Rilla

defusing a bomb

You handle it simply.

Tell them both that you'll be making decisions on the character, and that your word is law.

If the first one leaves, after you accept the 'similar-but-not-quite', that's probably someone you don't want anyway, as they could easily turn into the type of player that threatens to leave any time they don't get their way.

If you think the second one is too similar, request the changes to make them different and see where it goes.

Essentially, you're the GM, your word is law and they have to respect that. Just stand up to them, as otherwise, they'll run all over you... repeatedly.

Operation: Dead Man's Hand

You guys did better than expected, as far as posting time. Congratulations.

Also, great posts!

Operation: Dead Man's Hand

Either or is fine. The library being freshly renovated would probably be a good 'magnetic' for people in the area as a safe haven, or it could just be a big building that looks a lot safer than where you are currently.

Operation: Dead Man's Hand

IC is up, ladies!

Operation: Dead Man's Hand

Asheville - City Limits

Dressed in a beaten up Jos. A. Banks suit, a former big wig from the Raeym Corporation, rushed towards the Asheville city limits as though his life depended on it. Fortunately, or perhaps the opposite, for him - he really needed to run. No sooner than he took fifteen steps, five humans with bloodlust in their eyes burst from the brush behind him. Tossing a look over his shoulder, he cuts a sharp left into a medium sized parking lot, and ducks behind one of the cars. Just a second later, the humans stained in blood shot past the car he was hiding behind.

Jack rubbed down the front of his face, his hand drenched in swear. “God damn it, what did we do?! What did we do?! IT definitely wasn’t supposed to be like this!” After a moment, he poked his head out from behind the cars and checked if the coast was clear. He leaned back into his hide away and caught his breath.

Jack Johnson, a native of nearby Whittier, North Carolina, practically grew up taking trips to Asheville several times a week, and even attended UNC Asheville. But in the past twenty years, the now forty five year old man hadn’t been home but a handful of times, the last time being five years ago when his father Derrick Johnson passed away from a sudden heart attack while out hunting. He wasn’t found until a couple of days after, but by then he was already dead. Raeym Corp., the company he worked for and the manufacturer of his current predicament were kind enough to handle all the funeral arrangements. He spent a week here, and then began working overtime at the company that had, quite literally, kept his family from going bankrupt from all the funeral expenses.

Waiting another ten minutes, Jack stepped from behind the safety of his car and headed in the direction of the UNC. He knew the library would be as safe a place as any. He didn’t exactly know why he chose to come back to his town, but he knew that his mom had gone missing and the rest of his family was out of contact as well. He heard from down in Whittier, when he tried to hide in the family house, that the library in UNC was taking in refugees.

Jack kept his head down and moved through the empty streets, well the ones he spotted were empty and wondered how things went wrong. The microchips, the bacteria, the assemblers they were all supposed to be kept contained. He knew there were talks of an eventual release, and from the reports he got from his rather lofty position, it had been. But further still, it was only supposed to turn those infected into the ultimate security force to defend the nation in case of an eventual attack on the land. Politicians contracted big corporations, including Raeym, to make different parts and used Raeym’s far reach to distribute it without the public’s knowledge.

He was told that the workers of the companies wouldn’t be infected, but the scene at the underground bunkers was crazy. When they finally managed to get out, those who were outside of the sturdy metal doors were roaming the halls, battling each other and turning into literal cannibals. The screams still haunted his dreams, and all the blood… all the blood made him cringe every time he thought about it.

UNC-Asheville Campus

Royal Blue and White were the predominant colors worn by the ravaging people, all affected by the virus that none of those who weren’t turned could understand. Blood smeared the ground, but there were few, if any dead bodies. Any that had survived the initial activation of the microchips, which had seemingly become sentient enough to form their own form of self-replication and preservation, were quickly snuffed out by those who weren’t as lucky. The library, which wasn’t as heavily populated, seemed to be one of the safest bets and many were trying to get there - though for the most part, they wouldn’t be able to reach it.

The rest of the campus was much worse off - the ‘Zombies’ as many people had taken to calling it in passing circles of survivors, had taken over all over. Word from other countries were they weren’t experiencing much of a side effect, but that wasn’t the case for places situated around US military installations. The problem was quickly spreading, but unlike the US that had continental exposure, it was easier to contain with countries military forces forming a blockade and shooting any seemingly affected person down. At first, it was non-lethal bean bag shots designed to put them down and deter them, but the micro chipped humans were picking themselves back up when they could and carrying forward, forcing the men on the barricades to unload their lethal payloads.

Johnson rushed through the several of the two hundred sixty five acres, before he came to the Hidan Ramsey Library, and quickly made his way in.

UNC Library

Johnson leans against the doors, keeping the beating zombies from getting in behind him. His suit shirt was ruined with sweat. His tie was loose enough to fall off. His chest heaved up and down, up and down. After another ten minutes of rest, he stood up and took his tie off. Maybe someone else would be here, maybe someone that would know more than him. A thought occurred, he was part of this new plague. If anyone found out he surely wouldn’t make it out alive, he’d definitely be blamed and would definitely.

It wasn’t but a year ago when the Ramsey Library was renovated and made into a three story monstrosity. Johnson stepped into a bathroom and peered into a mirror.

“My name is Erik Watson. I was headed to a job interview when things went to a shit. That’s my story.”

Jack sighed, and exited the bathroom, making his way to the second floor. He stopped by one of the windows - and stared out at the sea of infected and wondered where things went wrong.

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Summary: Jack Johnson, part of the problem, makes it to Asheville and the library. He changes his name, in private, to avoid any future suspicion.

Operation: Dead Man's Hand

You are mean. :(

I'm going to back everything up now, then attempt to finish my post.

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THEN WHY ARE YOU NOT IN MY BED

Operation: Dead Man's Hand

Uh, nope. Won't be together immediately, but the general point of your first posts would be to get to the UNC Asheville Library.

When do you consider an RPG to be "Dead"?

Brovo is going to come in here and tell you "When you give up on it" , DON'T WORRY, B. I GOT YOU COVERED.

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Personally, for me, if only one or two people out of say 5-6+ are posting, then I think it's dead. Since I have a week long posting time, I give it a couple weeks before I'm like, 'iight, this shit dead, you people have disappointed Papa Rilla"

Operation: Dead Man's Hand

Punishment said
I'm fine with those things.And It's not a complete sausage fest. Just only one female, looks like i'll have some fun beating some of the guys heads out of sheer boredom.

Shhh.

Shhh...

Nelia will be our honorary guy.

And thanks folks. :D