Name:Tristan Locastro
Someone else with an infrastructure project, eh? And in favor of an oligarchy, as well. Should be interesting. Accepted!
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Someone else with an infrastructure project, eh? And in favor of an oligarchy, as well. Should be interesting. Accepted!
The more the merrier!
The meeting was certainly tumultuous, to say the least. McThing sat placidly in his chair, waiting until he was needed or addressed, simply sizing up the others. The Hispanic man gave him a polite greeting, and McThing nodded in response, saying nothing. He wasn't sure what to make of the man, especially once he hurled his mobile against the wall so hard as to smash it. The woman had done something to his phone, true, but that hardly seemed like a proportionate response. McThing had broken plenty of expensive electronics in his time, but usually they belonged to someone else, someone who needed either encouragement or discouragement. This man might be one to keep an eye on.
They were joined in the room by others, a couple of pretty women and another man, by the look of him perhaps a little more street-level than the others. This last man might be the closest one to McThing's level, and so the giant favored him with a small nod.
He continued to sit quietly in his designated place, though his eyes kept drifting to the laptop computer placed at each seat at the table. Vaguely, McThing wondered what those were about.
They were joined in the room by others, a couple of pretty women and another man, by the look of him perhaps a little more street-level than the others. This last man might be the closest one to McThing's level, and so the giant favored him with a small nod.
He continued to sit quietly in his designated place, though his eyes kept drifting to the laptop computer placed at each seat at the table. Vaguely, McThing wondered what those were about.
Alrighty, so just to set the scene, it's the morning after we've retaken the campus. Someone proposed holding a meeting at the administration building to discuss what to do next, for whatever reason only our PCs are in attendance.
Not too concerned about post length right now, mostly I just want everybody to speak their mind.
Let's do it!
Not too concerned about post length right now, mostly I just want everybody to speak their mind.
Let's do it!
He had been wearing an Armani suit when it happened. Of course, that hadn't lasted long. Roy Patterson vividly remembered one of those things plucking at his suit jacket as he had fought his way through the lobby of his upscale apartment building, leaving the shirt and tie behind once he had abandoned the Benz on the side of the road- he had to walk and the summer heat was stifling. Now it was just a sweat-stained undershirt, scuffed loafers, torn trousers. He had been wearing the same clothes for two weeks now.
Then again, so had just about everyone else. As they crowded into the conference room in Halliwell Administration Hall- it had seemed like the logical place for a planning meeting- the stale air smelled of sweat, dirt, even the occasional whiff of dried blood from yesterday's battle against the walking dead. It had been a short but intense affair, shotguns and axes against teeth and grasping hands, but they had come out on top. Nathanson College belonged to the living now.
Now it was only a matter of what to do with it.
Not many people had seemed to come to this meeting, just a handful of the fifty-four people currently on campus. Everyone had been invited to attend, of course, but others had found work to do, burning corpses or digging latrines. Some wanted to look after their children. Others were just enjoying the first rest they had been able to snatch in the two weeks since the Cataclysm. Roy really couldn't blame them. Two weeks ago he had never realized exactly how much peace of mind a locked door could bring.
Roy reflexively touched at the lightswitch as he came in. Nothing happened, of course, the meeting would have to be lit by the sunlight streaming through the windows. The man had to remind himself that the power was off all over campus. So was the water, which was why they were out there digging latrines. And the telephones, the gas, the wifi, cell service. Nothing was being maintained.
In fact, the situation was downright medieval. Most people had only managed to flee with the clothes on their back, maybe a weapon and a few scraps of food if they were lucky. A few had brought more valuable equipment with them, tools and vehicles and such. The Japanese troops especially, although it was clear the foreigners didn't have enough to go around. Not by a long shot. Medicine, fuel, and ammunition were in short supply among the refugees, and it was unlikely they had enough food or potable water to last another day.
Roy had thought growing up in the East Side had been tough, but this was a whole new level of bad.
He went to sit down at the table, cursed softly at the metal digging into the small of his back. Roy reached back, carefully pulled out the Smith and Wesson 4506. Making sure the safety was on, he set it on the table in front of him. Roy hadn't carried a gun in that manner for years, not since he was a street-level clocker working a corner on Troost. Now he was pretty much back where he started. How the mighty have fallen.
Now able to sit comfortably, he was able to look around the room. He knew everyone there at least by name. They were a mixed bag, from every walk of life, some having come here from as far away as Washington or even Japan. It was beginning to look like this was everyone who was willing or able to attend this meeting.
