The mower engine whirred to halt before Marlowe slammed the thing on the concrete. He cursed under his breath and was glad he'd moved into the merchant marine rather than gardening. The shambling dead, livid with corruption, still came on.
Better not to stick around and fight . . . he had to find someone else to try and survive with. Someone must have heard him on the Stadium's loudspeakers. If not, he was the last person alive in Watch City and, if that were true, it wouldn't stay so very long . . .
The dead were beginning to come from their alleys and doorways, hungering for living meat. Marlowe rushed past them all, searching the old barracks for signs of habitation. He ran passed a wall with something scrawled on it. Kept running, before doubling back. SURVIVOR HOPSITAL. If there was noone else here, he had little choice but to make his way there.
Running on, he found an army store room, the door bloked up. It wouldn't budge. Someone might be on the other side.
Banging with his fists, he yelled: "HEY! ANYONE IN THERE?! HEY!"
Down the barracks lane, the dead were shambling onwards.
Zombie Apocalypse - Game thread
Moderator: Goatkiller666
-
variol son
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 5777
- Joined: Fri Apr 05, 2002 1:07 pm
- Location: New Zealand
"Alex? Alex wake up. Alex!"
Western awoke with a start at the sound of Jove's voice. Jove? When did he stop refering to her as "the cop" he wondered. Probably when she gave him the revolver. Having a real weapon had definately improved his mood. While he was awake anyway.
"What?"
"You were talking in your sleep. Another dream?"
"What do you mean 'another'?"
"Come on Alex, don't play around. You talk in your sleep and as far as I can tell you've been having some sort of nightmare everytime you fall asleep for the past 48 hours or so."
"It's nothing, really. Just the stress of living in a city overrun by zombies and all." He tried giving her a smile. He could tell by the look on her face that it wasn't very convincing, but she let it drop.
"If you say so." She gave him a weak smile of her own and then got up and went over to the car where she started rummaging around in the backseat before emerging with a couple of apples. She tossed one of them to him and started to eat the other herself, leaning against the drivers door.
As he started to eat, she asked, "One question though - who's Amy Miller? Whenever you dream you always call her name."
Western almost choked on the piece of fruit in his mouth. "She's no one, no one important anyway. Just a girl I went to school with."
"An old girlfriend?"
"Girlfriend? Amy Miller?" He laughed sarcastically. "Our relationship couldn't have been more different."
"So tell me."
"Fine, but don't expect to like what you hear."
* * *
Alex Western had showed signs of having power from the age of six. It had seemed so innocent in the beginning - he always seemed to know if someone was ill, no matter how well they appeared to be. His mother decided that her son was simply very perceptive, that he saw what others missed. His father knew better but wisely chose not to say anything - his wife didn't deal with anything even slightly out of the ordinary, including his own mother.
It was Alex' grandmother who helped him understand what was happening. How to cope with the strange dreams, how to ignore the odd figures that no one else seemed to be able to see, how to block out the cacophony of thought that would assail him periodically. She also guided him in the exploration of his powers. He would never forget the day he first managed to bend a spoon with his mind. His grandmother, obviously bursting with prise, had hugged him fiercely and then, with gleam in her eye, asked him to unbend it again. It was part of a set after all.
By the time Alex became a high school senior, he was highly adept at using the gifts he had been given and even better at keeping them secret. His grandmother always said that people don't like other people who stand out too much, who deviate too far from the norm. Amy Miller had been a prime example of that particular aspect of humanity.
Amy Miller was a cheerleader. She dated the captain of the football team. She had long blond hair and bright blue eyes. She was so sterotypical it had made Alex sick.
Like almost every other guy in his year, he'd had a crush on Amy Miller when he'd started at Watch City High, and like almost every other guy in his year, he didn't have a crush on her anymore. Visions of being with Amy soured when you found out what she was really like.
All the cool kids tormented the rest of the school - there was nothing strange about that. The thing was that Amy seemed to enjoy inflicting torment, and the more pain she caused the more enjoyment she seemed to get. It didn't take anyone long to learn that life at Watch City High was easier if you kept out of Amy Miller's way.
Using his unique abilities, Alex was more successful at avoiding Amy than his peers. That particular day however he'd been distracted - he had a chemistry test the next day and chemistry wasn't his strongest subject. He wasn't concentrating on where he was going and so turned the corner only to almost run into Amy in the hallway. Normally that would have been good for a month of torment, but today Amy had found a victim that interested so much that she had eyes for no one else.
Becky Jamieson's mother had died in a car crash over the summer and Becky had only come back to school recently. She'd been in the car at the time and anyone who looked at her could tell she was still pretty messed up. She hardly talked to anyone and instead just sat around wrioting in her journal - a black leather bound book that her mom had given her for her birthday a few weeks before she died.
Alex looked from Amy to Becky, who was being held by a couple of jocks. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she was struggling so hard that the two fottballers were having trouble holding on to her. Then he saw why. Amy was holding the journal. Looking becky in the eye she tore out each page, one by one, and dropped them into a metal wastebasket at her feet where a small fire burned. She did it slowly, deliberately, clearly enjoying Becky's hysterical reaction.
Alex' grandmother had always stressed the importance of control to him. His gifts were wonderful yes, but they could be dangerous if he just turned them loose. At that moment though, all thoughts of self-control and secrecy vanished, replaced by a protective rage. Who would do this to another human being? How could anyone be so sick?
The world went white and the next thing Alex knew, he was on his knees clutching his head with an incredable migraine. He looked up to see Becky crouched over the wastebasket, crying so hard that her whole bosy was shaking. Amy Miller and her jock friends lay ten yards down the hall, their books and bags strewn on the floor around them.
The footballers quickly scrambled to their feet, grabbed their things and fled. Amy took a little longer to get up though. As she stood shakily, she gave Alex a look of pure hatred. "You think what I did to her stupid little journal was bad? You have just made her life so much worse." She laughed, and Alex winced at the sound. There was no humour there, or joy. It was like listening to pure evil.
"Screw you Amy. I didn't let you finish burning the journal and I'm not about to let you touch her again. Just back off if you know what's good for you." Amy simply smiled and walked off. That night a bricked covered in newspapaer clippings about Becky's mom's death was thrown through Becky's bedroom window.
Amy arrived at school the next morning with a self-satisfied smirke on her face. It didn't last long. In first period english she opened her school bag to find it crawling with maggots. Later on in the day, during biology, all the jars on the shelf next to her workstation suddenly burst while she was in the middle of disecting a frog, leaving Amy covered in formaldehyde and animal fetuses.
