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Realistic or Modern 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗟𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 — at the end of the world


Bullyboy Squad

pure of heart, dumb of ass

The Fight

Freddie was just getting a response from one of his fellow patrolmen when another voice overlapped with the transmission. The chief of security's voice to be exact. He waited for a few moments to make sure he'd be heard.

"It's Freddie." He stood in the middle of the forest on the hillside, aiming the gun and the flashlight clasped in his armpit up ahead. Walkie talkie in hand. "I saw one guy, but he's not alone. Heard a kid screaming, might be a family. One of ours had to get to them." He began to move again, carefully.

"We could use a car, I'm by —" The rest of his words were distorted and he could only guess that was the case when any reply came out jagged and unclear too.

Quietly cursing he put the radio back and squeezing the gun and the light in his hands he kept searching. Finally recognizing the figures in the dark, he approached. Illuminating their faces.

"What's going on here?" He eyed Sam and the way he held the kid as laverage.

He investigated the situation, pausing on the boy but asking the adult stranger. "Is it just the two of you?"


Bullyboy Squad

pure of heart, dumb of ass

The Fight

His body jerked, knocked off his feet after the powerful projectile plunged into his side and wrecked his internals. The bright lights, the faces, everything spun with vertigo as he tried to hold himself up. Or so he thought, numb and trembling from adrenaline, before he realised he was down on the ground.

Yelling in his skull was deafening. Telling him to get up and fight. To not give up. Even though his body felt like lead. Even though he knew what was coming.

Andrew coughed out blood. It sprinkled his face and stained his lips. His vision was smeared in a blur on the side but he caught some movement. Turning his head just a little to meet the eyes of the man who crouched beside him.

Helplessly hyperventilating, struggling to catch his breath, he watched his executioner draw a blade. And something else. A picture.

Andrew coughed again. His bleary gaze wrestled with the light and haziness, finally focusing on the weathered photograph. The one they took from him upon his arrival to Lincoln. His precious possession. The soldier's breathing went calmer, eyes began to water with sentimental regret.

He had a hard time speaking, mind exhausted, body slowly shutting down. But as the world shrunk around them and the lone tears slipped down the side of his face, Andrew mumbled something only Weston could hear.

"You… poisoned… him."

Andrew gazed at the Samaritan but he couldn't see him anymore. All he could see was a tunnel of dress uniforms and familiar faces. All of his men, his friends, right there. Tapping his shoulders, his back. Smiling at him. He couldn't hear what they were saying but he knew. They loved him.



The Affectionate, Yet Stubborn One

𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝙴 𝟷 The Convoy

Collab with Miaow Miaow and Bullyboy Squad Bullyboy Squad

"Because I'm an asshole." The stranger's voice reverberated down the hallway along with the sound of their boots hitting the vinyl flooring of the Northview High.

"Yeah you are." The other sounded disgruntled.

Click of another classroom being opened was followed by a loud bang of the door being shut moments later. Then another classroom. And again.

"Heeey piggy piggy!" The first man's voice drew closer. Thumps of his heavy steps closing into the room Arthur and Miyu were hiding in.

Arthur heard them after the roar of trucks outside. He heard the voices. The school had been breached and Greg’s words stating that they already lost the fight echoed in Arthur’s head. Footsteps. The doors opening and closing, their echoes made his blood pump quicker and louder in his ears. Anticipation grew as his silence did and Arthur began to glance about the room, figuring out the best course of action if the intruders did make it into the classroom.

If they were large enough, they could push the door open even with the table blocking it. Arthur was a large man, too, and no stranger to putting people in their place. On the floor. Preferably with a bullet to the head, but unfortunately, the leader of the school group said to put away the weapons. That’s fine. Arthur’s lips pressed together and his expression darkened to something more dangerous. I’ll just use my hands. As soon as that door opened, he was going to grab the first fucker who entered and use them to make the other drop their weapon and get closer to him. If that didn’t happen, things were going to get bloody very fucking fast. He had something to fight for and she was hiding in the nearby wardrobe. Arthur would die before he let anything happen to her.

The handle clicked but the door struck the heavy, teacher's desk that didn't budge.

"The fuck you're doing. Open it."

"I'm trying. Something is blocking it, Einstein."

Suddenly the two men outside went silent. Then the first one whistled like at a dog. "C'mere piggy piggy. I know you're in there." The door burst inside to half open position, forcefully dragging the furniture against the floor. The muzzle of a pistol was the first thing that poked inside before the short, stocky man stepped in.

Arthur’s muscles bunched before he moved, grabbing the first man’s hand, twisting it with a loud, satisfying crack, while also ramming him into the second with a loud noise. The weapon clattered to the ground with a loud bang, but Arthur ignored it, grabbing the man with the broken wrist by the neck and shirt and slamming him onto the table that had been moved. His knuckles stung as he punched the man in the jaw and paused in the second hit when Arthur noticed dark ink engraved into his neck. His voice was a confused whisper, “What-?”

After a strangled scream of pain when his finger snapped, the beefy man countered. Using the moment when Arthur paused he shoved him off of himself, kicking him in the process.

The second one tried to aim his gun at the older male but everything happened so fast.

"Stop or I'll fucking kill you!" He warned, much less prone to violence compared to his aggressive buddy.

Miyu flinched as a bullet shot through the door of the wardrobe, causing it to shake. She instinctively covered her head with her hands in a feeble attempt to protect her skull, tentatively peering through the hole the shot had left behind. She squinted, watching as Arthur tried his best to fight them off... Her heart was racing, her hands trembling with adrenaline. She couldn't just let Arthur fight them off on his own... it wasn't a fair fight, but could she really be any use?

She swallowed, taking a deep breath as she rested her hand against the wardrobe door, waiting for her moment. There was one with their back to her, aiming the gun at Arthur. She shoved the door open, springing to her feet in one smooth moment before leaping on his back in an attempt to shove him to the ground. She dug her nails into the flesh of his face, working her way towards his eyes.

The gunman was thrown off by the sound of the closet door slamming open. He almost lost grip on the gun when the teen girl pounced at him from behind. He stumbled and used his free hand to try and grasp the female. "Fucking pest!" To get her off of him.

He wasn't the only one distracted by the surprise, though. Or was it something else that disoriented Arthur…? Samaritan's buddy seemed focused on one thing. Violence. He whipped out his knife and slashed, cutting across the older man's chest.

"What's the hold up?" They all heard the radio crackle. Which meant more men would arrive if the bandits didn't come down or report.

The familiar adrenaline rush took over the pain Arthur felt as he was shoved and kicked, landing on his side. He was on his feet in a matter of seconds, freezing mid-stand, hands held out as if was balancing himself. The one hold the gun was making a huge mistake giving Arthur a choice to back down because that was also when he saw the gun that had fallen to the floor. He had half the mind to snatch it up when Miyu jumped on top of the other man.

Alarm flashed over his features for the first time in a long time and he started to rush towards them, but was caught off guard when there was a flash of movement in front of him. A sharp sting occurred and then red bloomed across Arthur’s shirt, making him glance down at the new wound. His eyes flicked to the radio and then the man holding the knife and finally Miyu and the man she was on.

There was always a time where surrender was the best way to live another day and as much as Arthur fucking hated it, he knew it was one of those days. He would have killed these two and tried to escape had it been just him and Miyu, but they had an entire community with them. There was no lone survival after he joined the Northview High. The frustration never left Arthur’s face as he lowered his hands, muscles still tensed. “I give in. Let me get her off. She can’t hear anythin’.” He stated in a rush, already striding towards the two who were struggling to pull Miyu off.

She was a fighter and strong-willed, Arthur would give her that, and he was proud of her in a way. “Miyu- Hey! Miyu!” He still said her name as he turned her face towards him, hands gently holding her head. “We lost. You can stop fighting now. Okay?” His eyebrows lifted and he nodded, his usual firm expression going soft for a moment. “You did good. We …” He looked over at the two men with a glare and stayed quiet after, straightening up and kept Miyu behind him protectively. “Alright. We goin’ to the front with the others or stand here all day?”

Arthur made sure to keep himself between the intruders and the girl, not wanting to risk either doing anything to her once they'd walk through the halls and finally outside.

The man with the broken finger spat at Arthur's feet before yanking him forth with a gun to his head. Miyu could have walked right after but was closely watched by the second assailant who's ego she hurt. But the man wasn't as hot headed and just secured the back with his gun held tight in lowered hand. "We're coming out, boss." He finally reported.

