Triage

A Bloody Mess

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“Bloody hell!” said Lizzie, allowing this one time to throw caution to the wind. She'd already done so by inviting them, anyhow. Them being the boy and girl that were now heading her way at her own invitation, and with a bloody dog on their heels! The human undead were somewhat less terrifying in comparison to the animals sometimes, because they were generally slower moving. But dogs, they still retained a lot of their speed and biting strength, if not more so, because they didn't tire anymore. Lizzie silently prayed she would never meet an undead cheetah. There'd be no way any of them could escape that kind of monstrosity. She briefly considered closing the door on them; if it had been just one of them, she was willing to take the risk, but two? She would be outnumbered, and she was pathetic in self-defense. They'd slaughter her without even trying.

Her basic sense of decency forbade her from such an act however, and she straightened up, muscles tensed for action, as they closed the distance rapidly. She flattened herself against the door and let the two pass through, before swiftly pushing the door shut, scant microseconds from the dog's teeth sinking into her knee. The animal wasn't barking, fortunately. That would have brought out any lurking shufflers if they heard. And she wasn't sure that the door or the boarded up windows would be able to stand up to that kind of force. Her heart pounded so hard, and she was hyperventilating through her nose, eyes wide and sweat pouring down her brow as if she was the one who had just broken the world record for cross-street sprinting.

She bit off a terrified yelp when the dog threw itself against the door and stumbled backwards, losing her balance and landing unceremoniously on her rump. Still pulling herself away from the door, she looked around the room for something to brace against the door, and grabbed a one-seater couch, pulling it against the door. The door itself was quite solid and sturdy, but Lizzie didn't feel like throwing her faith into just a door alone, especially one that pushed inwards from the outside. Turning a wary eye toward her two new "friends", the girl having just thanked her, Lizzie sighed and just prayed to survive this night. “No worries,” she said, straightening up from her work, and rested her fists on her hips, “don't kill me, and we'll call it even.”

She realized how odd a statement that was to make once the words were out her mouth, but it was said. Rubbing her left wrist nervously, she walked around the two, recovering her briefcase and backpack, she then turned to study them. The girl was taller than her, and looked decidedly stronger as well. At her full height of five feet, she would be craning her neck to look at either of them in the eyes. Silently kicking herself, she reached behind her, digging through the side pocket of her bag, and slowly brought her hand back up, holding three nutri bars, one already partially eaten. She didn't know why she was doing this; she didn't even know their names, but she could imagine that food was hard to find these days. “Try not to eat it all at once,” said Lizzie, “in fact, it might be best to take it very sparingly. Don't know how long before that dog stops-oh God!” The last thud made the door reverberate slightly, and it was nerve-wrecking. She didn't know about them, but it was terrifying. Her trembling lips and eyes said it all for all to see.

Backing away from the door and heading into the narrow corridor deeper into the house, she glanced at the other two, “My name's Elizabeth Lake,” she said, “you can call me Lizzie.” She stuck her own nutri bar into her pocket, and leaned against the wall, taking a moment to try calming herself.

A Bloody Mess

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How did it spread so fast?!? was Lizzie's thought as she fearfully treaded through the seemingly deserted streets of New York. Well, she wasn't really thinking about how fast it spread here, considering that the hospital she had been working in, in upper Manhattan, was basically ground zero of the outbreak. But when she had first escaped from here, taking a luxury speedboat out to sea, she thought she would be escaping the worst of it. However, when she reached the next port a state over, she had found undead everywhere and crowding the docks, even animals. The victims of people who, like her, sought refuge by way of the oceans, but were now themselves one of the very things that they were trying to flee from in the first place. She barely made it back to New York before the boat's supply of fuel was exhausted. She considered taking her chances with the sea, maybe head back to England, where she was reasonably certain that this outbreak hadn't reached yet.

Plus, having lived with a fisherman for a father, she knew a thing or two about keeping herself fed and alive. But she still needed fresh water, and significantly more supplies and fuel than her present mode of transportation had, in order to make the journey to England. That unfortunately meant she had to return to the docks, and begin the arduous task of scavenging from what was most likely to be a massive dead zone, where other looters or survivors would have already taken what they could for themselves. And she would need a bigger boat or a sailing yacht that could function without fuel if necessary. This was the only reason and motivation for returning here. And considering that the original source of the outbreak can be traced back to a dock much like the one she had left her boat in, where Patient Zero had been brought in to her hospital, and began to spread the illness. If whatever it did to people and animals could be called an illness. They were, in every sense of the word, dead. But yet, they moved, driven by an insatiable hunger for warm flesh and blood.