She started complaining that some guy kept following her into the bathroom - she would always see his shadow in the mirror. The school started a major manhunt for this "pervert" until a couple of girls admitted that they had more than once been in the same bathroom as Amy when she had caught sight of the shadow and they hadn't seen anything.
Dead rats started showing up in her mailbox and her locker was regularly full of mysterious rotting food, or crawling with flies. All the plants in her mothers garden died, as did the front lawn, and her little sister's cat had to be given away after it attacked her five times. The family dog on the other hand refused to go within twenty feet of her. One night when she went out to it's kennel to feed it it strained at its leash so hard to get away from her that it choked itself to death.
All this time, Amy maintained that this was all the work of the shadowy figure who was stalking her. She said he was always following her, at school, on her way home, at the mall. Wherever she went he was apparently there, watching her, and making her life hell.
She naturally accused Alex, but the school investigated and determined that it wasn't him - he was always in class when Amy thought she saw the shadow in the bathroom, and whenever she saw it out of the corner of her eye anywhere else he was with friends or at home or working at the local bookstore. Meanwhile, Becky's dad had taken her and her brother and moved up-state.
With the two most likely suspects elimated, the school and Amy's friends began to think that she was doing it all herself. The guidance counsellor told her parents that he was worried about her mental health, so they admitted her to the local hospital for observation. No one expected her to be in there for long, but in the end she never left. She started dreaming about the shadowy figure, and she saw him everywhere she looked when she was awake.
Amy Miller died three weeks after being hospitalised - after repeatedly complaining that she saw the shadowy figure wherever she looked and being ignored, she took matters into her own hands by using a plastic spoon to gouge her own eyes out before hanging herslef using her own bedsheets. In her own blood she had written on the wall, "I know I can't escape him, but at least in hell we'll be on equal footing."
* * *
After she died, I never used my powers again, not overtly at least. They're still there - the fact that the zombies stay away from me proves that. But I don't use them, not anymore."
"But you didn't kill her."
Alex snorted. "No, she did that herself. And I didn't torment her either, not consciously. But my powers did, and that means that some part of me wanted what happened to her to happen. Some part of me approved, participated even." Westerm stood up, walked over to the garbage can in the corner of the garage and threw his apple core away. Then he turned to face Jove again.
"I hope you weren't counting on the fact that they avoid me to mean that I could be of any use against them, or whatever is causing them. Because I don't. I refuse to. I'm sorry Jove, but I won't allow myself to become that person. If I do, then I'm no better than Amy was."
Jove didn't respond for what seemed forever, She simply leaned against the car, looking at the floor. Alex sighed and walked back to his makeshift bed.
"So it's Amy that you've been dreaming about? Amy and what you did to her."
No. He shook his head. "Not Amy. The Creeping Abomination."
"The Abomination? What does Amy Miller have to do with the Creeping Abomination?"
Alex raised his head to look at his companion. "In my dreams Jove, Amy and the Abomination are one and the same."
Western awoke with a start at the sound of Jove's voice. Jove? When did he stop refering to her as "the cop" he wondered. Probably when she gave him the revolver. Having a real weapon had definately improved his mood. While he was awake anyway.
"What?"
"You were talking in your sleep. Another dream?"
"What do you mean 'another'?"
"Come on Alex, don't play around. You talk in your sleep and as far as I can tell you've been having some sort of nightmare everytime you fall asleep for the past 48 hours or so."
"It's nothing, really. Just the stress of living in a city overrun by zombies and all." He tried giving her a smile. He could tell by the look on her face that it wasn't very convincing, but she let it drop.
"If you say so." She gave him a weak smile of her own and then got up and went over to the car where she started rummaging around in the backseat before emerging with a couple of apples. She tossed one of them to him and started to eat the other herself, leaning against the drivers door.
As he started to eat, she asked, "One question though - who's Amy Miller? Whenever you dream you always call her name."
Western almost choked on the piece of fruit in his mouth. "She's no one, no one important anyway. Just a girl I went to school with."
"An old girlfriend?"
"Girlfriend? Amy Miller?" He laughed sarcastically. "Our relationship couldn't have been more different."
"So tell me."
"Fine, but don't expect to like what you hear."
* * *
Alex Western had showed signs of having power from the age of six. It had seemed so innocent in the beginning - he always seemed to know if someone was ill, no matter how well they appeared to be. His mother decided that her son was simply very perceptive, that he saw what others missed. His father knew better but wisely chose not to say anything - his wife didn't deal with anything even slightly out of the ordinary, including his own mother.
It was Alex' grandmother who helped him understand what was happening. How to cope with the strange dreams, how to ignore the odd figures that no one else seemed to be able to see, how to block out the cacophony of thought that would assail him periodically. She also guided him in the exploration of his powers. He would never forget the day he first managed to bend a spoon with his mind. His grandmother, obviously bursting with prise, had hugged him fiercely and then, with gleam in her eye, asked him to unbend it again. It was part of a set after all.
By the time Alex became a high school senior, he was highly adept at using the gifts he had been given and even better at keeping them secret. His grandmother always said that people don't like other people who stand out too much, who deviate too far from the norm. Amy Miller had been a prime example of that particular aspect of humanity.
Amy Miller was a cheerleader. She dated the captain of the football team. She had long blond hair and bright blue eyes. She was so sterotypical it had made Alex sick.
Like almost every other guy in his year, he'd had a crush on Amy Miller when he'd started at Watch City High, and like almost every other guy in his year, he didn't have a crush on her anymore. Visions of being with Amy soured when you found out what she was really like.
All the cool kids tormented the rest of the school - there was nothing strange about that. The thing was that Amy seemed to enjoy inflicting torment, and the more pain she caused the more enjoyment she seemed to get. It didn't take anyone long to learn that life at Watch City High was easier if you kept out of Amy Miller's way.
Using his unique abilities, Alex was more successful at avoiding Amy than his peers. That particular day however he'd been distracted - he had a chemistry test the next day and chemistry wasn't his strongest subject. He wasn't concentrating on where he was going and so turned the corner only to almost run into Amy in the hallway. Normally that would have been good for a month of torment, but today Amy had found a victim that interested so much that she had eyes for no one else.