Arthur's chest still stung and no doubt the skin around it was red with irritation. He’d have to look into that later- if they still had medical supplies after. Then that thought was forgotten as soon as he saw the trucks and the men who were taking over.


Safton Safton Bullyboy Squad Bullyboy Squad BeyondDandy BeyondDandy NanLia NanLia Miaow Miaow The Cat Man The Cat Man SlaughterMelon SlaughterMelon


New Member
SCENE 3 The Fight

Sam was getting sick of listening to Tanner’s breathing. It was the sound more than anything. Sound irritated Sam; anything leaning towards sound made Sam wish for silence. Silence. He had not encountered the peace of silence since he was in his room. His room. He missed his room. He missed the routine of it all. He missed the visits he would get from the nurses. He missed the way they smiled. He missed how they would gently place the plastic tray holding a few crackers and cheese onto the floor. It was all he needed. It was all he wanted. Waste not, want not. He’d smile at the plate, eyeing his minimal calories for the day. 1000 a day was the allotment. That was all the government could afford. At least, that’s what the head nurse had told him once. But it was all Sam needed. Waste not, want not. And he seldom wanted anything except for silence. And he got that in spades inside his cell.

Sam felt a gentle temptation to grip his hands around Tanner’s throat to end his breathing. The voices in his head began ministering to him, begging him to go through with it. His throat! His throat, Sam. Please take it. Squeeze it. Feel your hands tighten and watch as he folds like an accordion. Silence. Just make him stop. He can close his eyes and curl up small, and no one will know he is there at all. Simple as that. Peace. Then! Oh yes, then. Push Connor. Push him down the hill! Maybe his head will find a rock. Smash it open. Ah! Yes. Problem solved. The voices were the only sounds that Sam relished. He wanted to listen to them. They provided good advice. They were always there for him, advising him how best to kill, dispose of waste, and keep everything nice and tidy. Death was dirty. But the voices knew how to keep things clean.

Freddie’s arrival cut into the sound of Tanner’s gentle breathing. Sam looked up at his apparent superior and said softly, “We were talking about you. I made some new friends. This boy here is Tanner. And that strapping man, there, is Connor. They didn’t confess if there were more. But I do give them credit. They did cooperate and disarm themselves. But if you want my opinion, boss. King might find it preferable if we didn’t bring them back. Two people. Two more mouths to feed….” The voices carried on. Three meals a day. That’s 1095 meals. Two people. That’s 2190 meals! 730 shirts. 730 pairs of pants. 730 pairs of underwear. 1460 socks! 676 gallons of water to wash the clothes. 53,144-kilowatt hours of power to feed them. 14600 gallons of water for showers. And what do they bring? A set of clothes! Two sets. Two sets! TWO FUCKING SETS! A gun. A fucking gun. Kill them. Kill them. They don’t have enough. None of them do. Waste. All that fucking waste. For what? Two lives? Two worthless lives!

Sam stared into Freddie’s eyes, hoping to God that Freddie would just kill these two fuckers. End their lives. And save Lincoln the bother of adding to the already taxing burden of feeding, clothing, and doing anything for anyone. Kill them. Kill them. Kill them! It would be wise. It would be merciful. It would be kind. Kill them. Kill them.


Bullyboy Squad

pure of heart, dumb of ass

The Convoy

Ignacio let Alante join his people and Font could have stepped away from the bandit leader as well. But only in the company of Dutchess who knew best how to read the Northview people. Cabrera was left standing with Price by his side and the rest of the Samaritans were evenly spread behind him and around the smaller Northview crowd. Locals were disarmed and encouraged to shut up until spoken to.

As North brought the prisoner down and the last two remaining enforcers arrived with an older male and a teen girl, the place was officially taken over by the newcomers.

"Welcome neighbours!" Cabrera flipped his sunglasses to the back, letting them rest upside down on the visor of the baseball cap he was wearing backwards. His dark eyes calmly scanned the new faces, lips curled into a soft, oddly genuine smile.

"I'm sorry to disturb you from your daily activities. The inconvenience won't last long, though, let me make this brief." He glanced at Xander.

"Your leader and I will sit down and talk about your future. These lands belong to Samaritans now, and to our ruler Marcus King. And so does everything and everyone else here. The sooner you accept the idea the smoother this friendly annexation will go."

He went on, trying to read the crowd, to guesstimate who might mean most trouble. The big guy with crutches that watched him like a predator? The roughed up man they found and brought back as leverage? Or maybe the older male next to a teen girl who was held by one of the Samaritans in place. Maybe the Northview prisoner?



Bad job, Superstar!


The Convoy
Miyu flinched as Arthur suddenly took hold of her face... not aggressively, just to get her attention. She hesitated as he spoke to her, taking a moment to understand him. They were giving up? She only stopped grappling for the gun when she was sure she and Arthur were done fighting, carefully getting down from the mans back. She got a good look at his face as Arthur ushered her behind him... she'd left a few good scratches across his cheeks, he was lucky she hadn't made it to his eyeballs yet.

Miyu followed Arthur and his captor out of the school, staying close to him as she had been instructed. She joined the rest of the group, fidgeting with her hands as she scanned the people around her... Kurt was there, good! They hadn't left him behind... this was probably the first time he'd seen sunlight in weeks, maybe months. That was a positive, at least... In fact, she hadn't spent much time in the courtyard, either. It was dangerous out there, so close to the electrified fencing that kept the undead out. What if it failed and one got in? She wouldn't be able to hear it coming. She preferred to go to the roof when she wanted some fresh air... she could see the whole perimeter from up there, she liked to watch what was going on down below. Sometimes, even Buster would come with her. She'd invite him, he needed fresh air too, after all, but a few times he'd come on his own. He never stopped talking... but she had the advantage of being able to look away when she didn't want to listen. Maybe that was why he liked her, he could talk forever and she'd never tell him to stop.

She turned her attention to Cabrera as he prepared to speak to his new people, taking a step closer to Arthur, just in case… He was still under the tight grasp of the stockier man of the pair, making sure he didn't try anything else by gripping tightly onto the back of his neck. Whatever Cabrera was saying, she was too far away to read his lips anyway... If there was anything important Cabrera had to say, Arthur was going to have to tell her.

As her eyes scanned Cabrera's men, she froze. She snatched onto Arthur's sleeve, yelling something unintelligible. She kept glancing back at the group, repeating herself over and over.
"Hah-woo! Hah-woo!"
She felt a hand on her arm, Pandora, the gentle look of pity on her face that many doctors had given her in the last few years.
"Miyu, what's wrong?" She asked, but Miyu couldn't concentrate enough to understand. She didn't care how loud she was, that she was disrupting Cabrera's speech, she wanted to get her point across. Her eyes were teary. Why were neither of them listening?!

Suddenly, she seemed to hesitate, clutching to Arthur's shirt. Finally, she let go, shoving past Minyoung and sprinting towards Cabrera as she yelled out.

Her sudden spurt ignited the crowds of brutes and the one that was holding Arthur shouted. "Bomb! She got a bomb!"


I just want to sell out my funeral
Roleplay Availability
Roleplay Type(s)

Scene One
The Convoy

Jack stood silently, as he tended to do. Not a large talker, just a large man. He preferred to speak through actions, and at the time those actions consisted of “stand there and shut up while the boss gives his speech.” As such, he had sort of tuned out and allowed Cabrera’s words to fade into a dull hum as he scanned the high school. It kind of reminded him of his high school as a kid, not that he was a particularly good student.

He looked as the people filed out of the building and desperately hoped that things would go peacefully. Some of these people were kids. Teenagers. It brought him back to the things he had seen overseas and would have continued to see if not for the outbreak. It made him think of Megan, and then of Jessica. He pushed those thoughts down. It was not the time.

Suddenly, he was pulled back to reality as one of the teenagers began yelling and running for Cabrera. He began to move to grab her, but the shout of a bomb came soon after and he quickly unholstered his weapon.

The worst thing about shooting another person is keeping your eye open through the sights while you do it. Watching yourself. Ingraining a vision that will stick with you forever. Jack knew that, and he had lived it over and over again, but never like this. Time seemed to slow as the firing pin hit the primer, the primer ignited the powder, and the cartridge hit its target. There was no need to fire again as the teenager fell to the ground, as silent as the smoke rising from the barrel.

Jack is a man to speak through actions, and he was immediately in fear of what this one had to tell.



Bad job, Superstar!


The Convoy

Minnie stumbled forward as Miyu shoved past her, practically running through her. Suddenly, she was surrounded by noise, everyone leaping into action to try and prevent the inevitable. She was frozen in fear. Her legs were locked in place, only able to watch as they grappled to stop her.


