Rusted from the Rain [Zombie Apoc./Survival RP] [Inactive]

AsydBurn

AsydBurn

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AsydBurn updated Rusted from the Rain [Zombie Apoc./Survival RP] with a new update entry:


Temporarily closing applications for now.

I've gotten 10 applications so far, which I'm so happy about! You guys are fuckin' awesome! I never thought I would get this much attention this fast. That's kinda why I'm getting a little overwhelmed. I've been trying to get a hold of all of you guys. Some have taken me longer than I had planned
ovjtGin.gif

And, with my work schedule until this weekend, I can't stay up as long as I'd wish.


I am by no means backing out. If I can get...
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Read the rest of this update entry...
 
It felt like his heart would never stop racing.


He ran. He ran and ran and ran. For a long time, he just ran, the direction didn't matter - just as long as it was away from that bus. It was only when he tripped and was forced to spend a number of moments standing back up from the mud and grass did rationality take a small stand, and force him to make a choice. And it was a hard one.


He had no idea what was going on. Not really. They hadn't told the inmates much at all. Was this catastrophe citywide? Statewide? Just this neck of the woods? The area he stood in right now....?


He had no food. He had no wilderness survival skills. He could trek back to the road, and hitch-hike - but nobody was going to stop for a man in handcuffs and a numbered jumpsuit, that was for damn sure. Staying out here, alone, seemed a bad idea.


The city, then. There was no way the entire city could be gone. The thought of being closer to protection, and medical staff and facilities sure beat wandering around out here in the middle of nowhere. He could explain what happened - let the families know what the fate of their husbands and sons were, on board that bus.


With every step, Will fought back the rising doubts, as he continued his jog towards the city. Doubts that said he should take this bid for freedom, and go live his life. There was time left to live an okay life; he didn't need to go back to prison. Doubts that said maybe he'd be held responsible for what happened - and he'd be sent to solitary. Doubts that said maybe he was sick with the same thing that caused the whole thing to happen in the first place. Doubts that said they might euthanize him, just in case.


Will hadn't been this scared in almost twenty years.


The prisoner kept going. He kept the road on his left, and kept on. There was no way it could be as bad as it seemed. There was just no way. With a faraway look in his eyes, he ignored the growing signs of disaster. A wrecked vehicle on the side of the road. A body lying in the grass. Rising smoke from somewhere beyond. But that didn't matter, Will had to keep going. And so he did. His gaze set, he continued jogging along Illinois 64 toward the city center, Chicago, ignoring the smoke and his racing heart.


There was no way it could be this bad.


There was just no way.
 
“Well, Wilson, looks like we’re done to our last can of beans.”


Wilson, a tall, dead, and stuffed grizzly bear had no reply to the comment. He simply stared at Damien with his mouth opened in a furious roar and his claws held threatening above his head, being perched up on his hind legs. At least the sunglasses, a pair of aviators, hid the mounted beast’s eyes. When they weren’t covered, Damien always felt like Wilson was watching him, considering eating him.


“I’m sick of fuckin’ beans,” he grumbled as he placed the can down on top of the table. He drew his knife from his belt, stabbed the top of the can, and worked the blade around the covering, pulling it back so he could get at the cold, bland, and disgusting tasting beans inside.


The bar Damien had taken refuge in had had some food supplies, mostly bread and canned goods. It hadn’t been much though, and he quickly burned through them, even with his rationing. That meant he would have to go out into the city, which meant he would have to face…Those things. The walking dead people that used to only exist in video games and George Romero movies.


He ran a hand through his hair, brushing it out of his face as he glanced towards the staircase that led up into the world. Though the bar was dark, broken down, and over all a shithole, it still felt safe. Well, safer than it did out there. Plus, Wilson was here. He couldn’t just leave Wilson. Like he had done the others…


Damien forced himself to eat the rest of his beans, breaking off his thoughts as he choked down what could possibly be his last meal for quite some time. If he wanted to live, he was going to have to go out. Perhaps there were others as well. Others that made better company than Wilson.


