staying at this house for the night, having run away from the horror of the previous house, and he had found the drinks cabinet. He drank to his sorrows, grieving by stealing from the cabinet and grabbing a few Molsons. He drank and drank until he fell asleep, not content with just one drink. He wasn't a lightweight but the combination of fatigue, heavy drinking and stress turned into one massive hangover. He bit his lip, preventing himself from making another moan.

'Oh how the mighty have fallen...' Jean thought bitterly, massaging his temples subtly, trying not to alert his friend. The pain slowly but surely subsided, now dulled to an almost unnoticeable numbness that he ignored. He sat up, turning to the side to pick up the baseball bat he had received from Connor. Before they set up in the house, the Aussie left for bed and announced that he was going to go around to scout for more information. During that week in the house, they had listened for any radio contacts and government announcements but beyond that, the group's information on the world was limited. All they knew was that when people got sick with whatever disease this was, they turned into some fucked up zombies. The normal ones, called Screechers and Sprinters, like his deceased teammate's daughter he had encountered a week before.

It hadn't felt like a week for the Ivorian. He had taken the leadership in their group before, making sure that everyone was receiving the same amount of rations and was doing alright. It was day after day of getting people to cooperate and stay calm but even under him, several members left in the night. One day, one of the former group members, a man by the name of Daryl had ran away with several weeks worth of food and especially water in a truck. This had left them starved, tensions rose amongst group members and the house was threatening to buckle under the weight of the aggression. Flyback Joe's sudden awakening as one of those damn monsters only sped the process up, the eventual breaking of the house group. Everyone went out of the house in chaos and panic, some taking whatever supplies were left while others just ran away.

Luckily, Jean, Sammy and Connor made it. They didn't have the chance to get any supplies in the mad escape but found this house to sleep on for the night. And the weapon he was currently eyeing on the coffee table. A Bennelli M3 with six ammunition packs of 12 gauge shells. He had found the gun during his drunken haze yesterday and kept it at his side on the table, now glad that he still had the sense not to shoot the gun. He recognised the weapon from his days back in the Ivory Coast, popular with those territorial gangsters and gangbangers in the slums as well as common people for protection. He had never fired an M3 but he roughly knew how to work it, extracting memories of people he used to know who fired the gun in front of him. It was a powerful weapon but Connor seemed to have left it alone when he went to scout.

It make Sammy a little uncomfortable seeing a lethal weapon right out in the open for all to see. She turned around from the boarded up window and hauntingly empty street to glance at her old friend. Just a little click of the trigger and someone far away from you dies. That one was a shotgun from what she could tell. You pumped the pumper thing- chk-chk Boom! Repeat until all terrorists are dead. She day dreamed for a brief moment of her blasting away Flyback Joe after Flyback Joe as they kept coming after her. She blinked the thought away and kept trying to keep the mood light as Jean who looked up at her. No need for constant depression all the time- Jean looked like that was the last thing he needed. She couldn’t be sure but she had a sense he had been drinking. Maybe it was from how tired he looked; but that could just be the whole end of the world thing.

Jean was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of Sammy speaking, turning his head towards her. He smirked standing slightly, greeting her and slowly walking towards the kitchen to start cooking, bringing a pan and oil out. He took a swig of the bottle of water on the counter, letting out a small sigh before indicating towards the bat and gun. "Well, we've dealt with these fuckers before haven't we? These guys seem to be following zombie movie and show rules, like the Walking Dead. There's probably a protagonist, main lover and everything right now, probably planning to save the world." He failed to mention the futility of the people in the Walking Dead but he kept with his light tone, bringing out a can of corned beef in the unfortunately emptying pantry.

"Hey, you think we're the protagonists? Me, the stunning, awesome main character and you, my awesome sidekick?" He poked back at her, trying to keep the conversation from anything deep. Letting the moment settle into a sort of normality, he let himself relax to the sound of sizzling oil and beef.

”If you’re the protagonist then I think the world is-” fucked. That’s what she almost said. She had to keep her swearing down. Jean was a bad influence! If Dad found out...well...try not to think about Dad. We have to find Jean’s brother first, right?

”...then the world is done for.” She finished quickly.