Miyu hung in limbo for a moment, her weight balancing her on her feet... before she collapsed backwards, thumping against the concrete. Blood began to pool behind her head, matting her hair against her skull. Her eyes were open... but lifeless, her stare locked on the sky above her. As she lay still, her hearing aid fell from her ear...

For a moment, there was silence.

Minnie flinched as something wet hit her face... it was only a few droplets, but to her... it felt like she had been showered in it. She wanted to know what it was. Maybe it was just... a coincidence, some rain had been unsettled from a nearby tree or some condensation from a window... but she knew that wasn't true. Her arms were stiff, aching painfully as she tried to move them.
"Fuck, I'm gonna be sick..." Haewon muttered beside her, covering her mouth with her hand. Pandora placed a hand on her shoulder, swallowing the lump in her throat as she turned her around. The blood pooling around Miyu's head, the way her eyes hung open, Pandora knew there wasn't much she could do. Someone had to pronounce the death... but she'd never seen something like this before. She was a surgeon, patients came to her unconscious and ready to be cut open... She felt a pang of guilt as she hoped Mack was up to the task...

Minnie didn't want to look but her body rejected every signal she sent it, her eyes beginning to water the harder she tried... Her throat was tight as she swallowed. Haewon didn't notice. She just prayed someone would grab her, would cover her eyes.



Faux Hero
Roleplay Availability
Roleplay Type(s)


The Fight

Connor writhed in noticeable discomfort at the way Sam clutched Tanner. His neck throbbed with ropes of thick muscle as he physically strained to hold back the anger that was welling in his mind causing his face to burn red with rage. The ex-soldier began to pace his heavy breathing to try and secure a hold over his emotions once again, but as Sam talked he knew he wanted to throttle this guy. More so than that, he needed to keep his cool.

A blast of white light from the bottom of the hill swathed the group and it appeared Freddie had come to join them. Tanner was a hostage, Freddie had a gun, and Connor was helpless. Many times the man had managed to worm his way out of dicey situations yet this was proving to be a check-mate.

The two exchanged some basic information about the situation, before dwelling on some of the questions they would like answered. This was his chance. Connor opened his mouth to threaten the presence of other Allies, but Sam’s revelation that he wasn’t sure if they could even take in two more and the insinuation they should be killed quelled his thought process. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Judging by that, it seemed that unless he had an actual, veritable army of Allies ready to pounce on these two then he should keep his mouth shut with threats.

It’s,” His voice now was subdued, “just us.”

He hoped he hadn’t betrayed Tanner’s trust by failing to save him any more than he had by allowing him to be captured. Goddammit. God. Fucking. Damn. It. Connor knew then and there that he should’ve never gone looking for this person in the dark and that chances were they could’ve remained undetected if they had just kept moving or huddled down properly for the night.

It was time to plead. Freddie, so far, seemed to be the most reasonable of the two and Connor hoped he had scored some brownie points by not putting three holes through his chest when he had a chance, “H-hey, no need to be so hasty. I’m sure I’ve got some skills that could be useful to you. I used to be a soldier, a-and Tanner can pull his own weight. The kid is more grown than he looks. I-if he can’t do the things you need, I can work for us both.”

Connor never would’ve groveled like this if he wasn’t so worried about Tanner, “Please.”

His face settled from anger into a neutral stare and his eyes cast themselves downward in a show of submission. Connor, however, was not going to put himself fully at their mercy. In order to avoid being placed under the care of Sam, whom he was growing more and more weary of due to his actions toward Tanner, the ex-soldier kicked the handgun from in front of him and slid it toward Freddie. He hoped that this would show that he was surrendering to Freddie and not to their group as a whole where it may have been that they would be taken by Sam.

Tanner remained still and calm even as Sam clutched at his figured and held him in place. Connor would get him out of this— he always did. The young boy stared a hole through his father-figure and his gaze alone was adding several layers of tension to the situation; the tension weighed especially on Connor.

As another man joined the situation, Tanner remained steadfast in his hopes that Connor would find them a way out of this; Even if another couple showed up, he knew that the man across from him could handle it!

Yet, Connor surrendered. Connor NEVER surrendered to opposition. The young boy froze— his breathing caught in an audible hitch of disbelief. His confident stance gave way to a bit of a sullen slouch that pressed him further against Sam’s hand and he narrowed his eyes at Freddie and then slung his rancor back toward Sam.

The kid didn’t realize, but he wore a scowl that wrinkled his face and billowed the heat of frustration and wrath. It may have been his fault for leaving cover, but if these guys never existed then he would’ve never been found. They would regret making a fool of Connor. Sometime, some way, somewhere Tanner swore they would regret doing this to the man he admired most; he would make sure it was as though they never existed.

Sam had an opportunity to peer deeper within to the boy’s eyes to see a similar hollowness to his own that had begun to take hold. Yet, it was nowhere as fully formed as his nor was it seemingly ever-present.

When Connor finally began fighting for their place among the group, Tanner’s furious eyes softened to temporary defeat and the kid reassured his mentor as best as possible.

I’ll do my best, Connor.”



The Affectionate, Yet Stubborn One
𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝙴 𝟷 The Convoy

Knowing she couldn’t hear anything, Arthur did his best to repeat what Cabrera was telling them, glancing between her and the man further away as he spoke. A look of confusion formed when she started to yell and Arthur lifted a hand in a gesture to indicate she needed to calm down. “It’s alright, Miyu. I ain’t gonna let anything happen to you. It’s okay.” The alarm rose a little when she kept on yelling, most likely gaining people’s attention and Arthur tried to turn to her, but stopped because of the hand holding him. He couldn’t help the glare he shot at the fucker because obviously something was wrong and he wanted to make sure Miyu was alright. Pandora tried to see what was wrong and then shit went to hell in a handbasket. Miyu ran right towards the man giving the speech and a cold sweat formed, prickling the older man’s skin. No!

He yelled her name, reaching his arm out and he started to move forward, but that firm grip on his neck reminded Arthur that he couldn’t do anything. It pulled him back with a grunt. Then he saw the gun raise and his eyes widened and his heart jumped up into his throat. He yelled out something. Maybe Miyu’s name, but it all echoed as he tried moving from his spot again and the grip on his neck tightened and he turned halfway to shove the man off… only to be subdued again before he could so much as get another step taken. Everything happened too quickly. Blood. It went out of Miyu’s small frame. Arthur felt his cheeks burn, his teeth grit together as he struggled, and his heart thumped loudly in his ears. “Get off me, you sonuva bitch!” He was shoved more onto the concrete with a grunt in retaliation.

He couldn’t do anything as he stared at Miyu’s unmoving body in a shocked silence, breathing heavily.

He’d told her he would protect her. He’d told her he would take care of her. It was like a wave of cold washed over him. He didn’t do any of those things. Arthur told her he would keep her safe and he… He had failed her. It should have been him. It should have been Arthur. He was getting older. She was still young. His eyes squeezed shut. He’d lost so many people over the years, moreso during the fucking pendemic, and now the world had to take one of the most precious things in life away from him. No, not the world. Cold, grey-blue hues moved towards the one who had shot her. Him. He took her away from me and he took her away from everybody in Northview High. He took her from her sisters. Arthur knew one thing. He was going to kill that man before his dying breath. His eyes swept towards Cabrera and his gaze hardened for a moment and then he looked back to Miyu’s corpse. Pain swelled up in his chest looking at her again.

Safton Safton Bullyboy Squad Bullyboy Squad BeyondDandy BeyondDandy NanLia NanLia Miaow Miaow The Cat Man The Cat Man


Baron of Bad Boys

The Helicopter

The moment King's hand pressed the business end of her weapon down, Denise loosened her shoulders and arms and lowered the gun, away from Rocky.

"Right. Sorry." She muttered, sheepishly. Admittedly, she was probably too quick to offer to take him out, and quickly felt frustrated at herself for jumping to that solution so quickly. She'd clearly been spending too much time among her particular scavenging squad - all men, all 'tough guys'. She'd been on a mission to prove herself from the day she joined up with the Samaritans, but maybe she didn't need to take it that far right now.

A bullet would have been a waste, and loud - neither of which they needed right now. At least they could use Rocky until he keeled over. She backed up, getting into position near the door back down.

"Lets just keep our eye on him - the second he drops, we need to take care of him. Can't have him taking a bite out of the repair guy."