And...this whole referring to a stuffed, dead bear as Wilson thing was getting a bit creepy, and probably driving him a bit insane. Fresh air would be good for him. Even if that fresh air was filled with zombie air. Oh, fun…


“At least things couldn’t get much worse…” He sighed and stood, taking his leather jacket from the back of his chair and sliding it on. Next, he took back his aviators, hanging them on the front of his black t-shirt as he took a last look at Wilson.


“Keep on…Standing, buddy.” With that, he grabbed his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, placed his hand reassuringly over the handle of his knife, and headed for the door.
 
Smoke.


Thick and black, it drifted up in plumes, obsurring the the rest of the sky from where a girl stood. She closed her eyes for a moment as she breathed in slowly. This gas station had probably been burning for week now, and she doubted it'd stop anytime soon. It was a good thing that the only building near it was the multi-story car park she was standing on. Th flames could've spread far more, but instead they were stranded on their lot, consuming the abundance of fossil fuels stored there and not doing much else.


She enjoyed the warmth on her face for a few more minutes before turning and making her way back down two levels and onto the street below. She avoided the main road, instead taking to the ally-ways she had grown familiar with from traveling them for the past couple days. She paused a moment outside the locked backdoors of a diner to look at the corpse that was leaning against it. Actually, it'd be more appropriate to say pieces of corpse, since the thing had been chopped up rather brutally. Blood was smeared all over the doors and ground, staining the grey paint and large patches of asfalt a rusty red that she had grown far to accustomed to. Her first run-in with a zombie had not gone so well. Arguably, it had gone fine since she was still alive, but she'd disagree. The freak out she had while fighting the thing and the breakdown she had afterwards as she had continued hacking at the long-dead body was embarrassing to say the least. It had happened a couple days ago, and the thought still left shivers down her spinel Sure, she'd had to kill these things a few more times since her first experience, but they say your first time for anything is what stands out the strongest in her mind.


It had been the first time she'd cried in years.


But no, there wasn't any time to waste. She needed to get back to her home base. Turning away from the gruesome scene she gripped her backback straps to herself tigher and headed up a fire escape onto a much higher rooftop above. Biting her lower lip, she surveyed the area arround her, though she wasn't actually taking anything in. Her knuckles began to whiten as she tightened her grip, but she hardly noticed. Glazed over eyes stared blankly at the streets below. At the stumbling figures. At the scattered lines of smoke in the distance. It was only when her legs bucked beneath her that she finally checked back into reality.


"Oh god," Ember muttered to herself.


Her hands shook as she continued to hold her backpack straps. Looking back out at the city she took in another deep breath. There was no home base. She had tried to return to the campus she'd been holed up at, but the place had gotten overrun since she had left to find more supplies. She had no where to return to.


"I'm royaly fucked."
 
The sound of music starts to fill the empty street of what was once a small city and the Irgun looks like it used to be a family owned hospital. The building had looked better in the past as now the paint has filled and the neon sign that used to hang outside is now broken. It read "Hellen hosptial a family hospital" but the letter were pretty broken. The door of the pharmacy including the windows seem to be barred up with different material.


The music was comeing from thier as it was Beethoven 5 symphony. A quite beautiful piece as it would be heard if anyone would go down the road quite easily.


In the hospital was a figure dancing to the song with his hand postioned in what look like it was holding something in a fashion when a couple would dance. The soft taps of his shoes would be heard as he did a very intricate dance. The room was nearly illuminated as the light seem dim.


"Oh madam don't touch thier this song is not like that" The figure said as the voice was clearly male as it was atleast a bass.


The figure gave off a light chuckles as he dances with his partner. A small light glimpses on what he was dancing with and it was intestines. They looked to be fresh as they drip blood on the floor as he dances with them merrily.


"You are splendid madam I quite say your a natural" He said as he continues to dance with the organ in his hands
 
Death. Death and blood was all he could smell. Ashes were mixed in, making it harder to breathe. He had wished he had some sort of mask to minimize the horrific, rotting stench that made him gag. He pulled up the hem of his filthy shirt to his nose, sucking in a long, needed breath as he looked around at the once beautiful scenery. Now there was nothing but fire, ashes and decomposing bodies that lay on the street. Blood was stained everywhere. Death was spread out as far as the eye could see. A trail of destruction, as Aaron saw it. With nothing more then his clothes and backpack on his shoulders, he marched on through the silent, abandoned street, his pocket knife in hand. It wasn't sharp, but it was all he had to defend himself. And frankly, it was better then his bare hands. After all, he was still alive. He could make it. He had to. For his mother.