Jean chuckled, smiling while shakily pointing his hand ‘threateningly’ at her ”Hey, listen here missy. I can smash a few zombie heads and save a few princesses.” He paused, adding the corned beef to the sizzling oil, swirling the pan around as he turned to face her again. ”And stop the smart talk or no breakfast for you.” The whole conversation felt surprisingly normal. It was as if the world wasn’t breaking apart around them. It was… comforting, to them both.

However, the moment was broken with a crash from one of the back rooms and the sounds of a screecher filled the house. Coming from a door nearer to the kitchen countertop, the monster lunged at Jean, growling and shouting with fierce determination. The monster had seemingly come out of nowhere and looked slightly familiar to the Ivorian but before he could dwell on this, the thing pounced on him and tried to pin him on the table.

The rugby player's eyes widened in surprise, gasping as he pushed against the massive mass of muscle. "Connor?! What the fuck?!?!" He struggled against the former Aussie, trembling against the bigger zombie. He tried to look for a weapon but had to keep his eyes on the monster in front of him, shoving him away and grappling him. He took a moment to glance towards Sammy before being pinned successfully on the counter, Connor's jaws opening wider than they should.

"SAMMY!" Jean fought against the former human but was slowly losing. Either from the fatigue or the mild headache, his strength seemed to have been sapped from him. Staring at the hungry, open mouth of his former friend, he could think of only one word. Fuck.

Fuck. It was a surprisingly common thought in the room at the moment. When Jean’s eyes locked with her own for a brief moment, things seemed to go in slow motion. First she checked to see if Connor hadn’t already chomped down on her friend and the fight was over; it hadn’t, thank the Lord. She still had a chance to react. Then she thought about how Connor was dead and it upset her. Then she thought about how Jean would be dead pretty fucking quick if she didn’t do anything right now.

Jean roared, pushing the thing back to the wall before going for a punch to the head. However, as zombie-Connor staggered back from the shove, it tipped the pan full of oil and beef on to the floor. He had put the handle outwards and it was bumped into. As the alive rugby player went for the lunging blow, he slipped on beef, falling face first on the floor as the monster hit the opposing wall. Scrambling to his feet, ignoring the smell of processed meat on his face, he faced a charging dead Australian.

She said nothing, just made a kind of frightened noise, and dashed clumsily over to the pump shotgun on the table. Thoughts of dislocated shoulders popped into her head because of poor firing posture but she could suffer the consequences of her inexperience later. She caught a glimpse of Jean faceplanting the floor as she gripped the metal cylinder in her hands.

Right. Brace the shoulder. Arms tight. No, wait, arms loose. Fuck it, just fire!

Jean swung at the monster’s side but was parried and shoved backwards. Glancing at the pan, he grabbed it quickly and went for an overhead swing at Connor’s head. The blow was blocked and the pan was taken from the Ivorian, and in a clumsy series of grapples and strikes, the pan kept swapping users. At one point, zombie-Connor tried to backhand him with it but slipped on the oil, missing completely and spinning a whole 360 degrees. In the end, the pan was flung out of the window in frustration and they faced each other off once more.

Click. Fuck. There was the F word again. The safety! Right!? Of course the safety was on! It had to be on! Shit! Shit! Where was it? She frantically scanned the weapon that felt heavy in her hands for the safety. There! By the trigger on the right hand side. She pressed it in and the plastic switch showed green. Firing mode. Okay! Okay! In the brief second or two of this scramble for firepower the brutal fist fight had developed some more and Sammy had to re-adjust her aim.

Now!

Click. FUCK! Sammy let out a brief yelp of frustration and fear as the shotgun did not respond to her command a second time. Jean! Dead! From her own incompetence! It was all over! Despair filled her veins, but her eyes refocused from her terrible future and onto the terrible present Jean was still in a desperate struggle for survival while Sammy was in a struggle over getting a stupid gosh darn weapon to fire!

Hindsight is 20/20, of course, and Sammy realized instantly that there was no shell in the shotgun. No shell- no fire. They were there on the table, and the woman grabbed a bright red and yellow cylinder and crammed it into the chamber that she knew was there from all the actions movies she watched.