Becky Jamieson's mother had died in a car crash over the summer and Becky had only come back to school recently. She'd been in the car at the time and anyone who looked at her could tell she was still pretty messed up. She hardly talked to anyone and instead just sat around wrioting in her journal - a black leather bound book that her mom had given her for her birthday a few weeks before she died.
Alex looked from Amy to Becky, who was being held by a couple of jocks. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she was struggling so hard that the two fottballers were having trouble holding on to her. Then he saw why. Amy was holding the journal. Looking becky in the eye she tore out each page, one by one, and dropped them into a metal wastebasket at her feet where a small fire burned. She did it slowly, deliberately, clearly enjoying Becky's hysterical reaction.
Alex' grandmother had always stressed the importance of control to him. His gifts were wonderful yes, but they could be dangerous if he just turned them loose. At that moment though, all thoughts of self-control and secrecy vanished, replaced by a protective rage. Who would do this to another human being? How could anyone be so sick?
The world went white and the next thing Alex knew, he was on his knees clutching his head with an incredable migraine. He looked up to see Becky crouched over the wastebasket, crying so hard that her whole bosy was shaking. Amy Miller and her jock friends lay ten yards down the hall, their books and bags strewn on the floor around them.
The footballers quickly scrambled to their feet, grabbed their things and fled. Amy took a little longer to get up though. As she stood shakily, she gave Alex a look of pure hatred. "You think what I did to her stupid little journal was bad? You have just made her life so much worse." She laughed, and Alex winced at the sound. There was no humour there, or joy. It was like listening to pure evil.
"Screw you Amy. I didn't let you finish burning the journal and I'm not about to let you touch her again. Just back off if you know what's good for you." Amy simply smiled and walked off. That night a bricked covered in newspapaer clippings about Becky's mom's death was thrown through Becky's bedroom window.
Amy arrived at school the next morning with a self-satisfied smirke on her face. It didn't last long. In first period english she opened her school bag to find it crawling with maggots. Later on in the day, during biology, all the jars on the shelf next to her workstation suddenly burst while she was in the middle of disecting a frog, leaving Amy covered in formaldehyde and animal fetuses.
She started complaining that some guy kept following her into the bathroom - she would always see his shadow in the mirror. The school started a major manhunt for this "pervert" until a couple of girls admitted that they had more than once been in the same bathroom as Amy when she had caught sight of the shadow and they hadn't seen anything.
Dead rats started showing up in her mailbox and her locker was regularly full of mysterious rotting food, or crawling with flies. All the plants in her mothers garden died, as did the front lawn, and her little sister's cat had to be given away after it attacked her five times. The family dog on the other hand refused to go within twenty feet of her. One night when she went out to it's kennel to feed it it strained at its leash so hard to get away from her that it choked itself to death.
All this time, Amy maintained that this was all the work of the shadowy figure who was stalking her. She said he was always following her, at school, on her way home, at the mall. Wherever she went he was apparently there, watching her, and making her life hell.
She naturally accused Alex, but the school investigated and determined that it wasn't him - he was always in class when Amy thought she saw the shadow in the bathroom, and whenever she saw it out of the corner of her eye anywhere else he was with friends or at home or working at the local bookstore. Meanwhile, Becky's dad had taken her and her brother and moved up-state.
With the two most likely suspects elimated, the school and Amy's friends began to think that she was doing it all herself. The guidance counsellor told her parents that he was worried about her mental health, so they admitted her to the local hospital for observation. No one expected her to be in there for long, but in the end she never left. She started dreaming about the shadowy figure, and she saw him everywhere she looked when she was awake.
Amy Miller died three weeks after being hospitalised - after repeatedly complaining that she saw the shadowy figure wherever she looked and being ignored, she took matters into her own hands by using a plastic spoon to gouge her own eyes out before hanging herslef using her own bedsheets. In her own blood she had written on the wall, "I know I can't escape him, but at least in hell we'll be on equal footing."
* * *
After she died, I never used my powers again, not overtly at least. They're still there - the fact that the zombies stay away from me proves that. But I don't use them, not anymore."
"But you didn't kill her."
Alex snorted. "No, she did that herself. And I didn't torment her either, not consciously. But my powers did, and that means that some part of me wanted what happened to her to happen. Some part of me approved, participated even." Westerm stood up, walked over to the garbage can in the corner of the garage and threw his apple core away. Then he turned to face Jove again.
"I hope you weren't counting on the fact that they avoid me to mean that I could be of any use against them, or whatever is causing them. Because I don't. I refuse to. I'm sorry Jove, but I won't allow myself to become that person. If I do, then I'm no better than Amy was."
Jove didn't respond for what seemed forever, She simply leaned against the car, looking at the floor. Alex sighed and walked back to his makeshift bed.
"So it's Amy that you've been dreaming about? Amy and what you did to her."
No. He shook his head. "Not Amy. The Creeping Abomination."
"The Abomination? What does Amy Miller have to do with the Creeping Abomination?"
Alex raised his head to look at his companion. "In my dreams Jove, Amy and the Abomination are one and the same."
You do not hear, and so you cannot be redeemed.
In the name of their ancient pride and humiliation, they had made commitments with no possible outcome except bereavement.
He knew only that they had never striven to reject the boundaries of themselves.
In the name of their ancient pride and humiliation, they had made commitments with no possible outcome except bereavement.
He knew only that they had never striven to reject the boundaries of themselves.
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Bernard Black
- Ramen
- Posts: 95
- Joined: Thu Feb 01, 2007 1:34 pm
- Location: Watch City
Bugger.
Bugger, bugger, BUGGER.
Decomposing limbs beat against the car's windows with a soggy slapping sound. Bernard continued to nudge the car forward, but even in the occasional clear spaces between clumps of zombies, he couldn't see a damn thing because of the storm. So much for his quick jaunt over to the hospital. The poor visibility forced him to keep the car's speed to barely more than walking pace.
Another walking corpse hurled itself at the windscreen. Bernard flicked the wipers on; a quick swish and the zombie's nose went flying across the street. This didn't seem to bother the undead, so Bernard peered under the thing's armpit as best he could, and trundled on.
Argh! A bench! Where did that come from?! He braked to a halt, dragged the wheel to the right, and edged the tiny car round the obstacle.
He threw a glance over his shoulder at the Defence Kit on the back seat. At least, he assumed that's what it was; it said 'Defence Kit' in bold letters on the lid. What the hell is a Defence Kit? he wondered again. He'd been about to leave it behind and search the factory for something more useful when the zombies had found him. He'd grabbed the kit and left, but he still hadn't a clue what to do with it.