The docks had been relatively clear, and she left in bright daylight, where she could see best. From what little she had learned of them, these "zombies" could still see and hear pretty well, so it was best to stay out of sight and to minimize noise. Just as well she didn't wear leather that creaked with every move. But the problem would be dogs and cats...and rats. They had greater senses than humans, which carried on even in their infected states. She was forced to lure a dog into a tipped over cement truck when she approached it from behind, thinking it was living, but when she saw the greyed eyes and the massive gash on its left flank which she had missed earlier, she narrowly avoided turning into one of the living dead as it pursued her. It was only dumb luck that she found the still churning cement truck and when she climbed over it, the dog leapt at her, but went into the hole, where the turning cement sealed the dog into a stony tomb. Now, her teeth chattering from fear, she began to slink out into the street, mindful for animals and humans living and unliving, because she was reasonably certain survivors would fall into two categories: Deadly, or very skilled, and she couldn't be sure who could be trusted.

At least with the dead, they only had one goal. With the living, it could be anything, and the risk was too great. She just wanted to go home. To get away from all this, and maybe to bring what valuable information she had to the governments, so that what happened here could be avoided elsewhere. They needed to find a "cure" or a solution, but it wasn't going to be her, smart as she might be in the field. She didn't have the resources or equipment to do anything with the material and data she had. So she had to survive, had to escape all this. She might very well be the only living being left with some measure of knowledge in this, and how to start solving it. But she also needed to get some food, or she wasn't even going to make the night.

Her clothes might not make noise when she moved, but her stomach would be giving her away soon if the growling continued.

She froze.

Was the growling just her stomach? Or was that something else she was hearing? Slowly turning her head, she scanned the streets, and looked behind her, where she still kept half her body within the doorframe of her chosen safehouse of the day. She'd thoroughly checked the place through, and she was confident even rats couldn't get in here. But Lizzie was a paranoid girl, and that had saved her more than once lately. But there was a dog on the street and she stifled a gasp, whispering, “Oh Lord...” when she saw a young man, possibly her age or younger, escaping from a bus, and trying to move cautiously away from something, she couldn't quite see from where she was, but that was not Lizzie's concern. She was now wondering whether to forego her general idea of avoiding contact or trying to help him by alerting him to her presence. She was not the best at judging people by look, and he looked like he needed help, but how would she know? For all she knew, he might slit her throat in her sleep, or worse...

And he wasn't the only person out there.

God please don't let him be bad, the girl prayed fervently, and she knelt low to the ground, holding the door open to the house she was in, looking right at him, she went, “Psst!”

That was the loudest call she was willing to give. Whatever he was trying to avoid, would hopefully ignore the noise. If he failed to hear that, then she wasn't going to take any further risks. This was already too dangerous as it was. The house she was in was reasonably boarded up and fortified. Indefinitely, she could hide away in here as long as supplies were available. Which meant this was only a temporary solution. There was almost nothing left in her supply of food and water. If this boy saw her and came to her, then they'd have to scrounge somehow. All this went through her head as she watched the boy, trying to make eye contact.

Please do not be a psycho, oh, please do not be a psycho...

A Bloody Mess

I'm good with that. :)

A Bloody Mess

We need a therapist. :P Or a really good psychologist.

A Bloody Mess

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▪ Name ▪

Elizabeth Harmony Lake (Lizzie)

▪ Gender ▪

Female

▪ Age ▪

Twenty-three

▪ Appearance ▪

She is rather short for her age, petite and slender, with sandy brown hair and fair skin. Her brown eyes are slightly almond shaped, but can open up to be very wide. She appears to be generally quite light in weight, around a hundred pounds or so. She wears no piercings, even in her ears.