This was it! Everything was ready. A shell in the chamber, the safety was off. She pulled tightly back on the pump handle and the recognizable noise of a shotgun ready to fire rang around the house. Now, the only task ahead of her was firing the weapon in such a way as to slay Connor but spare her friend. Perhaps the hardest part of all? Her shotgun swiveled this way and that as she tried to line up the shot, trying not to just panick.

The monster charged, screeching louder and louder, making sure that it didn't slip on the stupid oil again. Jean grinned as he heard the satisfying ca-chunk of a pumped shotgun and he dodged right, letting zombie-Connor’s gut hit the edge of the counter. He ducked downwards, hiding from any shots while looking at the monster stumbling backwards in surprise. ”Sammy, fire now!”

”Okay!” She actually, literally said aloud. With a powerful blast, the shotgun pellets exploded out of the barrel. In close unison with each other they collided with Connor’s shoulder and lower arm that were facing Samantha. They ripped through flesh- but blood did not come spraying out of the wounds. Instead he bloodlessly stumbled to the ground. Because of the nature of the infection and much to Sammy’s chagrin, he squirmed on the ground desperately clawing to his feet.

That was what Sammy saw as she fell backwards onto the couch behind her. Holy shit. That fucking hurt. She must have held that wrong. It went way high into the air after she shot it and the metal part slammed into her shoulder. There’d be a bruise there for sure. And the bastard wasn’t even dead!

Oh, Connor. Why? She thought with sudden sadness once again. Still, the fight wasn’t over. She quickly snatched another shotgun shell from the table as Connor got to his feet. The former rugby player glared at Sammy with such an incredibly furious expression that she almost froze up and didn’t put the shell into the gun. There was a brief moment where they locked gazes didn’t move. That didn’t last long.

Zombie-Connor growled, a hideous screeching sound like nails against a blackboard. Jean glared at it from his position and lunged from a crouch, aiming to tackle the thing to the ground for a fierce melee. Unfortunately, the Aussie bastard dodged him and ran at Sammy, it’s right arm wide for a heavy swing. It was a terrifying sight, a tall, muscular zombie charging like a drunkard, yelling out a monstrous war cry. As the Ivorian landed on the ground after the failed tackle, he just stared at the following encounter, hoping that Sammy will put his former teammate down.

Sammy was still sitting on the plush couch- reaching out for the shell on the table when the towering figure sprinted towards her. As she desperately plugged the second shell into the chamber, an odd thought entered her mind for a brief second.

Huh. He runs like a rugby player.

Then, he was almost upon her, the height difference doubled by her sitting on the couch. A quick pump of the shotgun- a tremendous effort normally but with all of the adrenaline running through her veins it was nothing- she raised the shotgun upwards with a terrified expression. Connor practically ate the barrel.

Another explosion rang out as everything above Connor’s lower lip vanished into thin air. With a shocking lack of blood or even gore. the rugby monster stood for a brief moment. The headless figure took two slow steps backwards as if backing out of an awkward social interaction, then collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
Sammy dropped the shotgun that had once again buried itself into her shoulder. It fell softly onto the soft rug.

”...Jean?” Sammy spoke out meekly. He rose upwards from the kitchen ground, staring at his former friend’s corpse. A good man, bit of an idiot but a good man and an even better friend. Unwilling to give any signs of grief, he strode towards his friend and picked up the shotgun on the ground before extending a hand to his thankfully living friend. Maybe the last of his living friends. He smiled like Prince Charming, trying his hardest to stop the tears in his eyes. The trembling hand gave it away but he still managed to keep the rest of him under a cool façade. ”Hey, let’s go Sammy. Every fucker in a mile radius could've heard that shot, we need to move hun. Let's grab all our things and go.”

Sammy wanted to say something to her friend. Have a moment of silence. She wanted to...apologize. If that made sense. But nothing came out but a croak of agreement- there were more of the sick people coming. They had to escape before something terrible happened. They’d talk about it later. She crammed her emotions into a box and shelved it for now. For when it was safe, okay?

Underneath her white t-shirt, her right shoulder was already turning purple. Still, she scrambled and shoved everything she could into a backpack.