Bullyboy Squad

pure of heart, dumb of ass

The Fight

Collab with Sil-Sama Sil-Sama

He stared. Did the Scavenger just imply what Freddie thought he did? The enforcer licked his teeth. Maybe one day he'd consider not following King's orders. Maybe even there have been times when he didn't. Irrelevant stuff, small things. But still, if he was to consider it, it wouldn't be breaking the rule about bringing people in. Especially if that meant killing them instead. Freddie never took a life unless it was an undead. He was lucky enough to never be in a situation that would force him to kill. And this wouldn't be one either.

Looking at Connor he listened, not interrupting the man. Just to give him the time to spill some useful information.

There it was, another soldier, huh. Hopefully valuable enough to work for the two of them, as the boy looked to be school age. For Samaritans anyone below 14 was a kid and had to focus on learning useful skills and gaining knowledge that would come in handy in those dire times. Anyone above was assigned a job.

The plea made Freddie exhale heavily. "I heard enough." Then the pistol nudged his boot and the enforcer glanced down. Then back at Connor. And to Sam.

Connor's heart skipped a beat when the enforcer finally broke the silence and announced he’d heard enough; Connor’s mouth was dry while he waited for the verdict.

"I already called it in, talked to the Chief." Freddie informed his fellow so that Sam wouldn't play sour later, that Freddie didn't want to listen to him. "If you kept your radio on you'd know." He also scolded the other since he could only assume that was the case after Sam didn't report the situation.

"I'm going to search you now, alright?" He said to Connor, picking up the gun. "Anything else on you I should know about?" He holstered his pistol and put the new weapon behind his belt at the back under jacket.

“Sure, no other weapons on me. Our bags are by the car.” Connor said.

"How about you, kid." The Samaritan approached Connor and didn't take his eyes off of the man while asking the boy. "Got any weapons?"

The last sentence Connor almost spat, but held his temper. Tanner answered similarly.

Freddie stopped behind the soldier and gave him a thorough and professional pat down. Once he stepped around to face him to do the same, Connor could get a good look at the hat the man was wearing. Marked with Lincoln Penitentiary logo.

Connor eyed the hat and remembered the logo from somewhere— the prison maybe? He couldn’t quite remember.

Freddie found no weapons. "Okay." He much less professionally checked man's pockets next. Then grabbed his wrist. "Nice watch. Any sentimental value?"

As his wrist was inspected Connor winced— the burns hidden beneath his bandaged arms cried out in agony before he answered, “My father’s watch.”

Freddie clicked his tongue and let go. After frisking the kid he was satisfied to find no weapons either.

"Alright, gentlemen. Sam will go with the kid on the front, you will walk with me. No funny business and just do what you're told, both of you. Got it?"

He didn't wait for an answer, expecting Sam to take point while radioing his group. "We found two people, we're going back. And start using the goddamn flashlights." He barked and put the walkie talkie back to his belt.

As he and Connor followed behind the other two Freddie glanced down at the soldier with some interest. "Let me see that watch."



The Guy
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The Convoy

Kurt's eyes flicked from one figure to another, sizing up the people that had seemingly imposed themselves on Northview. Their leader gave his speech and Kurt crossed his arms over his chest whilst listening. These Samaritan's had Northview by the balls, with clearly no room to negotiate. Maybe Font would be inclined to let him go after this was said and done, who knew. What he did know was that he didn't want to be caught up in whatever came of this, he'd rather be on his way. He doubted Miyu would come with him, she'd grown comfortable and made friends since coming here. Kurt knew he'd have a hard time leaving her behind, especially with people under these Samaritan's thumb. There was also the nagging thought of the possibility these could be the people responsible for what happened at the Hospital, and that had him grinding his teeth momentarily.

A commotion pulled the man from his thoughts, head turning to see a familiar figure running towards the occupiers. Kurt's stomach twisted into a knot as someone yelled out that she had a bomb. "Like hell she does!" Kurt sputtered into a yell, feet already moving to try and intersect despite the fact he could never catch her. "She's just--!" He was cut off when his feet flew out from under him. Kurt fell forwards, barely catching himself, and in an instant there was weight on his back pinning him down. Kurt turned his head, face distraught and angry to see North was crouched down with a boot against his back. That was twice now that he'd gotten one over on him, and Kurt took notice. And then the sound of a gunshot.

Kurt thought he stopped breathing, the sounds of the crowd crying out were growing distant and all he could hear was the blood circulating in his own ears. He didn't need to see to know what had happened, Miyu was gone. Kurt's eyes focused in on North's face the other man's lips were moving and speaking to him but Kurt couldn't hear the words. His throat hurt like he'd yelled, but he didn't hear that either. Kurt threw an elbow at North's face and it connected painfully with the man's temple, and he was free with North stumbling back. In a flash Kurt was up and on him, this time with Kurt on top. North was disoriented but still trying to handle the situation, though Kurt's flurry of blow's on his face had the man on the defensive. This wasn't the work of someone with any intent, Kurt didn't blame North for what occurred. No, he was just a convenient target in Kurt's blind rage.

Kurt's hands had both North's blood and his own on them, knuckles splitting as the punches flew. And North? North was practically laughing, or some semblance to it, between the blows and coughing on his own blood. Everyone has their breaking point, and Kurt nearly hit his after losing the Hospital and it's people. He'd been recovering from it day by day, but that just bullet took the life of the last person who kept him from sinking past his breaking point.



the one and only
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The Convoy

Dutchess watched impassively as the residents of the school slowly, timidly, exited the front of their building. She met their withering glares head on, this was expected of them: the disbelief turned to anger towards her and soon North for their betrayal. She understood why they felt the way they did but wasn't sure she would feel the same way. If the Samaritans were suddenly overthrown by another faction she would put every ounce of her being into her survival. It was a difference of upbringing, she suspected. Dutchess had been surviving her entire life, and these people only started a few months before. Take this as a life lesson.

The sight of Kurt stepping out of the high school followed by North made her heart race and she purposely moved to the opposite side of Cabrera with the hope that the large man would act as a barrier between them. The likelihood that Kurt would recognize her was slim to none, he'd been out of the game before she'd joined the club and for six months before the end of the world, she'd been in prison. There was a small chance he'd had contact with the club in the time she'd been put away, she hadn't had contact with her old man but the odds that he would have spoken with them and been told about her existence were slim, but they weren't zero. It wasn't a risk she was willing to take.

She jumped hearing shots being fired within the building, cursing under her breath. She doubted the residents were putting up so much of a fight that it would warrant shooting any of them and the two she would chalk up to giving them trouble, Buster and Kurt, were both already standing among the crowds. She quickly scanned the faces, trying to determine who was missing, and only came to the old man and the deaf girl. Are you fucking kidding me? Clearly, Cabrera had brought along trigger-happy assholes and while she would never give Cabrera shit for it, she certainly would plan better in the future.

Dutchess felt little relief hearing that they would soon be out of the school because as they exited they had the old man, Arther, held by the neck like he were some kind of wild beast, Miyu clinging to him. It'll be over soon. She sighed internally as Cabrera started his 'welcome' speech, she assumed it would be very much reminiscent of the one given at the Ranch but quickly frowned hearing shouting, of a kind, from the crowds.

She searched for the voice, one she didn't recognize but could tell was female. Whatever was being said was incoherent and Dutchess frowned, searching the milling residents, of anyone that was going to give them problems she hadn't expected to come from among the women. The women here were timid and easily cowed… Miyu burst from the line of residents and sprinted across the gap.

Dutchess didn’t have time to react when she heard one of the meatheads holding Arthur tight shout the girl had a bomb, she spun to call off Cabrera’s guards but it was too late. Her ears rang but she didn’t need to hear to know that the shot had been fatal, feeling the girl's corpse tumbling to the asphalt. The silence that followed was deafening, the people of the high school remained quiet - a surprise since she expected outrage, but perhaps that was it was what she felt.

Dutchess felt the rage burn within her. She turned first to the shooter, glaring. “Are you fucking dumb? Do you think this podunk group of middle-class teachers has a bomb? That maybe I hadn’t done my fucking job and eliminated the threats this place would have before you fucking got here? Are you too fucking thick to think that Cabrera would have mentioned the chance of a fucking bomb before rolling up to the gates and threatening them?"

She turned back to the crowd, focusing on the meathead that had thrown out the falsehood in the first place. “And you - you’re standing there saying that you knew, this whole time, that she potentially had a bomb and still brought her out front with all of us? No effort to disarm her, or warn anyone else?” She watched him open and close his mouth as a fish caught on a hook. “That's what I fucking thought." This had been going so well, so smoothly. This place had four times the number of people the Ranch had and she'd worked hard to make this transition as smooth as possible and now some moron had fucked it up.