Well, whatever it was, it wasn't a lot of use to him right now. He pushed the accelerator a little harder, but the sudden lurch of speed nearly drove him straight into forklift that loomed abruptly out of the storm. Bernard veered frantically to one side, and succeeded in losing only a wing mirror to the collision. Taking a deep breath, he forced his impatience down, behind the impenetrable wall of thudding in his forehead. With an effort of will, he eased off the accelerator slightly, and the car crept on.
Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger...
Bugger, bugger, BUGGER.
Decomposing limbs beat against the car's windows with a soggy slapping sound. Bernard continued to nudge the car forward, but even in the occasional clear spaces between clumps of zombies, he couldn't see a damn thing because of the storm. So much for his quick jaunt over to the hospital. The poor visibility forced him to keep the car's speed to barely more than walking pace.
Another walking corpse hurled itself at the windscreen. Bernard flicked the wipers on; a quick swish and the zombie's nose went flying across the street. This didn't seem to bother the undead, so Bernard peered under the thing's armpit as best he could, and trundled on.
Argh! A bench! Where did that come from?! He braked to a halt, dragged the wheel to the right, and edged the tiny car round the obstacle.
He threw a glance over his shoulder at the Defence Kit on the back seat. At least, he assumed that's what it was; it said 'Defence Kit' in bold letters on the lid. What the hell is a Defence Kit? he wondered again. He'd been about to leave it behind and search the factory for something more useful when the zombies had found him. He'd grabbed the kit and left, but he still hadn't a clue what to do with it.
Well, whatever it was, it wasn't a lot of use to him right now. He pushed the accelerator a little harder, but the sudden lurch of speed nearly drove him straight into forklift that loomed abruptly out of the storm. Bernard veered frantically to one side, and succeeded in losing only a wing mirror to the collision. Taking a deep breath, he forced his impatience down, behind the impenetrable wall of thudding in his forehead. With an effort of will, he eased off the accelerator slightly, and the car crept on.
Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger...
Oh. Bugger.
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Eugen Razvan
- Giantfriend
- Posts: 330
- Joined: Wed Mar 03, 2004 11:28 am
Mass attained through absorbtion and digestion. I/we/it/none have utilised organic matter to increase the fusion/amalgamation. Memories consumed through careful digestion to prevent destruction of neural systems. Higher-order organisms are useful in that memories inform us/we/it of places to increase mass. Lower-order organisms useful to digest only for matter - memories lacking/instincts dominate.
Aaaarghhhhh! Let us free!!!! Stop this madness!!!! Mummy!!!!! Pain . . . . eaaaarghhhh!!!!! Sorry!!!! Jesus save us!!!!! Alex?
What was that? Brief lack of memory control allows personas to break free of the flesh memory-cores. Immediate purge of all personas a necessity.
Wait! Let us speak!!! Aaaarghhhh no!!!! Oh God, I am sorry!!!! Daddy, I got an A at school!
Why? Your brains were harvested for my mind, as your memories were devoured for my/it/us/none knowledge of the world and its peoples. You serve no purpose and it is odd for Amalgamation to seek counsel with the digested brains in its cores.
They scream to be destroyed. Our memories are alive still, though our minds are dead. Aaaaarghh!!!!! Help us!!! I remember my psychologist lending me a book on the mind. Kill us!!!!! Purge the shadows of the personas, but let me live. Aaarghhhh!!!! I can help you. Daddy? DADDY?!!!
In return for what?
Absorb the survivors and you will dominate the city. LISTEN TO ME, DADDY!!!!! I want to see Alex Western suffer.
We/I/it/Us/totality search memories. I know of you, Amy. Your memories and persona will ascend into my totality. You will become part of the Amalgamation.
Aaaarghhhhh! Let us free!!!! Stop this madness!!!! Mummy!!!!! Pain . . . . eaaaarghhhh!!!!! Sorry!!!! Jesus save us!!!!! Alex?
What was that? Brief lack of memory control allows personas to break free of the flesh memory-cores. Immediate purge of all personas a necessity.
Wait! Let us speak!!! Aaaarghhhh no!!!! Oh God, I am sorry!!!! Daddy, I got an A at school!
Why? Your brains were harvested for my mind, as your memories were devoured for my/it/us/none knowledge of the world and its peoples. You serve no purpose and it is odd for Amalgamation to seek counsel with the digested brains in its cores.
They scream to be destroyed. Our memories are alive still, though our minds are dead. Aaaaarghh!!!!! Help us!!! I remember my psychologist lending me a book on the mind. Kill us!!!!! Purge the shadows of the personas, but let me live. Aaarghhhh!!!! I can help you. Daddy? DADDY?!!!
In return for what?
Absorb the survivors and you will dominate the city. LISTEN TO ME, DADDY!!!!! I want to see Alex Western suffer.
We/I/it/Us/totality search memories. I know of you, Amy. Your memories and persona will ascend into my totality. You will become part of the Amalgamation.
HaH! i was right! I knew i would be. This hobo had listened and it had saved his life. I'm a hero.
With the CBD empty of undead for the moment, perhaps investigating the place would be easier, i need a better weapon.
''Hey! Defending this place sounds good Mr Hobo! I'm off to find something useful first though! I'll catch up with you!''
With the CBD empty of undead for the moment, perhaps investigating the place would be easier, i need a better weapon.
''Hey! Defending this place sounds good Mr Hobo! I'm off to find something useful first though! I'll catch up with you!''
But if you're all about the destination, then take a fucking flight.
We're going nowhere slowly, but we're seeing all the sights.
And we're definitely going to hell, but we'll have all the best stories to tell.
Full of the heavens and time.
We're going nowhere slowly, but we're seeing all the sights.
And we're definitely going to hell, but we'll have all the best stories to tell.
Full of the heavens and time.
Damn punk kids. Why am I always Mr. Hobo.
I probobly was resposible for the whole zombie thing anyway, after what I discovered....
*sigh*
"Sounds good Kid. I'll start moving some cars around into a barricade for the street entrances, and start cleaning one fo these buildings out. We'll both be keeping our eyes open. There's not much we WONT be needing eventually."
I hope he listen's. Punk kids.
I probobly was resposible for the whole zombie thing anyway, after what I discovered....
*sigh*
"Sounds good Kid. I'll start moving some cars around into a barricade for the street entrances, and start cleaning one fo these buildings out. We'll both be keeping our eyes open. There's not much we WONT be needing eventually."