Jean watched Sammy go into a bedroom to grab her stuff before grabbing his own bag which was leaning against the couch. Shoving shotgun shells in there, he moved on to the kitchen and grabbed any supplies. Cans of food, bottles of water, anything that could last them. He arrived to the drink cabinet and looked around. Seeing that no one was looking, he added a beer into his pack before zipping it up, satisfied that they now had enough rations to last a day or two. He turned to grab the baseball bat near the couches before stepping over Connor’s corpse. He stared at it blankly for a moment, spotting two Snickers bars in it’s pants. He picked them up and put it in his pockets, turning to face a ready Sammy.

He handed her the baseball bat with a small nod before turning and opening the door. He walked out, letting his friend go out behind him He gripped the shotgun loosely in his hands, pumping it to release any empty shells before reloading. He counted six before stopping, noting that they only had 24 shells left other than the gun. He looked up and nodded at Samantha, a grim expression quickly replaced with another bright smile. A little too bright, she would notice. ”Let's go Sam, last I heard the government was making some sorta safe zone out in the city center, near some apartments. We can head there, I'm sure we’ll encounter people on the way.” He prepared himself, taking a deep breath before letting his friend take his side. They walked together, avoiding and dodging any screeching sounds, looking warily around their surroundings. This would be their time.

They hoped someone would be at the apartments, that they weren't alone. But hey. It's a lonely world out here.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Shoe Thief
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Henry "Hunter" Monroe




A few months before Taxes ended

Central works Firearms




In a small town in the middle of nowhere, there is not a lot to do beyond farming, watching DVDs, and target practice. Anyone or anything that supported these hobbies normally had steady business. Gun stores were a common place to find people who were still allowed to purchase firearms. "I'm looking for something that is strong enough to take down a bear from a safe distance?" Hunter said to the old man behind the counter who looked more bored then anything. "So... a rifle?" The gun smith said sarcastically. "If it's cheap and won't explode then sure." Hunter replied with the biggest smile on his face. He figured getting any real professional help would be difficult from a guy like this, he figured that his question wasn't too vague? Apparently the old man didn't understand simple questions.

Hunter sighed and rubbed his head a bit trying to do some proper thinking. "Okay, look. My dad and Uncle are going on a hunting trip up north in a few months and I don't have anything with enough kick to do shit. I have a budget of about two hundred to cover a gun, some ammo, and any accessories to it. Things like a cleaning kit, a scope, et cetera." The old man had less of a bored face now and a look of concern. "Are you one'a them kids who got dropped and told he was able to do anything he wanted? Because you can't. That amount ain't gonna get you shit but a shit gun and maybe a couple rounds." Hunter stood at the counter a moment thought about his situation. "So what if we said screw it to everything but the gun and some bullets? Could we do something in that budget? I'll take used?! I'll take in need of love condition too!" He was desperate at this point. And Hunter was not good at hiding it. If he knew anything about making deals it was to not show how desperate he was. "Come on man, this is the first trip I may actually be able to afford before my Uncle has to leave the country again for another five years!" The old man simply was dumbfounded by this point. "...first off... In need of love condition? What in all hells kinda things did they teach you in school? And second, you can't afford the trip if your total budget is two hundred. But if you're really that desperate I may have something." And the old gunsmith left only long enough to bring back an old and worn bolt action rifle.

The rifle was a single shot 30-06. Iffy range, mostly accurate, and held a single shot inside the chamber. But the ammo was decently common, and it was accurate enough to work for Hunter. So out of impulse and fear of not going on this trip he bought it with his remaining funds. After a few target practice moments with it, he decided that ammunition for a high powered rifle in general was expensive, and that he needed a better budget. But that didn't stop him from practicing and preparing for his trip north.


[hr[

Home


Home wasn't much for Hunter, but it was a place to hang up his coat, take off his shoes, enjoy his iffy wifi, and park his El Camino with out paying a parking meter. The double wide trailer was in need of a good cleaning and some good love overall. There were soda cans, pizza boxes, and cups laying about everywhere. Along with a makeshift TV stand for the TV which housed several gaming systems and his computer tower.

His bedroom consisted of a queen bed, a short dresser, and a pile of electronics and airsoft gun parts int he corner, with maybe one working airsoft gun between it all. Overall, it was his place, and he enjoyed it. he could do whatever he wanted as long as nothing was burning too much and he wasn't harassing the neighbors. It was a nice and simple life for him.

