Qazi
Qāżī Saʿīd Qumī
A THOUSAND ZOMBIES IN DOOM COUNTRY
A VISCERAL COMEDY
A VISCERAL COMEDY
PREMISE
PROSPERO, NEVADA—Hard country past the roads of Las Vegas, Fort Mohave, Yucca Flat and the Red Rock Canyons and the preservation scattered across the barren lands. . . patterned pinstripes by the criss-crosses of Harleys with full-bodied tires, old Dodge vintages, tourists, gamblers, world-weary travellers and fugitives who fought against the law but forgot to win. At the front of the parade: the nomad military in their furtive businesses carting nuclear artillery shipments from Fort to Fort to Base to Encampment where they have their mad scientists (note: Mr. Gower, Mr. Fillip from Lex Pharmaceuticals, Mrs. Smith, Mx. Augusto, Mr. Louis etc, so on and on, their names regularly published in the Army catalog of the Mojave Central paper) conduct outrageous experiments in the name of public harm, disharmony, continual disenfranchisement of the common citizen and plague deaths which, of course, lead to money and not a money unfairly earned—even an inch of it, even in the support of great evil and moral detachment—in the fight against foreign powers and internal affairs: white zombies, whiter aliens (both imaginary and otherwise), creatures of the night, humans, fish-people who wander into sewage pipes and who are either eaten up by alligators and hippos or shot to death by individual contractors who are paid a substantial sum for their excursions into the urban wilds of the underground, libertine freak-show bands lost in America who end up in their quandaries and quarrels blindly and aimlessly breaking into forbidden territories only to get infected by radioactive waves from nuclear sites that slowly, oh so slowly, disintegrate their veins, their bodies, the cells in their bodies and their eyes which pour down their faces like watery milk for tears.
And all these converged in the single point of Prospero not too long ago. They kept on coming until the future happened and all the happenings of that sort disappeared, willingly removing themselves from reality or unknowingly letting themselves be killed in accordance with the great government of U, S and A, gone rogue like a train disembarking from its rails. It would not be abnormal for one to consider the possibility of a consequence: someone has to face the music.
But not Prospero, they think, because Prospero is a victim too, overshadowed by Vegas, steadily falling into a ruin as the tourists go elsewhere for their personal satisfaction and the travellers retreat to their mangled highways. They do not pause their thought fields: the show must go on but spare Prospero! Yet, nothing is determined by the simple wishes of spectators chained by the limits of some morbid reality, and so. . . something happens. A denouement of a dark and evil deed that did not owe its tortured upbringing to the people of Prospero or the people anywhere near Nevada but who by an instinctual nature of revenge resolves to murder humans and doom the world and having found the citizens of Prospero decides to wrench their figures and bodies from their Americana and into a world of viscera and absolution.
A matter of chance is what it is.
AND NIGHT FALLS ON PROSPERO. This unknowable entity calls himself Manticore because he is Manticore, the deranged project of humanity set loose on the flats with due attributions to the carelessness of the army-men and their nuclear projects and their scientists, and then he sets out in his journey of death, intending to become pestilence itself—he silences the horses of the Cull Basin, in a series of metamorphoses, turning them into hyper-intelligent caricatures of their past selves and then he comes upon the town of Prospero and he—this thing—walks into the town through the one-way road and the gate which is beside the rotting broadway-sized sign informing the visitor of some oriental prosperity and he starts rampaging, burying the lives of the citizens into the purgatorio of the deep and transforming them into ghouls that seek the flesh of others just as he seeks the resolution of his being. It is still broad daylight but all is dead. . . but there is no silence either.
BUT NOT ALL, AS THE CHARACTERS IN THIS THEATRE OF THE ABSURD EMERGE ALIVE; having visited the town, for various reasons of their own being, in simultaneous motion as unfortunate—and miraculous—as the arrival of Manticore, and rested at the aged motel of Harry and Lauren's and which comes out besieged but intact during the breadth and width of the troubles lunging teeth first into the bewildered citizens and remnants. And, now, they find themselves in the throes of perdition and escape becomes the common motive, but will they succeed in their attempts against the corrupt government, the army-men, the zombies and the chaotic vengeance of Manticore, the unknown aliens, the dreamworlds and the curse embedded within their own fates?
RULES
1. Try to be respectful of each other. Synergy makes the roleplay more fun, you know! Be cool!
2. This is intended to be a very casual, fun roleplay (for chrissakes, it's a comedy!), but that being said, a modicum of quality must be maintained: no one-liners. I'm sorry!
3. The roleplay is decidedly 18+, in terms of the possible scenes and the viscera, though try to be respectful of the rules and conducts imposed by RPnation.
4. The usual: no godmodding, powerplaying, controlling other characters without their permission etc.
5. One of the facets of this roleplay is that we won't force you to make character sheets! This does not reflect our commitment to the roleplay, mind you, and characters will be developed and explored using relaxed conversations.
6. If you see this, don't write cha cha cha! in your post. Haha. Don't mind this one. Just having a bit of fun at the expense of some people.
7. The roleplay will take place in threads but the OOC is based exclusively on Discord.
8. If you have any questions or need any help with something, just tag me or Heisenberg.
9. That's it for now. Well. Don't take the roleplay too seriously. It's a comedy story after all. Have some fun, please!
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