I hope he listen's. Punk kids.
Avatar wrote:But then, the answers provided by your imagination are not only sometimes best, but have the added advantage of being unable to be wrong.
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I'm Murrin
- Are you?
- Posts: 15840
- Joined: Tue Apr 08, 2003 1:09 pm
- Location: North East, UK
- Contact:
He listened to them, moving around, sounds muffled by the walls. Scrapes and murmurs, doors banging open, footsteps. At one point, he though he heard-- No. Impossible.
Slowly, the sounds seemed to retreat from his spot, moving back out into other parts of the base.
Then: gunshots? Someone was there. And not alone: he could hear at least two different weapons being fired.
Reinforcements. They're gonna find me, and I'll tell them the score: City's dead. No survivors. Lost cause.
Then we can get the hell out of here, and leave this godforsaken hole to rot.
Footsteps outside, coming closer. Noise at the door, then banging fists. Voice raised: "HEY! ANYONE IN THERE?! HEY!"
Miles pulled up what strength he had, and shouted:
"Yes! In here! I'm in here!"
Slowly, the sounds seemed to retreat from his spot, moving back out into other parts of the base.
Then: gunshots? Someone was there. And not alone: he could hear at least two different weapons being fired.
Reinforcements. They're gonna find me, and I'll tell them the score: City's dead. No survivors. Lost cause.
Then we can get the hell out of here, and leave this godforsaken hole to rot.
Footsteps outside, coming closer. Noise at the door, then banging fists. Voice raised: "HEY! ANYONE IN THERE?! HEY!"
Miles pulled up what strength he had, and shouted:
"Yes! In here! I'm in here!"
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Father Stoobins
- Stonedownor
- Posts: 29
- Joined: Fri Dec 22, 2006 12:47 am
Man. Those hits from the Blob hurts pretty bad. I hope it didnt crack a rib.
Frost rubbed his side painfully.
"Hey Bravo! You got a band-aid or something? Mabye a swig of booze? I thin I cracked something when the damned thing slapped me."
Frost rubbed his side painfully.
"Hey Bravo! You got a band-aid or something? Mabye a swig of booze? I thin I cracked something when the damned thing slapped me."
I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book. Grouch Marx
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Erkirithi-Sha
- Ramen
- Posts: 92
- Joined: Sat Jan 13, 2007 7:07 am
- Location: The First Circle
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Loredoctor
- Lord
- Posts: 18609
- Joined: Sun Jul 14, 2002 11:35 pm
- Location: Melbourne, Victoria
- Contact:
The newsreader adjusts her expensive suit while the camera is focused on her, but she is too stunned to care what the viewers think or doesn't assume anyone else is alive to care. Anyone outside of the studio. Behind her, a single figure makes adjustments to a map of the United States of America - erasing cities with a flick of the wrist and replacing the icons with symbols denoting infection. Most of the US is covered in these simple yet bleak designs. To her left sits a tall, elderly man dressed in a plain suit. He sits facing the camera and looks off into the distance while his long fingers fidget with papers in front of him. Yet he lacks anxiety, and his mannerisms are more the product of excitement. A gleam of triumph is in his deep-set eyes.
A faint voice can be heard and the newsreader glances to the background behind the camera. Evidently a sign to begin.
"Welcome viewers. This may be the last announcement this studio ever makes. Though society is crumbling about us, and anarchy reigns over our cities, power still flows and thus we can still transmit. Yet surrounding us is the largest gathering of zombies . . . uh . . . infected in the city. It is only a matter of time before they smash down our barricades. So we must be quick. A helicopter is on the way to rescue us and take us to the only safe haven from the disease."
She shakes her head and runs a nervous hand through her grey-streaked hair. "Sorry, this is irrelevant. Dr R. Pearson is our distinguished guest. He has taught physics at Watch University for the last twenty years and was the discoverer of Z-Energy. We have him here tonight as he has discovered something important."
The newsreader nods at the old doctor. "Doctor, if you please."
"Thankyou," Dr Pearson grins triumphantly. "I know now what has caused the infection. I believe the Z-gate I experimented with two weeks ago -"
He is interrupted by screaming. In the distance can be heard a helicopter. Studio staff rush by the screen in panic or excitement - it is difficult to tell. The newsreader quickly gathers her belongings and rushes off the stage, leaving the doctor staring at the camera.
"Victory," he whispers, and the transmission dies.
A faint voice can be heard and the newsreader glances to the background behind the camera. Evidently a sign to begin.
"Welcome viewers. This may be the last announcement this studio ever makes. Though society is crumbling about us, and anarchy reigns over our cities, power still flows and thus we can still transmit. Yet surrounding us is the largest gathering of zombies . . . uh . . . infected in the city. It is only a matter of time before they smash down our barricades. So we must be quick. A helicopter is on the way to rescue us and take us to the only safe haven from the disease."
She shakes her head and runs a nervous hand through her grey-streaked hair. "Sorry, this is irrelevant. Dr R. Pearson is our distinguished guest. He has taught physics at Watch University for the last twenty years and was the discoverer of Z-Energy. We have him here tonight as he has discovered something important."
The newsreader nods at the old doctor. "Doctor, if you please."
"Thankyou," Dr Pearson grins triumphantly. "I know now what has caused the infection. I believe the Z-gate I experimented with two weeks ago -"
He is interrupted by screaming. In the distance can be heard a helicopter. Studio staff rush by the screen in panic or excitement - it is difficult to tell. The newsreader quickly gathers her belongings and rushes off the stage, leaving the doctor staring at the camera.
"Victory," he whispers, and the transmission dies.
Waddley wrote:your Highness Sir Dr. Loredoctor, PhD, Esq, the Magnificent, First of his name, Second Cousin of Dragons, White-Gold-Plate Wielder!
-
I'm Murrin
- Are you?
- Posts: 15840
- Joined: Tue Apr 08, 2003 1:09 pm
- Location: North East, UK
- Contact:
"OPEN UP! HURRY! The dead are everywhere! My name's Joe Marlowe! I'm a mechanic . . . and I don't wanna be eaten alive out here!"
Another civilian. And from the sound of it, in no state to be of any use.
But he was sure he'd heard more than one out there. Hell, it was worth a try: "You alone? I could use some medical assistance."
Another civilian. And from the sound of it, in no state to be of any use.