This has the potential to look bad on her, and Cabrera. People were assets, such as freshwater, canned food, and ammunition. And the death of Miyu meant that they would have one less body contributing to labor for their people. "You're taking her place." The man blinked in surprise, but Dutchess continued. "Whatever she would have contributed, whatever labor she would have done is now on you and I'll make sure King knows about this."

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the one and only
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The Convoy

Nari held on to Minnie's hand, their fingers interlaced, like both their lives depended on it. She watched, with her heart in her throat, as more of the residents came out of the high school slowly, and just as terrified as she was. This was starting to feel less and less like a meet and greet and far more like a prisoner exchange, or worse, an execution. The fact that they were taking Kurt out of 'lock up' alone made her desperately want to be near Xander.

This meeting could have taken place inside the school, they had a gymnasium and cafeteria where everyone could fit in, which made her instinctively believe they had intended to remove people from the school and take them away. She looked over the vehicles these people had come in, trying to tell if there were more than what they needed to bring here but from her vantage point she couldn't see if there were more than what they needed to bring the number they had.

She jumped, giving a soft yelp hearing shots being fired inside the school and she backed into the crowd attempting to drag the girls back with her, Minnie by her hand, and Haewon by her sleeve. She wished Xander could come and stand with them, make her feel the slightest bit safer and she cursed herself for even thinking it. She wasn't brave or courageous, she wasn't strong or tough-willed. She was scared of the dead, terrified of the living. Clearly, the leader of this band had more planned for him and while she was part of the council that made decisions when it came to the school, she was not upset at being excluded. There wasn’t a chance she would be of any help, the mere thought of even making eye contact with him made her stomach roil in protest.

Nari grunted as she was shoved aside, Miyu shouting and pushing through them to the opening between the factions. She couldn’t understand what she was yelling, likely no one else did too but then a voice boomed behind her about Miyu having a bomb?! The process of creating that alone was beyond comprehension, certainly, she must have taken it from one of the invaders! The next gunshot left her numb, her mind was blank as she watched blood spray from Miyu’s head, splattering the paving stones between them, and then her body crumpled to the ground. Her ears run as she stared at the body on the ground in confusion.

Fuck, I’m gonna be sick

Haewon’s voice broke the silent buzz she was hearing prior and Nari blinked back to reality, she gave Minnie’s hand a sharp tug, dragging the girl back towards her, and used her free hand to cover her face, turning her away from the body. “Haewon.” Nari hissed with as much authority as she could muster, reaching to grab her elbow and pull her back into the crowd and away from the sight of Miyu.

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New Member

SCENE 3 The Fight

Weak. They were all weak. Sam gazed at Connor. The military man who knew his way around a gun also seemed to know his way around groveling. Weak. Weak. Weak. Sam wondered how far Connor would have gone if Freddie had a set of balls to make him do something. The longer Sam listened, the more convinced he became that they were all weak and useless. Tanner seemed stronger than them all. At least he had the gumption to remain fucking calm despite his predicament. You could cut his throat. He knows that. Yet he remains calm. Brave? Or stupid? Still. Of absolutely no value. Children have no value. But even he seems to have more balls and guts than these losers!

Sam stared blankly at Freddie. Then, he flashed glances at Connor. He seemed exactly like the type of man who found it an intellectual challenge to pick up metal plates and then put them down. And that is exactly the impression Sam got. He was a muscle head. He would have been useful only to work in a different lifetime and country. But now, he was as useless as they came. Muscles require calories. Calories we do not have. Kill him. End him! Why are you considering this? But Sam did not need to answer his question. He already knew the answer. To Sam, Freddie was an idiot. But he was an idiot with a gun. Those were the worst types of idiots. And worst of all, the man had no balls. He seemed to believe every word from Connor or Tanner’s mouth. Every phrase was taken as truth. Sam was in disbelief. How many bricks short of a load was Freddie?

If Sam could show emotion, he would have screamed, laughed, and railed at Freddie to put down his gun and find his brain among the weeds. You called in the situation BEFORE you saw them? BEFORE you took inventory. Poison will be too good for you. Please find a way for him to CHOKE on his stupidity. His gun! Get him to shoot himself. An accident! Yes. That would work. Wouldn’t they all believe it? The idiot with the gun pointing it at himself without the safety on? Of course! Of course, he would do that!

Sam let go of Tanner without question. He was never one to make waves. Though, the waves seemed to find him. He ignored any of Freddie’s statements. The radios were noisy. They attracted attention. Of course, he had his, but the radio was not at all what Sam wanted. Besides, his radios never seemed to work. They never had batteries. Though, every time he got a new one, it did have batteries. But batteries had better purposes than inside a radio. Batteries contain chemicals. Chemicals you need. Potassium something or another. Keep it! Store it! Get enough of it, and you can burn through a skull! Get a shit tonne and get it into the air system. Oh yes. Then watch them fall. Ironic. The radio sounds have such a silencing effect overall! Just need more batteries. Just need more batteries.

Freddie’s piss poor job of finding anything on Connor or Tanner further infuriated Sam. Did Freddie know nothing about hiding objects? Sam always hid his pills. Though, he was clever about it. The pretty nurse who always insisted on giving him his daily pills saw that he swallowed. She would inspect his mouth but not his throat. Hard to see inside the throat unless you cut it open. And so Sam would regurgitate his pills, crush them, and find alternative uses. Such handy chemicals that pills can contain. One never knows where one could use such compounds! Yet Freddie did not even make them strip. He did not perform a cavity search. He did fuck all. A light touch as far as Sam was concerned. Was he concerned that Connor or Tanner might file an HR complaint? Strip them fucking down! Tear open their fucking anal cavities! They have something! Jesus! Taking their word. You might as well ask him if his gun is fucking loaded and then magically believe him when he says no! Oh yes. Kill him. Freddie is fucking dead. The potassium! Get more of it. Yes. His precious little radios. Hover over him as his skin sears off. Listen to it sizzle. Hold the radio to his mouth. Make the others listen to his screams of pain. He can call in his death!

Blank-faced, Sam watched as the interaction occurred and did nothing. All his actions were in the future. Watching Freddie die slowly of chemical burns melting him away like the Wicked Witch of the West. Watching Connor die painfully being eaten, hopefully, by a zombie. Watching Tanner scream as his protector turned on him to start eating his flesh. All of them. All of them gloriously dead, decaying and feeding one another like a buffet of recycled flesh. And finally, the silence he had craved. Lincoln all to himself. The cells empty. The courtyard deserted. No one. Not one. Just the silence of a world without the sickening humanity that had inherited it, stolen it, and kept it from Sam’s perfect existence.

Sam walked forward, in silence, with Tanner at his side as directed. His steps were silent, as if his feet had found a way to remove the echo upon the stones. His breathing stilled, and he felt somewhat relaxed despite his incredible anger. The scenery was picturesque, despite the darkness. And soon, the sight of Lincoln Prison emerged on the horizon. Sam looked at it and blinked. He did not want to go back. He wanted to go out again, search, find, and locate anything new. And then, he heard the sounds. The sounds he loved so much. The sound of the dead shuffling their little feet in soft ways around them. He smiled a half grin. They are hungry! Feed them. Feed them. Oh. But then shooting will start. Oh. Such a waste. Just feed them. Why should they be denied a meal? Feed them, Freddie! No. Feed them, Connor. No, feed them, Tanner. He is young. He must taste good! Oh, feed them all. Please give them a choice. A menu of stupid flesh worthy of brainless flesh connoisseurs.

Sam continued walking but slowed his pace. As the frontrunner, he set the pace. And thus, did his best to allow the dead the time to move, surround, and get close to their position. They were close. So close. And then, they were there. They jumped out and heaved themselves toward the foursome. There were few, but Sam hoped that perhaps they were quick to their task. All one needed was one good bite! Sam, for his part, continued walking for a few steps before stopping to take stock of the situation. He had never fought in his life, and he had no desire to change that. The dead never bothered him. They were quiet. And Sam liked that. They even ate quietly. And Sam liked that too. They were good shit. They were the heads of the earth now. And they were doing a damn excellent job, as far as Sam could tell. And Sam hoped that maybe, just maybe, they would sink their teeth into Freddie, Connor, and Tanner and enjoy a good midnight snack.