"Well, someone's gotta say it," Royale Patterson said, his baritone voice breaking through the silence. "What the hell do we do now?"
Then again, so had just about everyone else. As they crowded into the conference room in Halliwell Administration Hall- it had seemed like the logical place for a planning meeting- the stale air smelled of sweat, dirt, even the occasional whiff of dried blood from yesterday's battle against the walking dead. It had been a short but intense affair, shotguns and axes against teeth and grasping hands, but they had come out on top. Nathanson College belonged to the living now.
Now it was only a matter of what to do with it.
Not many people had seemed to come to this meeting, just a handful of the fifty-four people currently on campus. Everyone had been invited to attend, of course, but others had found work to do, burning corpses or digging latrines. Some wanted to look after their children. Others were just enjoying the first rest they had been able to snatch in the two weeks since the Cataclysm. Roy really couldn't blame them. Two weeks ago he had never realized exactly how much peace of mind a locked door could bring.
Roy reflexively touched at the lightswitch as he came in. Nothing happened, of course, the meeting would have to be lit by the sunlight streaming through the windows. The man had to remind himself that the power was off all over campus. So was the water, which was why they were out there digging latrines. And the telephones, the gas, the wifi, cell service. Nothing was being maintained.
In fact, the situation was downright medieval. Most people had only managed to flee with the clothes on their back, maybe a weapon and a few scraps of food if they were lucky. A few had brought more valuable equipment with them, tools and vehicles and such. The Japanese troops especially, although it was clear the foreigners didn't have enough to go around. Not by a long shot. Medicine, fuel, and ammunition were in short supply among the refugees, and it was unlikely they had enough food or potable water to last another day.
Roy had thought growing up in the East Side had been tough, but this was a whole new level of bad.
He went to sit down at the table, cursed softly at the metal digging into the small of his back. Roy reached back, carefully pulled out the Smith and Wesson 4506. Making sure the safety was on, he set it on the table in front of him. Roy hadn't carried a gun in that manner for years, not since he was a street-level clocker working a corner on Troost. Now he was pretty much back where he started. How the mighty have fallen.
Now able to sit comfortably, he was able to look around the room. He knew everyone there at least by name. They were a mixed bag, from every walk of life, some having come here from as far away as Washington or even Japan. It was beginning to look like this was everyone who was willing or able to attend this meeting.
"Well, someone's gotta say it," Royale Patterson said, his baritone voice breaking through the silence. "What the hell do we do now?"
I would definitely call Rebuild an inspiration for this.
Sadly, though, we've all lost a great talent today- Sir Terry Pratchett has passed away.
Sadly, though, we've all lost a great talent today- Sir Terry Pratchett has passed away.
1/3 of the population being children does seem fairly high, given the situation I just described. I think I'll stick with that solely for the storytelling opportunities it provides, like Katakon pointed out.
Let's just say there was an NPC (let's call her Caitlin) who heroically went out of her way to pick up a few kids in trouble.
Let's just say there was an NPC (let's call her Caitlin) who heroically went out of her way to pick up a few kids in trouble.
Good question. Probably some of the cannon fodder other NPC refugees brought kids with them. Sadly, though, I'm not sure how many children would survive the initial disaster- even the 20% that are left alive might not have the strength, wherewithal, or life experience necessary to escape zombies getting up, cars crashing, or massive fires breaking out. They would only have blind luck to depend on. Probably a number of the children at Nathanson College are with people they had never met before Black Friday, adults whose conscience dictated helping out a child.
There's a grim thought.
Let's multiply those six by three, so out of the fifty-four people at Nathanson College eighteen of them are children. That work for everybody?
There's a grim thought.
Let's multiply those six by three, so out of the fifty-four people at Nathanson College eighteen of them are children. That work for everybody?
Yeah, I would assume the large cities like Osaka, Nagoya, Fukuoka, and of course Greater Tokyo have been pretty much written off- too densely packed, literally millions of zombies there.
Alright, sounds workable. Japan volunteered because they had their shit together better than some other countries did- besides, it's good to know who's got their fingers on nuclear arsenals, right?
Maybe Japanese teams are also in Beijing, Moscow, and Pyongyang trying to figure out who's in charge of those arsenals, now that I'm thinking about it.
Maybe Japanese teams are also in Beijing, Moscow, and Pyongyang trying to figure out who's in charge of those arsenals, now that I'm thinking about it.
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