But he was sure he'd heard more than one out there. Hell, it was worth a try: "You alone? I could use some medical assistance."
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Mistress Cathy
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 745
- Joined: Mon Nov 27, 2006 7:32 pm
- Location: Around the world....
Jove had listened intently to Alex's story. Interesting.
She did not discount Alex's story by any means. It was plain to see that Alex was special however, it had been intangible to her. Black had seen it clearly and had been scared by it. Jove was not scared by it at all.
Quite the contrary. She was intrigued. But, she did not see a weapon to use against the zombies. Rather, she saw a man paralized with guilt and fear of a power that he did not understand nor control. It was similar to Bernard Black holding the gun. Black had felt powerful but was afraid of his lack of experience with the weapon. He had not known how to use it.
Alex had spoken of his grandmother. Funny, grandmothers - they always knew of "other" things in the world. Nothing was black and white to them and there were always other dimensions and mysteries of the world that we fail to see.
Jove's own grandmother had sort of a gift, according to her mother. Jove's grandmother had been in a coma for three weeks at one point in her life and during that coma, she claimed to have a vision of Jesus Christ coming to her bedside in the hospital, patting her hand, and telling her that she would be alright.
Jove's grandmother also dreamed of future events. Nothing important really but she could tell you what you were doing without even being in the same city. Once, grandma had called Jove to tell her not to break the antique china tea pot that she had given her. Jove had been dusting her curio cabinet where the tea set was displayed and rushing to get the phone, Jove had broken the pot. Curious.
Regardless, Jove was fascinated by Alex's gift. She could understand Alex's fear of using it, though. It was pretty strong if it could act on its own without Alex's conscious control.
It seemed all the more reason for Alex to harness that energy rather than let it control him. This man was living in fear of himself. It made Jove think of that movie with the kid who "saw dead people." Unfortunately, Jove was not equipped to help Alex with his control issue.
However, Jove had had her own problems with control. It was difficult to be taken seriously as a police officer when you looked like Amy - blonde hair and blue eyes - a typical 'California girl'. As a result, Jove had to be better, faster, and smarter, than the rest just to get the respect she craved. She had earned respect from the other officers. She had proven herself to be loyal and responsible and had the medals to prove it.
Having been on the force for as many years as she had, many of the younger female officers looked up to her. She held a great deal of pride in her work and her status within the department.
She looked at Alex.
"I respect your desire to keep your power at bay. Yet, you must understand that by hiding from it and denying it, you have become a slave to it. It completely controls you with fear and guilt. If you want to keep it at bay, then you need to learn to control it."
Jove paused a moment for effect.
"If you could figure out someway to be the controller rather than the controllee, you would not have to live in fear."
She hoped that Alex was listening to her.
"I understand the guilt over your actions. I am a sniper for the S.W.A.T. team. I have killed five people. I have had to make the moral decision to aim my scope on another human being, squeeze the trigger, and take their life from them.
Do I feel guilty? No, I don't. I tell you why: one of them had kidnapped a teenage girl off of the street, took her to a secluded area where he proceeded to beat and rape her repeatedly. Every unit in the city searched and searched for the car and I finally found it. I shined my light on the car and ordered the occupants to exit the vehicle. He pulled her out of the car with him, naked and covered in her own blood, with a pistol to her head." Jove's eyes wandered as she called up the memory. "I took him out with one shot above the right eye. It was the best shot I ever made!" Jove paused, shaking her head and remembering the scene. "That girl had been absolutely terrorized by the attack. He had beaten her to a pulp. It was a miracle that she was still alive when I found her. That girl grew into a woman and now works with victims of rape and assault. Her parents call me every year on my birthday and I have been invited to their house many times."
Jove looked at Alex again. "If I had not made the decision to kill that man, that girl could have died. As it is, she now has a chance at a decent life now and is helping others cope. Do I feel guilty? Not on your life! I equate that guy to the Abomination."
"Likewise, if you had not stopped this Amy chick, she may have done much worse damage. Sometimes emotional abuse can be far worse than physical abuse."
Jove stopped. Somehow, her story seemed completely unrelated to Alex's. Different people handled things in different ways. She had seen plenty of that being a cop.
"My point," she continued, "is that you have a choice. You can allow guilt to guide you through life or you can take control of your power and own it. Believe me, owning it is the best possible solution. For your own peace of mind if nothing else."
Jove paused again. "Don't allow yourself to become yet another victim. Educate yourself of your power. Learn to control it. I did not just know how to use a gun. A gun is a dangerous weapon but in the wrong or inexperienced hands, it is even more dangerous. But I taught myself how to use it. I took it apart and examined it so that I became familiar with it. I practiced so that it became second nature to me. Once it became second nature, it ceased to be a fearsome thing. Once I learned to control it, it became safe in my hands. You could do the same."
Jove stopped. She could not tell if Alex was listening to her or just watching her lips move. She wanted to assure him.
She added, "I expect nothing from you, Alex, and I will not use you as a weapon against the zombies. I won't ask you to do anything that you are uncomfortable with. I respect your fear and hope that someday you can overcome it."
Jove could see the horror in Alex's eyes and feared that her words had been useless.
She did not discount Alex's story by any means. It was plain to see that Alex was special however, it had been intangible to her. Black had seen it clearly and had been scared by it. Jove was not scared by it at all.
Quite the contrary. She was intrigued. But, she did not see a weapon to use against the zombies. Rather, she saw a man paralized with guilt and fear of a power that he did not understand nor control. It was similar to Bernard Black holding the gun. Black had felt powerful but was afraid of his lack of experience with the weapon. He had not known how to use it.
Alex had spoken of his grandmother. Funny, grandmothers - they always knew of "other" things in the world. Nothing was black and white to them and there were always other dimensions and mysteries of the world that we fail to see.
Jove's own grandmother had sort of a gift, according to her mother. Jove's grandmother had been in a coma for three weeks at one point in her life and during that coma, she claimed to have a vision of Jesus Christ coming to her bedside in the hospital, patting her hand, and telling her that she would be alright.
Jove's grandmother also dreamed of future events. Nothing important really but she could tell you what you were doing without even being in the same city. Once, grandma had called Jove to tell her not to break the antique china tea pot that she had given her. Jove had been dusting her curio cabinet where the tea set was displayed and rushing to get the phone, Jove had broken the pot. Curious.
Regardless, Jove was fascinated by Alex's gift. She could understand Alex's fear of using it, though. It was pretty strong if it could act on its own without Alex's conscious control.