The Fashionable Crab


Scene 1
The Convoy

Mackenzie stood to the side, arms crossed as the Northview crowd formed around him. This, well and truly, was a complete shit show. They hadn't even put up a fight and the high school was already kneeling like a kicked dog. Maybe it was for the best this way. No one had gotten shot yet, as far as he knew anyway, so Mack wouldn't have to make any tough calls during a triage tonight. Or maybe this was the worst possible outcome, told to heel by new slave-runners looking to put them down one by one without him being able to do a damn thing about it.

He'd barely paid attention to Cabrera, only able to remember maybe one or two words the man had seconds ago, when his attention was drawn to his own group. Miyu, he distantly remembered her name, the deaf kid from the hospital. She was shouting, and for the life of him he couldn't tell what or who for. As he was trying to piece together what she was attempting to communicate, they launched themselves away from the group and towards Cabrera. It happened in little more than seconds, and before he could even think to yell for the kid to stop, a gunshot rang out.

Miyu's body crumpled like a house of cards, collapsing to the asphalt instantly. No dramatics, no flair, it was as if her body just shut off mid-step. Blood was already pooling from their forehead, face down and unmoving on the ground.

Mackenzie was shoving his way through the crowd around him instantly, shouting "Move!" as he roughly shoved members of his own group aside to make way. He broke through the crowd in a run toward Miyu's body, not even bothering to see if anyone had aimed their weapon at him like they did for Miyu. Crashing to his knees next to Miyu's body, the first thing he took notice of was the hole in the back of her head. Clean through. Jesus Christ.

She was face down in a puddle of her own blood, and When Mack moved to roll her over he saw her forehead almost entirely coated in red. Holding her head off the ground with one hand, he received a grim close-up. There was a hole in her forehead seeping a gratuitous amount of blood, almost centered between the eyes. The blood had seeped down her forehead, staining her nose with thick lines of deep red and pooling in her open mouth.

Her eyes were still open, staring at him almost hauntingly. Her pupils hadn't even hazed over yet, still appearing exactly as they had in life. If it wasn't for the bullet hole in her head, it would almost look like she was asleep. Her chest didn't rise, and he couldn't feel any breath leave her open mouth. Gently, he closed her jaw for her.

Duchess was ranting above him. Wanted someone to blame for this. Everything after that felt like a distant buzzing he could barely hear. Mackenzie momentarily glanced at Font. He didn't blame the man, he couldn't, for giving up without a fight and letting Cabrera into the school. The man's family had been in danger. But letting people like Duchess in? To spy and stab them in the back? He knew it wasn't the man's fault, he couldn't have known, no one could have. But it was hard to stay reasonable with a dead kid in his arms.

He glanced back to Miyu's static face, wondering what the hell the kid had been thinking. Were they trying to get themself killed? Why'd she have to go ahead and pull a stunt boneheaded enough to get herself killed? He knew there had been people here who had cared about her, and now they'd just have to pick up the pieces.

But she was a kid. She couldn't have been any older than twenty, they just did stupid shit sometimes. She didn't deserve to get gunned down like that. God knows she didn't. Mack had seen people die before. A lot of people. Some he could have helped, and some he couldn't. He'd gotten used to it after a while, he'd had to, but he didn't think he'd ever get used to dead kids.

Placing her hands over her chest, Mack delicately closed her eyes with two of his fingers just as Duchess finished. The only thing he could think of was how she looked almost peaceful now.

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The Fight

Well, fuck.

Connor followed along as ordered even as his face hardened into perfect neutrality. It was a trick he learned back in the guard, well— boot camp; all the guard had managed to accomplish was allow him access to powdered donuts and an avenue to fall out of shape. These days, though, it was hard to fall out of shape being on the move.

The ex-soldier unclasped the watch from his wrist and placed it into Freddie’s hand without so much of a twinge of the inner annoyance he felt showing on his face. Quietly, Connor began to follow along beside Freddie as Sam lead them back to their camp. He cast a few short glances at the back of Tanner. God. He felt guilty even looking at the kid.

Yet, even as the prison came into view, confirming Connor’s earlier thoughts, he began to hear the shuffle of the dead. It was unmistakable among the sounds of nature and when you had been out in the shit as long as he had it was a sound that perked your ears naturally.

Sam began to slow; caution, that’s what Connor chalked it up to, but even their quieter pace managed to alert the monsters waiting just outside their view. In the sudden explosion of action, the ex-soldiers adrenaline raced as one of the infected slammed into him from the front and the two of them broke into a desperate grapple.

Jaws snapped. Spittle assaulted Connor’s face. Teeth clattered in a sound that made the man’s back shudder in discomfort. With a roar, Connor slung the dead woman past him and toward the ground, and judging by the thud her body made when it hit the ground she had landed on a patch of rocks. The man knelt down, gripped her by the patches of hair on the back of her head, and began to slam.

Connor needed something to vent his anger on and she had been the perfect opportunity to blow off some steam. The man took no pleasure in it even as the thought crossed his mind, but he needed to otherwise he may risk something stupid and get shot.

It took a few rabid shakes of primal force, even as Connor pressed his knee in her back, for the head of the woman to sink low enough to impact off of the rocks beneath her. First, it was chunks of teeth and thick globules of semi-congealed blood that spouted forward from the darkness. Then, flesh. Bone. Finally, the sickening crack of the skull splitting beneath the force of his arm. Ragged breaths drug air into Connor’s screaming heart. He wasn’t tired— he was a vehicle for violence incarnate and oxygen was simply the fuel for the engine.

His attention snapped to Tanner as one of the infected bore down on him. It would be too late for him to help, “TANNER NO!”


Tanner walked. His mind was so blank and the vast expanse of hopelessness that gripped him was something that didn’t sit well with him. Sam walked next to him, but that was no issue with him. The strange man’s simple presence was enough to keep some strange anger alit in his belly and that was something.

The boy walked some more. He walked. Yet, his senses still did not return. They didn’t return as the shuffles sounded nearby. They didn’t return when the first of the dead came scrambling into view. They came back only when a sprinter came barreling from the night.

The man was in the garb of a priest. Of course, it had been somewhat modified to make it amenable to everyday survival, but it was a priest. Warm, red blood dripped from between his lips, the strip of flesh missing from his cheek belched out the same, and the rapid stomp of the dead priest’s feet echoes through the night. Then, came the snarl. The pale, veiny hands.

Tanner screamed. It was the kind of scream that sounded only when someone knew that their life was about to end. He wanted to get away. He had no weapons, no hope, and no idea what to do. The kid turned to see Connor grappling with a problem of his own. Wait, Connor—

He knew what to do: Just listen to Connor. The kid fell to both his knees just as the sprinting priest was about to clutch at his hoodie, and the infected man was unable to slow in time to adjust for the sudden change of height. The undead slammed into the boy at his knees and doubled over his frame smashing face-first at Sam’s feet. The sheer force of the impact knocked the wind from the kid’s lungs and sent Tanner sprawling out across the ground.

Connor help!”

He tried to stand, but the sudden vertical motion combined with the shock of the earlier impact sent him tumbling back down. The kid took off crawling along the ground toward his guardian.

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Dandy Connoisseur

The Convoy

Alante stood to Font’s right as Northview was forced to rally at the courtyard. He could see the fear in each individual as they gathered like sheep to the slaughter - surrounded by armed heathens who held no belief of mercy. He couldn’t help but blame himself for being captured and becoming nothing more than a bargaining chip. Had he not been taken, maybe Font could have had the chance to fight back and give the community a shot - but not anymore, they were on the defensive.

While listening to Cabrera, Alante watched as some men dragged Arthur and others down into the fray - they must have been the victims of the gunshots from earlier. Poor bastard seemed injured, but Alante couldn’t get eyes on their doctor from where he stood. As Cabrera continued his speech, Northview whispers creeped between his sentences. What do they want? Who is Marcus King? Why did she betray us? How could this happen? Trying to figure out a way out, Alante came to a single conclusion - there wasn’t one. They would have to wait it out and see what happened before preparing a counterattack.

It was at this time that a whisper grew into a scream. Alante turned towards the noise, but couldn’t make out who it was coming from until a body sprinted away from the group and towards their adversary. “Wait, wait! She can’t-“ his attempt at explaining her condition was cut short by the single gunshot that shackled the entire community into submission. Alante stood there with his mouth open, staring at Miyu’s limp small frame. “No…” The word escaped him as his hand reached to wipe the stilled trance from his face. He wanted to cry but it wasn’t the place for that.