He spent the night looking for the best place to store his "new" Rifle and show it off a bit to any visiting family. He eventually decided above the bed was a great place until he woke up that night to a falling rifle hitting him in the face. The next morning he simply put it in its case and put it in a closet.





One Week after People stopped caring about taxes and bills


Some poor dude's home


Hunter eased his way into the second story apartment aiming his rifle around the room. Normally he would have decided to stay inside his El Camino and keep safe. But his supplies for his hunting trip would only last him so long. Food ran out the day before last, his water supply is only consistent with what he can collect in rain now, and his car in it's current state can't move. The keys for the starter were confiscated when he was pulled over fora busted headlight and then later to be found out his transmission was faulty and needed to be replaced. Hunter himself could still drive it but with out the keys to start it all he could do was lock the door with the second set of keys.

The way he saw the key situation was more of benefit. No matter what his keys to start the car would be confiscated until the vehicle was fixed. But due to the fact the starter was replaced with a used one from another vehicle the keys to start it and lock it were not the same. That only delayed the fact he needed to leave for supplies sooner or later.

Inside the apartment there was a lot of blood, more then he really cared to see. More then his mind could care to see. He spent the next couple minutes puking up what little fluids he still had left in his systems until he got used to the smell of blood and death. Once that was over he found the source of the mess, several human bodies...

A couple of them looked like they had been shot to bits before dying, the last one looked like they took their own life with the shotgun in their hands once the events here ended. Hunter felt bad for them all, but his rifle had only so many bullets, and he wasn't that great of a shot with it. He slowly poked the body holding the shotgun with his rifle and when it didn't move he quickly grabbed the gun.

He did the basic checks first, check to see if it was loaded, see if the chamber was clear, was it relatively clean? All in all, it was good. In fact, the shotgun was in better condition then his rifle despite what it had been through. He spent the next few minutes looking around for ammo for it, finding a mostly full box of shells to help fill the shotgun up. And finding a small hatchet wedged in the wall of the apartment. Part of Hunter wanted to know what had happened here, another part of him knew better then to try and figure it out. Once he had gathered some supplies like ammo, food, water, and empty shell casings, he ate some food and had something to drank he left. The smell of rotting bodies could only be handled so long.

But now what? His car was still missing keys to start it and he had no idea where to find them. They could be anywhere in the shop, or in the pocket of a dead man miles away? He wouldn't know... So for now... he needed a plan. A safe place that didn't involve a torn up seat and listening to footsteps around him every night. It was pouring out, not the ideal conditions to travel, but the apartments here were unsafe and his car could only do so much. If he was in a situation where he had to shoot inside that thing he would have nowhere to go. But somewhere was better then here it seemed.




Outside in the rain


He went outside and put the guns on his back along with his bag as he pulled out his radio and his earbuds, only putting one in he started trying to listen to the radio. Listening to the same messages on repeat over and over again. He made sure to crank it slowly as he walked as to not make too much noise, but he need to keep alert in case something were to spot him. While browsing through the stations one he found was still playing music, occasionally the listener if paying attentions could hear the drunk mumbles of whoever was still running the station even while the music was playing.

Hunter was Semi-familiar with the area, but he didn't know where much of the local areas were, like some of the shelters he's been hearing about, or the police stations, or the military checkpoints. Damn radios explaining everything in kilometers. His sister was much better at this then he was. Most of what he can do consists of partial skills of next to useless things. Being able to build a half a batter doesn't mean much without the other half. Or making ammunition without knowing the right proportions for powder and primer. Or what kind of powder to use... "damn..." he said once he realized all of his useless survival skills were... well kinda useless.

Walking in the rain sucked, the radio wasn't able to keep charge at the slow crank so he was eventually forced to walk in the quiet, and the dark. Though he felt safer with a decent shotgun in his hands then his rifle. Though if need be the rifle was a lot more accurate and had some decent range to it. And it was one of the things that let him think about his past without too much emotions. Despite the fact he was walking down a street full of houses with a high powered rifle at hand and a pump action shotgun on his back.