Aaron had been holed up in a bakery the whole time. It was slightly warm, offered a place to sleep, and even had a few loafs of somewhat stale bread. It could have been better, but it also could have been worse, he often reminded himself. The windows were still intact, the door hadn't been knocked down, and there was even a secure little basement that offered warmth and security. As much security anything gave up these days, anyway. He'd been trying to search for a gun shop, or anything that would help him. But for now, food and ammunition was on top of his priorities. He's seen what could happen to people that aren't armed with a proper weapon. He didn't have any intention of ending up like them in any way.


The wind blew gently against his back, rustling the dead leaves on the sidewalk. There was an silence that he'd never known could exist in such a large city as Chicago. He had been so familiar to the rush of traffic, to the busy pedestrians walking among the streets. Now there was nothing but silence as his company. A few birds were scattered on the ground, pecking at a few dead bodies lain in wrecked cars. Aaron walked in between the cars, cautiously moving away from the corpses. He never could tell if they truly were dead, or if they were just pretending, waiting to strike. He'd almost died by a lurker the previous day. It'd taught him to never assume the thing was dead. They never would be until he was sure. So, he rushed by the body, never daring to look over his shoulder, just in case it was chasing him.


Aaron felt his body sag with a tiredness. He hadn't slept for the past few nights -how could anyone?-, and he desperately needed rest. But he pushed on, in search of supplies, or a better place for refuge. Perhaps even another survivor. Another living soul. He had his doubts, but logically, there had to be some people alive. Right? Right. There had to be more survivors. Or else he was officially screwed. He'd probably die within the next few days if he doesn't find a gun, or a proper weapon that wasn't his somewhat dull pocket knife. He needed food. He needed a better place to stay. It turns out that he needs a lot of things that he can't get. How ironic. Feeling drained, he tiredly leaned against a bench, catching his breath.


He was running low on water. He promised himself to only have a few sips a day, but it never was enough, it seemed. His mouth felt incredibly dry, even after he drank a fair amount of the not-so-pleasant warm water. Aaron could feel his eyes begin to close. With a jolt he stood up, and continued walking to keep himself alert and awake. It was the only thing that could keep him awake. He didn't know what to do, where to go. He was beginning to feel the hopelessness sink in, tugging at his soul. What was the point? Would this ever really end? He hesitantly walked into a small shop, his knife gripped firmly in his hand. He felt his heart rate go up, fear twisting at his stomach. He stopped at the front door, and listened. Nothing could be heard in the darkness of the shop. He took a deep breath, and entered.


Surprisingly, there was no.. things in the shop. Just three bodies. A father, a mother, and what looked like a little baby. Just barely three years old, if not younger. Pain struck at his chest as he stared at the little boy's half ripped off face, blood streaming down his crusted skin. In his arms were a small, stuffed giraffe. He must have held onto it as he was turning, Aaron assumed. He scrunching his nose, he moved past the bodies soundlessly, with a slow precision. He almost expected one of the bodies to jump at him, much like they did in horror movies. But they never did. They just lay against the wall, flies buzzing around the three corpses. He walked into the backroom, collapsed against the wall after shutting the door, and closed his eyes.
 
Ya'know, a guy can really get to thinking some deep things when he's fighting for his life against a zombie mob with nothing but an old shovel.


Besides the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he shoved the rusted blade through an undead skull, for some reason it seemed like Parker Hansen might have had a true purpose in life. Like his struggle was meant to preserve mankind in it's finest. Of course that was complete bullshit, something he realized quickly when a zombie tried to take a bite out of his arm but failed because of the shovel through his head. He had to thank reality to wake him up in the most dangerous way possible. He supposed that whatever higher power was out there just didn't want him to get to cocky. It was, after all, hard not to wake up and reassess your situation when a few rotten teeth entered your view.