He heard the ruckus that followed. Witnessed Arthur and Kurt fight against the Samaritans to no result. Despite his personal feelings for Kurt, he couldn’t help but understand his distraught. “She couldn’t hear, man….” He said, not that they would listen. That’s when Dutchess went into her frenzy, attacking her own men for their insubordination like it would change anything. Alante scowled at her, taking a step forward as if to do something to find himself at odds with a rifle pointed in his direction. He stepped back in line, not wanting to be another victim of this takeover.

“If we get out of this, I know someone who can help us,” he whispered to Font, eyes glaring at Dutchess as his heart desired to cause her harm. She got Miyu killed and no one would change Alante’s mind about that fact. He just hoped no one else would have to fall before all of this was over.

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Mr. Heartbreaker


Scene One:
The Convoy
Xander's heart lifted and he breathed an audible sigh of relief as he saw several familiar faces finally exit the school, amongst them Nari, Haewon, and Minnie. They were the closest thing he had to a family these days. Still, any levity of the moment was shattered by the barrel of the gun Dutchess was pointing at him not to mention that the girls themselves were being escorted out at gunpoint... followed by Dutchess's crude remark about his and Nari's relationship. He pursed his lips, not rising to the bait.

As if to hammer home his previous thought, he heard the telltale sound of a muffled gunshot from inside the school -- a sobering reminder that not all of his people were outside just yet... and that none of them were safe. He whirled around to give Cabrera a brief, accusatory glare at the sound -- though in truth he had no idea of knowing whether it had actually come from one of their people taking a potshot at the invaders in defiance of his orders.

Before long, he spotted Arthur and Miyu being brought out with the rest. Cabrera, clearly done waiting, launched back into his narrative with promises of sorting out the so-called annexation posthaste. Font found himself wondering if this was done on the spot or if it was a rehearsed "sales pitch". And if it was... how many times had he done this very thing and at how many communities like their own? More to the point, Cabrera mentioned that they called themselves the Samaritans and had a leader named Marcus King. So Cabrera was a glorified errand boy. A well-armed and potentially unstable errand boy, at that. Font wasn't sure that knowledge was the least bit comforting.

Xander was just opening his mouth to reply when shouts rang out: confused, panicked shouts. The kind that never led to anything good. He turned, glancing over his shoulder just in time to see Miyu sprinting forward. His eyes widened and he raised a hand impotently out in her direction.

Too late.

The sound of the shot filled the courtyard and Miyu suddenly looked like one of those marionette puppets with its strings cut as she fell to the ground, red staining the ground. Xander stopped short, his throat tight as he looked down at the fragile body, waiting and hoping for any sign of movement that never came even as Mackenzie knelt at her side. The morbidly, coldly logical part of him wasn't surprised. He knew from personal experience that only one kind of shot produced that kind of result: the one that made a living, breathing, talking human in one moment look like they'd had their proverbial light switch turned off.

Xander's chest was tight and he felt bile in his throat, but he fought to maintain his composure even as felt Mackenzie's accusing eyes on him. He turned away from the glare, toward Alante... only to hear his pleading whisper. It was barely anything -- the slightest glimmer of hope in the darkness around them -- but Font returned with an imperceptible nod all the same. Dutchess had turned away from him, putting her gun away and electing to take her frustrations out on the Samaritans in the wake of the incident with Miyu. He began walking, more on instinct than anything. He was very aware of the sounds of a nearby scuffle and caught glimpses of two men landing blows on one another, but the gathering crowd of armed Samaritans blocked his view of whoever the combatants were.

He knew he should play the peacemaker: try and defuse tensions before more of his people died. Hear Cabrera out so that these invaders would leave as soon as possible. But Xander didn't do any of those things, at least not yet. Instead, he found himself approaching the side of Nari, Haewon, and Minnie where the former had ushered them away from the horrid sight only a few yards away. No bandits stopped him, distracted (for the moment, in any case) by the fight and the aftermath of the shooting.

Xander did his best to wrap his arms around the three of them, using his body to shield their view from everything behind him. "It's gonna be okay. Just stay calm and stay together, all right? No matter what. We'll get through this," he said, with more confidence in his voice than he felt as he looked at each of "his girls" in turn. With that, he gave Nari's shoulder a soft squeeze before turning to face Cabrera with what resolve he could muster.


Bullyboy Squad

pure of heart, dumb of ass

The Convoy

"Bomb! She got a bomb!"

The gunshot.

Followed by the gasps, laments, and screams.

"She is deaf!"

“Get off me, you sonuva bitch!”

"She's just a young girl!"

Howls of pain and laughter rang at the back of the wailing crowd.

“Are you fucking dumb? Do you think this podunk group of middle-class teachers—"
Dutchess in Price's face, right next to him.

The medic was too late. Never had a chance.

"Are you too fucking thick to think that—"

"She said she had a fucking bomb! I heard her speak to—"

"Just a young girl! Oh God oh Lord what have they done! Oh please God save us—"

Cabrera yanked the rifle off of one of his soldiers' hands and aimed it up.

The shots like fireworks rumbled in the sky, echoing all around the flatlands surrounding one side of the small town. Silence followed, disturbed only by the quiet sobs from the traumatised people.

Ignacio stared with a cold fire in his eyes. Jaw set, the usually easy expression hard and unreadable. Making sure everybody got the message to shut up.

Finally he spoke, first looking at Font. "Get your house in order, Captain. Or I will."

Then at the medic with his eyebrows furrowed. "Take her away from here."

And finally at the crowd as a whole. Something akin to frustration creasing his forehead. "Can anyone explain to me what the hell just happened?" If she didn't have a bomb then… why was she running at him?



Baron of Bad Boys

The Fight


Andrew was the thirteenth person that Weston had killed in his life - and not all of those were from after the fall, either. What a lucky number. Even if he didn’t pull the trigger himself, Weston knew he was at least partially responsible. There were many nights he couldn’t sleep, so he sat up and reflected on his wrongdoings. Killing was a topic that kept coming back to him. There were a few deaths that left him remorseful or angry at himself, and some that he felt justified in. But most? For most of those murders, he felt nothing. And that was perhaps what scared him the most.

“You… poisoned…him.”

Weston knitted his brows in confusion as he stared down at Andrew, watching the light of life fade from the older man’s eyes. The words didn’t make any sense - he’d never given anyone poison before. Did the man still have it in him to speak metaphorically? If so - what the hell did that mean? Or was this just the confused ramblings of a dying man seeing and thinking things beyond his own understanding in those last moments?

When the light was out and Andrew was gone, he shoved the picture back into his pocket without looking at it. Grip on his knife firm - he was never one for sweaty palms when things got tense - he plunged the blade into the side of Andrew’s head. It was the rule here: make damn sure the dead stay that way. It had surprised him the first few times he did this just how sturdy the human skull could be, especially if you hesitated. It was not as easy as it looked to do this with the just-deceased person staring back at you. He had his own rule, though, after the first few times he'd done this: keep their eyes open while you do this. Make it real. Make it hard to forget. Make it harder to be one of those deaths he felt nothing about.

Pulling the knife out of Andrew’s skull, Weston pushed himself to his feet and quietly turned in a half-circle, facing the crowd. He didn’t look back at Wes and Kenny, trusting that Wes would handle the kid.

“Alright everyone!” He raised his voice, making sure the whole room could hear him. The room was eerily silent as the crowd processed their individual shock and emotions.

“Justice is served, and you saw it with your own eyes. Let this be a lesson to everyone.” He gestured down to Andrew’s body with his knife.

“This is a community with rules. With laws. All of us work together to follow those rules so we can stay alive, stay safe, stay fed, and not wind up like those rotten ghouls outside. If you have a problem with those rules, you talk to me - understood?” Weston slowly turned as he studied the crowd, looking as many people in the eye as he could.

“Alright, that’s it. Show’s over. Everyone get on, back to what you were doing.” He turned his back on the crowd, motioning for two of the nearby enforcers to come over.

“Put him in an unmarked grave - someplace not obvious, but not out of sight either. Make sure the guards know to keep an eye on it, and report to me the names of anyone who visits it or leaves anything on it. I don’t care if it's just a fistful of Goddamned dandelions left by a kid - the trouble ends with him. Got it?”

The enforcers nodded, grunting as they hefted up the dead weight of Andrew’s body and carried him out the same door Wes and Kenny had gone.

Weston lingered until he was the only person left in the pit - just him and the pool of blood on the floor. He stared down at it, noting how sticky and wet it looked compared to the numerous other stained spots dotting the floor from past ‘events’. Some were smaller, some were just as large. Andrew wasn’t the first person to die in this pit - and he probably wouldn’t be the last.