It seemed all the more reason for Alex to harness that energy rather than let it control him. This man was living in fear of himself. It made Jove think of that movie with the kid who "saw dead people." Unfortunately, Jove was not equipped to help Alex with his control issue.
However, Jove had had her own problems with control. It was difficult to be taken seriously as a police officer when you looked like Amy - blonde hair and blue eyes - a typical 'California girl'. As a result, Jove had to be better, faster, and smarter, than the rest just to get the respect she craved. She had earned respect from the other officers. She had proven herself to be loyal and responsible and had the medals to prove it.
Having been on the force for as many years as she had, many of the younger female officers looked up to her. She held a great deal of pride in her work and her status within the department.
She looked at Alex.
"I respect your desire to keep your power at bay. Yet, you must understand that by hiding from it and denying it, you have become a slave to it. It completely controls you with fear and guilt. If you want to keep it at bay, then you need to learn to control it."
Jove paused a moment for effect.
"If you could figure out someway to be the controller rather than the controllee, you would not have to live in fear."
She hoped that Alex was listening to her.
"I understand the guilt over your actions. I am a sniper for the S.W.A.T. team. I have killed five people. I have had to make the moral decision to aim my scope on another human being, squeeze the trigger, and take their life from them.
Do I feel guilty? No, I don't. I tell you why: one of them had kidnapped a teenage girl off of the street, took her to a secluded area where he proceeded to beat and rape her repeatedly. Every unit in the city searched and searched for the car and I finally found it. I shined my light on the car and ordered the occupants to exit the vehicle. He pulled her out of the car with him, naked and covered in her own blood, with a pistol to her head." Jove's eyes wandered as she called up the memory. "I took him out with one shot above the right eye. It was the best shot I ever made!" Jove paused, shaking her head and remembering the scene. "That girl had been absolutely terrorized by the attack. He had beaten her to a pulp. It was a miracle that she was still alive when I found her. That girl grew into a woman and now works with victims of rape and assault. Her parents call me every year on my birthday and I have been invited to their house many times."
Jove looked at Alex again. "If I had not made the decision to kill that man, that girl could have died. As it is, she now has a chance at a decent life now and is helping others cope. Do I feel guilty? Not on your life! I equate that guy to the Abomination."
"Likewise, if you had not stopped this Amy chick, she may have done much worse damage. Sometimes emotional abuse can be far worse than physical abuse."
Jove stopped. Somehow, her story seemed completely unrelated to Alex's. Different people handled things in different ways. She had seen plenty of that being a cop.
"My point," she continued, "is that you have a choice. You can allow guilt to guide you through life or you can take control of your power and own it. Believe me, owning it is the best possible solution. For your own peace of mind if nothing else."
Jove paused again. "Don't allow yourself to become yet another victim. Educate yourself of your power. Learn to control it. I did not just know how to use a gun. A gun is a dangerous weapon but in the wrong or inexperienced hands, it is even more dangerous. But I taught myself how to use it. I took it apart and examined it so that I became familiar with it. I practiced so that it became second nature to me. Once it became second nature, it ceased to be a fearsome thing. Once I learned to control it, it became safe in my hands. You could do the same."
Jove stopped. She could not tell if Alex was listening to her or just watching her lips move. She wanted to assure him.
She added, "I expect nothing from you, Alex, and I will not use you as a weapon against the zombies. I won't ask you to do anything that you are uncomfortable with. I respect your fear and hope that someday you can overcome it."
Jove could see the horror in Alex's eyes and feared that her words had been useless.
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Bernard Black
- Ramen
- Posts: 95
- Joined: Thu Feb 01, 2007 1:34 pm
- Location: Watch City
This is ridiculous, thought Bernard. It seems to be taking days just to drive down the street...
He could hear a fleshy scraping sound as his car continued to drag that zombie that had grabbed hold of the exhaust a while back. Nothing could stop them, they never gave up, and though they looked approximately human, they were dead in all the ways that mattered.
These things would make fantastic politicians...
The car trundled on, dragging, as chance would have it, one of Bernard's few voters behind it.
He could hear a fleshy scraping sound as his car continued to drag that zombie that had grabbed hold of the exhaust a while back. Nothing could stop them, they never gave up, and though they looked approximately human, they were dead in all the ways that mattered.
These things would make fantastic politicians...
The car trundled on, dragging, as chance would have it, one of Bernard's few voters behind it.
Oh. Bugger.
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Erkirithi-Sha
- Ramen
- Posts: 92
- Joined: Sat Jan 13, 2007 7:07 am
- Location: The First Circle
-
I'm Murrin
- Are you?
- Posts: 15840
- Joined: Tue Apr 08, 2003 1:09 pm
- Location: North East, UK
- Contact:
"Ah, shit." This guy sounded scared. Out of his head: Miles hadn't heard anything else out there since the gunshots. He had to get out, see who was out there--it was that, or lie there slowly dying.
The crude bandage he'd made from his shirt was slick red, but the bleeding had slowed. Wincing, he pushed himself up the wall and onto his feet.
A stack of shelves blocked the door. Bracing himself for the pain, he heaved at the structure; it inched its way slowly across the floor. His wound broke open, and the red flow started anew.
He went back for the gun before opening the door. Outside: a man, close to his age. Ragged overalls; blood and grime.
"You hear those gunshots?" He asked the mechanic--Joe?--with his head round the door, his body blocking the frame. "They're out there. Military. I don't know about you, but I'm going to find them, and the I'm getting the hell out of this city." Joe still looked jumpy; kept throwing glances back into the base, eyeing the dark store room behind his head. Miles kicked the door open and stepped aside. "You want to huddle up in some corner, be my guest."
The crude bandage he'd made from his shirt was slick red, but the bleeding had slowed. Wincing, he pushed himself up the wall and onto his feet.
A stack of shelves blocked the door. Bracing himself for the pain, he heaved at the structure; it inched its way slowly across the floor. His wound broke open, and the red flow started anew.
He went back for the gun before opening the door. Outside: a man, close to his age. Ragged overalls; blood and grime.
"You hear those gunshots?" He asked the mechanic--Joe?--with his head round the door, his body blocking the frame. "They're out there. Military. I don't know about you, but I'm going to find them, and the I'm getting the hell out of this city." Joe still looked jumpy; kept throwing glances back into the base, eyeing the dark store room behind his head. Miles kicked the door open and stepped aside. "You want to huddle up in some corner, be my guest."