▪ Birth State ▪

Brighton, Sussex, England. Moved to Manhattan, New York, just shortly before all hell broke loose

▪ Family members ▪

No one. Just Lizzie

▪ Role/Occupation ▪

Student Doctor

▪ Starting Fortune ▪

A large grey backpack with a red cross on the back, filled with a spare change of clothes, a first aid kit, a bottle of drinking water, food, a small laptop and a specialized survival knife. A pocket purse with a few hundred dollars. A cell phone and a charger (Samsung Galaxy A5 (2017) if you must know). A briefcase filled with documents detailing what little research was done concerning the virus taken from Patient Zero.

▪ Strengths ▪

Resilient. Quick-thinking. Intelligent. Organized. Thinks outside the box. Strong Swimmer. Fleet-footed. Boat-handling.

Lizzie is a lot tougher than even she realizes, and is capable of brilliant solutions when she's not second-guessing herself. She is highly organized in an obsessive-compulsive and unorthodox manner, and a quick learner, with a fairly impressive memory. Not the kind to settle for a standard answer or solution, she often seeks out things others wouldn't think of seeking in order to achieve success. It was what allowed her to survive a spreading virus that had already overtaken New York and yet escape relatively unscathed. It helps that she is also a fast runner, has knowledge on boats and living on the seaside, and can swim.

▪ Weaknesses ▪

Insecure. Self-doubting. Overthinks things. Easily frightened. Panic-prone. Lousy combatant. Unstrategic. Easily distracted.

Smart though she may be, Lizzie is a very nervous and skittish person even without coffee. She often thinks things over too much, or obsesses over the tiny details in an effort to cover any margin of error, but as a result takes too long, and it doesn't help that she's full of doubts of her own abilities and feels no security in what she knows. She also can't fight to save her life, and gives in to panic if she gets overwhelmed by aggressors, rendering her quite useless in a fight. Her jumpy nature causes her to get easily distracted by almost anything.

▪ Greatest Fear ▪

The undead. Seeing something that, by all intents and means, is dead, and yet moving? Call mother. Now.

▪ Background/History ▪

Born and raised by the seaside in Brighton, England, Lizzie had a fisherman and a seamstress for parents, and went into medical school through a scholarship. She was a prodigy of sorts, picked up things quickly, and had a promising career ahead of her. She became interested in the study of bacteria and diseases and their effects in humanity's history. After several years in Hampton University and a hospital near her own hometown, she received a foreign internship in the US, which brought her to Manhattan, New York, and a fine hospital to work in, when things took a turn for the worst.

A dock worker had been brought in after exposure to a spore-like fungi in a container that came from South America caused the man to become rabid and incoherrent. He had attacked several co-workers, reportedly biting and scratching. Lizzie worked with a doctor who extracted blood samples and began to make notes. Unfortunately, nurses working on the dock worker began to exhibit similar symptoms due to the presence of the spores on the man's body. Before too long, the entire hospital was spreading with the rabid infection. Lizzie only barely escaped after collecting all the data into a briefcase.

She briefly took shelter in her rented apartment, taking stock of the situation, and before media outlets stopped broadcasting, learnt that the infection had since spread into the city itself. Packing all that she could find of use, Lizzie cautiously evaded the undead in the streets, until she made it dockside, where she commandeered a luxury speedboat and began to make her journey southwards, in hopes of finding uninfected survivors, and a working lab or hospital, where she could continue to figure out the cause of the infections and how to stop it.

A Bloody Mess

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▪ Name ▪

Elizabeth Harmony Lake (Lizzie)

▪ Gender ▪

Female

▪ Age ▪

Twenty-three

▪ Appearance ▪

She is rather short for her age, petite and slender, with sandy brown hair and fair skin. Her brown eyes are slightly almond shaped, but can open up to be very wide. She appears to be generally quite light in weight, around a hundred pounds or so. She wears no piercings, even in her ears.

▪ Birth State ▪

Brighton, Sussex, England. Moved to Manhattan, New York, just shortly before all hell broke loose

▪ Family members ▪

No one. Just Lizzie

▪ Role/Occupation ▪

Student Doctor

▪ Starting Fortune ▪

A large grey backpack with a red cross on the back, filled with a spare change of clothes, a first aid kit, a bottle of drinking water, food, a small laptop and a specialized survival knife. A pocket purse with a few hundred dollars. A cell phone and a charger (Samsung Galaxy A5 (2017) if you must know). A briefcase filled with documents detailing what little research was done concerning the virus taken from Patient Zero.