Unless Weston did something about it, of course.

And at this rate?

He might have to.


Bullyboy Squad

pure of heart, dumb of ass

The Fight

Freddie glanced at the watch, turning it over in his fingers. Then he pushed his hand to his pocket, hiding it there. "You can buy it back. If you don't in a few weeks I might sell it." That was one way to say lose it when gambling.

Freddie was always reluctant to admit but not one to pretend he wasn't wrong. Flashlights. Was a bad idea. Or maybe thanks to using them they actually could see the threat. Either case they were close to the main road now and as soon as they'd be there it would be easier to run and manoeuvre.

"Watch it!" He aimed at the head of the undead that Sam had by his feet but he hesitated. More figures swayed towards them, if he made the noise like that now…

"Shit-" No more time to think, another biter reached for Freddie's side and the man spun around just in time to strike the thing with the grip of the gun to the temple. He drew his knife and kicking the collapsed zombie to the skull he punctured another one of a decomposing woman that tried to grab him.

"Get off the trees! Now!" The road was just down ahead. All they had to do was run and at that point Freddie didn't look back. Focusing on the biters in his path, trying to clear the way for himself and others. He was thankful now for the armor under jacket. As much as the makeshift shoulder plates and elbow pads were uncomfortable to wear they were surely a good thing to have between your flesh and undead teeth.

As soon as he ran out to the dirt road he yanked up his walkie talkie to speak. Just in time to see the headlights flooding the path up ahead. "Walkers!"

He didn't have time to say more, losing grasp on the device to quickly dispatch another monster. Wheeling around to see more and more coming out of the forest Freddie could only hope some of them were the three humans he left behind.



New Member

SCENE 3 The Fight

Sam came to a slow stop, turned as if he were on a hike, and perhaps wondered if he should have taken a different path. He casually looked and stared at the chaos around him. It was wonderful. It was like being at home. It was loud, which aggravated Sam, but it was somewhat comforting. During the limited time Sam was allowed in the patient day room at Fairview Asylum, he grew to appreciate the chaos that ensued. No one was in any real danger. But the number of patients quietly sitting rocking back and forth, talking to whatever dead president they felt needed to hear their case, or the ones who cradled their shit like it was a crucifix, made Sam smile. They were crazy. He was just in there with them. He never understood the point of his incarceration. Looking at the scene playing out before him with the dead mauling Connor, Tanner, and Freddie, Sam began to wonder if the world outside Fairview was much different. Everything seemed crazy, except Sam, that was.

As Connor began to destroy the dead woman mercilessly, Sam could not help but raise an eyebrow. The man was unhinged. What anger did he have to let out? Was life that stressful? Oh, no. Dr. Morrow would not like that. Oh, no. That would be a few days, at least on the third floor. A few treatments. Yes. That would straighten him out. Keep him silent. Such anger. Oh, no, no, no. Connor has some issues. But they have things for that. Beds with bars and ropes, and straps. Batons. Probes. Shocks. The good things. Just quiet down. Be calm. It will all be over soon. Just lay back, close your eyes, and you’ll feel right as rain when you wake up. And you can go play a game! Yes. And maybe get a treat! Yes. Peanut butter. Chocolate. Reese!

Connor was a monster, as far as Sam could tell, and the notion that Tanner could wish to travel with him perplexed Sam. The boy must have Stockholm Syndrome. He’s delusional. Or he’s family. Oh, how sad. What will families let their members get away with? Look at him, torturing that poor woman. What makes him different than all the other people in Fairview? Restraints. At least they could not leave their little chairs. This man is unhinged. And yet Freddie could not see that. Of course not. Freddie has a squirrel’s attention span and a rabbit’s IQ. He’s bringing a killer into Lincoln. Hmm. Well. Hopefully, when Connor snaps, he will kill them when they are in the showers. Such an effective way to do it. Makes it easy to clean. And then they’d be naked! And my clothes will be intact. Yes. Let Connor go nuts in the shower. Hmm. Let them all go nuts in the shower. The perfect place to kill so many people. So efficient!

Sam’s attention flipped to Tanner as the boy screamed. Rolling his eyes, Sam stepped a little back to let whatever dead might have heard him attack the boy first. When has screaming ever helped? Like, when? Did it help mom when dad came home from the bar? Did it help dad when that truck came barreling toward him? Did it help Mikey when I cut out his tongue? Ugh. When has screaming helped? Scream all you want, Tanner. Only the dead will hear you. And then, Sam’s joy rose as he saw Tanner fall. For a moment, he thought the kid had died. Glory to God! Good things finally happen. But the kid tumbled, and the dead crumpled to Sam’s feet. Sam was annoyed and merely walked away from the creature. The poor thing had fallen; even in death, people embarrassed themselves. Sam walked away and continued to observe. It wasn’t that Sam was particularly good at fighting or with dexterity. Rather, he just had a knack for getting away from the dead. He’d done it forever. Perhaps they knew something he didn’t. Perhaps Sam wasn’t tasty?

But Tanner was on the ground, calling for Connor. That maniac? Oh, boy. Place your trust in yourself, not him. Oh, stand up if you want to live. Sam weighed his options. Connor seemed busy trying to beat a dead woman. Sam ventured that he might have been reliving some previous experiences. When has a man ever NOT passed up the opportunity to make a woman submit to him? Hmm? Connor? Of course. Men are all the same. The sooner they die, the better.

Freddie’s sudden aim put Sam’s actions into stasis as he waited for the man to pull the trigger. Please do it! Fucking do it! Alert more! Yes! Call for more, you fucking idiot! But he didn’t. Freddie was too occupied to kill the dead at Sam’s feet. Sam winced. Damn you! He’s about as useless as they come. He can’t even fail upwards! And then, perhaps for once in his life, Sam decided to forego instant gratification. He looked at Tanner as the boy crawled towards the occupied Connor and the boisterous Freddie, who found it good to call out orders. Hmm. Now you want to take command. Good timing. Good timing! Sam closed his eyes and bit his tongue slightly. Long-term planning, Sam. Long-term planning.

Stepping forward, Sam walked on top of the fallen priest, who had turned to attempt to take the boy again. Finding the priest’s neck, Sam crunched his foot and heard a little snap after placing all his weight on the fallen father’s throat. Oh, how sad. No more sermons for you. Or alter boys. Pick your poison. And then, grabbing Tanner by the hoodie, Sam used all of his strength to hoist the kid to his feet and take him in the direction that Freddie had cleared and towards a path of safety. There, ahead, were the lights. Sam sighed. It was safety, yes. But it was safety that he wanted to achieve. But he had decided. He made a decision. He would save Tanner’s life and help him.

Sam said softly into Tanner’s ear, “Run to the light. Connor will be fine. Just run to the light!” And then, with a slap on the back, he gently thrust Tanner forward to let him have a clearer route toward the lights. The light glowed into Sam’s eyes, and he walked along as if he were resuming his evening hike. He was annoyed. Nothing had been accomplished. And now, his home was two people bigger. And what had they gained? A maniac who likes to beat dead women, and a boy who screams. Hmm. Problems. But not unsolvable problems. You’ve made screaming boys stop screaming before, Sam. Hmm. Why not do it again? Maybe they’ll send you back to Fairview. Wouldn’t that be nice?

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Faux Hero
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The Fight

Tanner felt the grasp of a cold hand at his ankle just before a sickening pop rendered it limp and without strength. The boy was yanked to his feet and he shot forward with every ounce of momentum available to him as Sam pushed him onward. He cast a singular, backwards glance to Connor who waved him off.

Uh,” The boy still felt uneasy but he was grateful that Sam had saved him, “t-thank you!”

The boy ran so fast he caught up with Freddie. Sam had fallen behind, but chances are he would catch up and so would Connor.

Mister,” Tanner shouted toward Freddie, “where do we go?”

Even as his eyes started to adjust to the blinding lights of the exterior of the prison, he could barely see the actual layout of the building. Where did he have to go to be safe?


Connor watched as Sam crushed the priest’s neck inward. For that, he was grateful. Maybe this group wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Of course, he had been immediately robbed of a family heirloom but those kinds of qualms could be solved at a later time. The man dug his heel into the dirt and took off running in the direction he was ordered.

Piercing the dark veil of night, the prison stood as a bastion of the evil past of humanity. Hopefully— hopefully things were different in there now. The dead were closing in all around them. Fortunately, they seemed to be able to outrun most of them for now.

Freddie! Get us the fuck in there, man!”

Connor sidestepped an undead lawyer who lunged at him but missed.


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