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Erkirithi-Sha
- Ramen
- Posts: 92
- Joined: Sat Jan 13, 2007 7:07 am
- Location: The First Circle
Huddle up in some corner? That's precisely what this soldier boy was doing...
"Last thing on my mind, mate. I saw a sign scratched into a wall back there. Survivor hsopital - that's what it said. That's where I'm gonna go. We'd be better off sticking together and making our way there. You're bleeding bad, I can see that - it'd be the best place for you...."
"Last thing on my mind, mate. I saw a sign scratched into a wall back there. Survivor hsopital - that's what it said. That's where I'm gonna go. We'd be better off sticking together and making our way there. You're bleeding bad, I can see that - it'd be the best place for you...."
-
I'm Murrin
- Are you?
- Posts: 15840
- Joined: Tue Apr 08, 2003 1:09 pm
- Location: North East, UK
- Contact:
-
Erkirithi-Sha
- Ramen
- Posts: 92
- Joined: Sat Jan 13, 2007 7:07 am
- Location: The First Circle
"Listen, mate, don't get me wrong - I'm all for finding more people, it's just that I don't think we should be just standin' about like this. I didn't hear any gunshots, but maybe that's because o' this bloody mower I was tryin' to cut those walkin' dead up with,"
It's no good just standing around like this. I either have to get in that room and shut the door, or keep on the move.
"Look, mate, let's try an' find these people you 'eard taking pot shots, but lets not waste any time about it. If we find noone, or noone finds us, I say we just ditch the base for the hospital. There's a big creepin' mass o' flesh that's been on my tail for blocks and blocks now, an' I'm not too keen on running into it. How about we look for people here for a bit, but move on to the hospital either way - taking the safer route through the bay area?"
It's no good just standing around like this. I either have to get in that room and shut the door, or keep on the move.
"Look, mate, let's try an' find these people you 'eard taking pot shots, but lets not waste any time about it. If we find noone, or noone finds us, I say we just ditch the base for the hospital. There's a big creepin' mass o' flesh that's been on my tail for blocks and blocks now, an' I'm not too keen on running into it. How about we look for people here for a bit, but move on to the hospital either way - taking the safer route through the bay area?"
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Bernard Black
- Ramen
- Posts: 95
- Joined: Thu Feb 01, 2007 1:34 pm
- Location: Watch City
The reception was cut off as Bernard's car disappeared into the shadows under a battered steel bridge between two enormous warehouses. The car's feeble radio aerial was too old and far too cheap to continue picking up the broadcast. Or perhaps the broadcast itself had stopped altogether. It had sounded as though it was intended to be visual, a television report, but evidently someone had thought to send it out on the radio too. Clever. Sort of. Ultimately useless though. After all, mentioning that "society is crumbling about us, and anarchy reigns over our cities" is only going to spread greater despair amidst the survivors. Bloody amateur news people.Loremaster wrote:The newsreader adjusts her expensive suit while the camera is focused on her, but she is too stunned to care what the viewers think or doesn't assume anyone else is alive to care. Anyone outside of the studio. Behind her, a single figure makes adjustments to a map of the United States of America - erasing cities with a flick of the wrist and replacing the icons with symbols denoting infection. Most of the US is covered in these simple yet bleak designs. To her left sits a tall, elderly man dressed in a plain suit. He sits facing the camera and looks off into the distance while his long fingers fidget with papers in front of him. Yet he lacks anxiety, and his mannerisms are more the product of excitement. A gleam of triumph is in his deep-set eyes.
A faint voice can be heard and the newsreader glances to the background behind the camera. Evidently a sign to begin.
"Welcome viewers. This may be the last announcement this studio ever makes. Though society is crumbling about us, and anarchy reigns over our cities, power still flows and thus we can still transmit. Yet surrounding us is the largest gathering of zombies . . . uh . . . infected in the city. It is only a matter of time before they smash down our barricades. So we must be quick. A helicopter is on the way to rescue us and take us to the only safe haven from the disease."
She shakes her head and runs a nervous hand through her grey-streaked hair. "Sorry, this is irrelevant. Dr R. Pearson is our distinguished guest. He has taught physics at Watch University for the last twenty years and was the discoverer of Z-Energy. We have him here tonight as he has discovered something important."
The newsreader nods at the old doctor. "Doctor, if you please."
"Thankyou," Dr Pearson grins triumphantly. "I know now what has caused the infection. I believe the Z-gate I experimented with two weeks ago -"
He is interrupted by screaming. In the distance can be heard a helicopter. Studio staff rush by the screen in panic or excitement - it is difficult to tell. The newsreader quickly gathers her belongings and rushes off the stage, leaving the doctor staring at the camera.
"Victory," he whispers, and the transmission dies.
And what else? Some nutty scientist was responsible for this? An experiment gone wrong? For a moment, Bernard felt a sense of unreality, as though this was all nothing more than a game. Mad scientists weren't meant to accidentally bring about the apocalypse in the real world.
The car emerged from beneath the bridge, but the broadcast failed to return. Damn. Clearly, the vitally important news teams had all been whisked away by helicopters, leaving the useless, worthless people - the police, the military and the...well ok, yes, the highly useless politicians - to fend for themselves. Yes, the news teams were vital. Whatever may happen in this post-apocalyptic hell, the reporters would make sure everyone knew just how bad it was.
Pathetic.
What is that bloody rattling noise? It's driving me mad. Sounds like it's coming from inside the car, too... With one eye on the road - an impossibility if ever there was one - Bernard leaned over and opened the glovebox. He hoped vainly that some pretty and helpless young survivor might tumble out...but no. Still, the object that did fall so conveniently into Bernard's waiting palm was even more welcome. An engraved silver hip-flask. Why it was in a glovebox rather than on a hip, he didn't know and didn't care. Alcohol. At last he would be able to cure this thundering hangover and start to function again. He couldn't think while sober.
Bernard unscrewed the cap and took a hearty swig. Oh dear god! The only thing that kept him from screaming aloud was the flask, still pressed to his lips. Strawberry liquor! Who puts THAT in a hip-flask?! Still, it was alcohol, and pretty strong too. Suppressing the urge to gag, perennial independent candidate Bernard Black gulped down half the contents of the flask, and felt his whole world relax as his brain shifted to a more comfortable position and thoughts began to venture between his synapses again.
Last edited by Bernard Black on Tue Feb 20, 2007 12:13 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Oh. Bugger.