▪ Strengths ▪

Resilient. Quick-thinking. Intelligent. Organized. Thinks outside the box. Strong Swimmer. Fleet-footed. Boat-handling.

Lizzie is a lot tougher than even she realizes, and is capable of brilliant solutions when she's not second-guessing herself. She is highly organized in an obsessive-compulsive and unorthodox manner, and a quick learner, with a fairly impressive memory. Not the kind to settle for a standard answer or solution, she often seeks out things others wouldn't think of seeking in order to achieve success. It was what allowed her to survive a spreading virus that had already overtaken New York and yet escape relatively unscathed. It helps that she is also a fast runner, has knowledge on boats and living on the seaside, and can swim.

▪ Weaknesses ▪

Insecure. Self-doubting. Overthinks things. Easily frightened. Panic-prone. Lousy combatant. Unstrategic. Easily distracted.

Smart though she may be, Lizzie is a very nervous and skittish person even without coffee. She often thinks things over too much, or obsesses over the tiny details in an effort to cover any margin of error, but as a result takes too long, and it doesn't help that she's full of doubts of her own abilities and feels no security in what she knows. She also can't fight to save her life, and gives in to panic if she gets overwhelmed by aggressors, rendering her quite useless in a fight. Her jumpy nature causes her to get easily distracted by almost anything.

▪ Greatest Fear ▪

The undead. Seeing something that, by all intents and means, is dead, and yet moving? Call mother. Now.

▪ Background/History ▪

Born and raised by the seaside in Brighton, England, Lizzie had a fisherman and a seamstress for parents, and went into medical school through a scholarship. She was a prodigy of sorts, picked up things quickly, and had a promising career ahead of her. She became interested in the study of bacteria and diseases and their effects in humanity's history. After several years in Hampton University and a hospital near her own hometown, she received a foreign internship in the US, which brought her to Manhattan, New York, and a fine hospital to work in, when things took a turn for the worst.

A dock worker had been brought in after exposure to a spore-like fungi in a container that came from South America caused the man to become rabid and incoherrent. He had attacked several co-workers, reportedly biting and scratching. Lizzie worked with a doctor who extracted blood samples and began to make notes. Unfortunately, nurses working on the dock worker began to exhibit similar symptoms due to the presence of the spores on the man's body. Before too long, the entire hospital was spreading with the rabid infection. Lizzie only barely escaped after collecting all the data into a briefcase.

She briefly took shelter in her rented apartment, taking stock of the situation, and before media outlets stopped broadcasting, learnt that the infection had since spread into the city itself. Packing all that she could find of use, Lizzie cautiously evaded the undead in the streets, until she made it dockside, where she commandeered a luxury speedboat and began to make her journey southwards, in hopes of finding uninfected survivors, and a working lab or hospital, where she could continue to figure out the cause of the infections and how to stop it.

Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse RP

Works for me. I'm a little amateur in how all this works (the forum I mean), mind pointing out how we get started?

Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse RP

Brilliant! Though would anyone be willing to GM? I'm not particularly skilled in that regard...

Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse RP

► ▪Inspiration Sources▪

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Drawing from the ideas of The Walking Dead, The Last of Us and Resident Evil, but not necessarily based in those existing franchises, where an unknown plague/virus/spore causes catastrophic changes in the human body, transforming once normal folk into rabid, ravenous undead desperate for warm blood and flesh.

► ▪General Premise Information▪

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It could be anything, starting from say America or England. Perhaps it was a normal enough day, when suddenly, recently deceased folk began rising from the dead and spread the infection through a bite. But even people who do not get bitten and die for whatever reason will rise up again as an undead. The Military and emergency responders are too few or too late to provide much aid, and it is very probable that the whole world is suddenly experiencing this pandemic.

Before too long, humanity's numbers have reduced drastically, and pockets of survivors begin to move in search of safe sanctuary or rebuilding a society in the midst of the ruins, adapting to life in the new world. Hostile people are also a new problem.

► ▪Interest Check Information▪

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I'm basically hoping that there is an ongoing RP like what I described above already in existence, or perhaps an interest in starting a group for such a thing. I'm very eager to start writing with folks who might have a thing for this type of genre.