Then he heard it, two shots, loud ones too. Coming from not too far ahead, another shotgun would be his best guess. Now he was wondering what was going on, though he also questioned if it was worth the risk. What if who ever was shooting was shooting another person? Could he hold his own in a gunfight? He could shoot and handle a firearm, but he wasn't the best by any means.

He didn't get much choice, while contemplating his thoughts he saw the two human figures leave a house not far down the road, and making their way his direction. "....fuck my life." he said quietly as he decided what to do now. He decided if he was to get into a gunfight he would rather have his new shotgun ready for use instead of his rifle, so he put that in his hands. And he decided to walk up to the two, hands raised in the air while holding the shotgun by the pump in one hand.

Once in reasonable talking distance so he didn't have to be loud he spoke. "I come in piece, don't shoot me please." He tried to say quietly with a calm comedic tone. Truth be told he was scared shitless and he didn't want to die, but he was too scared to go it alone now. "I'm..." He thought about his answer, he could answer anything he wanted too and no one would know the better? This could be a new start! "Henry. Wait... dammit... I meant to say Hunter..." And just like that, the new chance was gone.
Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by PrivateVentures
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Joseph Ferrier


I stormed down the street. One of the spooks got too close, so I slowed down, just enough to sling a kick at its knee. I felt the crack as the kneecap broke the into the connecting bones beneath. My stomach jumped. Stay on target. Just stay on target. You're almost there.

And I was. My apartment was less than a block away. But those things kept a steady pace behind me. They were making a lot of noise. I twisted my sleeve at the bicep, using the tough leather to cut off circulation to my right arm, like a tourniquet. I guess, all in all, I was lucky it broke further up the forearm. Any lower, and the break would risk slicing my brachial artery. Like I said earlier, Red equals dead.

I could see the street sign. There was red on the green, obscuring the name of the streets, but I knew this city fairly well. And my building was now in view.

Hands erupted from the bushes growing along the complex's chainlink fence as I passed, and a moaning face followed. I threw all my weight behind my shoulder, slamming it back in as I sprinted, laughing in spite of my pain at the rattle when it hit the fence.

The door! My code! For a moment, I actually forgot it. Then, in a flash: 5-2-3-8! 5-2-3-8! I released my jacket sleeve, fresh blood gushing down my arm onto my shirt, to punch in the combination. I didn't see the blood in the lobby until I slammed the door.

It was covered in it. The white couch was now red. The shitty plastic plant dripped into its clay pot, moisture and nutrients it neither needed nor would benefit from. One of the elevator buttons glowed a streetlamp-orange, the other a savage red.

Naturally, the bloody button was the one I needed. I let go of my sleeve again, to clumsily draw my weapon and fumble with the safety. Thank god it's ambidextrous. The elevator dinged to life, and I brought up my pistol as the doors opened. Surprisingly, in fact, the only good surprise I'd had all day, the inside was clean. Nothing on the floor but dust. I squeezed my sleeve again, and slapped the button marked '3' with my elbow. The mechanisms whirred to life, and sent me up.

The doors dinged open on my floor. I was ready, weapon pointing straight down the hall. I could hear someone crying in another room as I passed, room fourteen, I believe. My place was just next door. My keys were slippery with blood that had oozed into my pocket while I ran. It was hard to identify the right one.

My apartment was exactly as I'd left it: a mess. Empty takeout and pizza boxes were stacked up next to the garbage can, papers littered my kitchen table, but I only needed one thing to be where I'd left it.

My liquor cabinet was locked, and I didn't feel like getting the key. So I slammed my elbow into the glass. Fuck it. Can't stay here anyway. A bottle of Silverback Gin was calling my name. Pop went the cork. I filled up a spare flask, struggling a bit at first with cap, and then sucked some from the bottle. I drank deep, the piney burn filling my throat and nostrils and silencing the shrieking pain of my arm so I could finally think.

I needed a car. That was first. Luckily, I could choose from anything in the parking lot. I could hotwire just about anything in an emergency, and this certainly qualified. I doubted anyone would still look at it like a crime.

First thing's first, though. Gotta set the bone. Stop the bleeding. Oh fuck. The bone was offset only slightly, a hairline fracture becoming a-

"Ow! God-DAMN!"

-a hairline fracture becoming a short break. Easy to set again, even though it would suck.

I walked into the bathroom, leaving a little blood trail behind me as I went. I needed the first aid kit, under the sink. I took it into the kitchen and swung across the table, throwing case notes, files, and bills onto the floor. I grabbed the roll of paper towels I'd lost under the mountain two months previous, and bit into the dry, fluffy paper. I pressed my arm down onto the table, teeth digging into the towels, and used my other hand to push the bone back together. The arm squelched and gushed more blood, and my vision swam and my stomach lurched. The bones scraped as it slid back into place. I still think about that feeling when I'm trying to sleep.

Thank god for Silverback Distillery. Without their excellent and tasteful Strange Monkey gin, I would not be the same man today.

I wrapped gauze around the wound, tears streaming down my face, and took another swig. I spit out bits of paper towel, and tore the bandage with my teeth, tucking it in, a little tight, but not too tight. I taped over this with some duct tape.

My hand was in better shape, though I could see the ligaments through the gash. I dumped some gin on it. Bad idea, by the way, do not use gin. White light exploded in my brain when it burned. Possibly felt even worse than the broken arm. But, at the least, it was disinfected. I coiled more gauze around it, and, almost as an afterthought, rolled a magazine around my arm and taped it, as a splint.

I sat back in one of my rarely-used kitchen chairs and wished that somehow, New China could deliver in the middle of all this. I wanted nothing more than sweet and sour chicken with some teriyaki sauce and some lo mein. I passed out on the bloody table, still thinking about Chinese food.

Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Sadie
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Rachelle


So much had happened in a small window of time. All it literally took was one moment. One scream of panic- absolute terror, in fact, before all hell broke loose on their small town. One short, cut off, staggered scream. The world as they knew it fell completely apart.


Working at the skate shop had proved useful for her over the years. Not only did Rachelle continue to practice her skill, but she was able to make valuable contacts that she knew she could use in the future. She had her eyes set on the next X Games- they would be in town within the next few months. Nothing would make her deviate from that plan, even her big sister. Especially not her big sister. Even though the women had found common ground over the last few years, they still were often at odds with each other. All Rebecca would talk about is her little sister finally getting a real job and finding a man, settling down, blah blah blah.

There was no way in hell that was happening anytime soon. Chelle hadn't even thought of a man in a romantic sense since she had been a young teenager in high school- and that relationship turned out to be nothing but a headache. She had decided to swear off men and just reign in all her energy for her ultimate goal of champion. That didn't stop Becca from pestering, though.

And she continued to pester all the way from her extended trip.. Every few minutes it was Will this and Will that. It quickly turned nauseating. It almost made her eternally grateful to hear that her sister's visa was up and she had to come back home without the annoying sidearm. It was sad to think, but Rachelle was almost looking forward to her sister's heart being broken- maybe then she wouldn't want to talk about the annoying male species. Unfortunately, the complete opposite happened. Her big sister talked non-stop about the 'lovely gent' and how she had wished that he had followed her back to Canada. Becca had never seemed happier, and Rachelle secretly loathed her for it.

It's funny how in the blink of an eye, all the useless thoughts in your head that you had previously thought so dire, were suddenly so incredibly dumb and unimportant.


It had been weeks since the first outbreak was seen in their hometown. After Rebecca had thrown herself into the shop to grab her sister, they had both taken off together to try to find shelter. Their own apartment complex had already been cornered off; there was no going back to their belongings. All they had left was what they each had on them. A letter opener from the shop, a nail file just because...Useless items. If they had been better prepared, she could have prevented anything bad from happening to them. She could have saved them from becoming just like the infected. So many things she could have done if she had just paid attention.

And so it was that they were hiding out in an abandoned apartment complex. It had been the first place they could think of going that probably wouldn't have very many people near it. Becca wanted to try to find other survivors; Rachelle wanted to tough it out on their own. They didn't need anyone other than themselves. How stupid she had been. How stupid she had been to allow her only sibling to try to find some supplies on her own. How stupid she had been to have just watched her only sibling been bitten by one of them and done nothing to try to help her. How stupid.

She didn't even notice the man who had found Rebecca and put her out of her misery.

Her thoughts were muffled by a loud, heart-wrenching scream. Took several moments before she realized that the sound was coming from her very own lungs.
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