It was just a shame because Parker had been minding his own business, for once in his life. Searching for something other then peaches, because everyone knows they do jack-shit for you when you're in an apocalypse. Damn fruit, he cursed himself every time he thought about it. Wondering why in the hell he grabbed peaches out of everything that was in his pantry that fateful first day.





PEACHES!





Still wandering around like a chicken with his head cut off was hardly productive either, which is what he had been doing. He had practically walked into the mob, though to them it was seeing lunch stroll on by with not a care in the world. All they needed was a steak knife and their favorite side dish - which was most likely some sort of small rodent - to round off a perfect meal. He just hoped, if they did get ahold of his internal organs, they'd pick a fancier side dish then rat or squirrel; a decent sized cat would make him feel a bit better. Something hard to catch. Regardless, it was easy to say that Parker, however much he liked to deny it, had just committed the stupidest act he had ever done in his life. Congratulations, Parker.





"Fuckin' bastards." He hissed, running the blade through the neck of the closest zombie with a spiteful laugh. "Back the hell up!" Tugging the shovel back toward him, he was rewarded with the sight of the head falling to the ground with a satisfying thumping noise. "Ha! That'll teach you to try n' eat my face!" He kicked away the body and spun around, searching for more zombies as he screamed, "This premium steak ain't goin' down without a fight, zombie scum!"


To his disappointment at the beautiful placement of such a line, it appeared as though he had already killed the zombie within a dangerous radius. "F*ck, it was so perfect too!" He grumbled, shifting his shovel so it rested on his shoulders. "Oh well, I'll just have to remember it for another occasion." Mentally taking note of the line, Parker turned promptly on his heels and headed down the center of the street. Chicago was a beautiful city, or at least it had been when he had moved there a few years back. It was now a junkyard of discarded bodies and crap that people had lost in their chaotic rush to leave. It was a shame they didn't know a bit about zombies, even Parker had known to avoid the highways heading out of the city because of the predictable traffic build up that always occurred in the movies. What, did they expect to sail down the freeway to the safety of the country where they would live happily ever after with their family and zombie-dog Bruno? People were idiots, worse then Parker.


"Here, zombie-zombie-zombie!" He called raising his hand to cup around his mouth. "Zombie! Fresh meat here, hello!" He waited, ears straining for any noises. It seemed they weren't interested anymore, or just not in the area. That was good for him though, it meant that he could enter a store without one of those bastards jumping out at him. He just had to pick which place he wanted to break into. He decided to spin in a circle with his eyes covered and finger raised, he twirled a few times before stopping and peeking at the place he had pick.


"Ick..." He grumbled looking at the rundown gas station. "Like hell I'm going in there." He glanced at his finger, still pointing at the gas station, and quickly switched it's position to the nice looking townhouse that was across the street. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" He chimed, heaving his backpack a bit farther up his shoulder as he started toward the building.


"Do-do-do, Zombie bastards... Do-ta-do!" Parker sang as he strolled up to the door and checked the knob. It was unlocked, and by unlocked he meant it nearly fell off it's hinges when he touched it. "Shit... sorry, I'll pay for that." he chuckled softly at his joke, knowing that the owner of the house was probably a corpse by then. Still he couldn't resist calling a greetings anyways. "Lucy! I'm home!"
 
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@Damien (Hope you don't mind me grabbin ya)


When the stranger emerged from the bar ahead, Will froze. Instantly, his heart was in his throat, his leg stopped mid raise, and his hands raised up before him, clenched into fists.


Were they sick?


...If he was - could he dare to say hello? The thought of going another minute in this confusion without somebody to tell him what was going on drove him insane, but the thought of this one turning out to be sick and charging him teeth gnashing was equally upsetting.......but he decided to take a chance.


".....'Scuse me - sir?" he called out uncertainly to the emergent figure, from the middle of the street.


Every muscle was tense.
 
Damien’s fingers gripped the handle of the army knife sheathed to his belt tighter at the sight of someone standing in front of him, looking frozen in the spot. It figured for him to run into a deader the moment he stepped outside. That was his luck. Maybe he should’ve been born Irish instead of Australian.


Well, at least he’d have some practice stabbing it. He pulled the knife slightly from its sheath as a drop of nervous sweat dripped down from his forehead. He probably should’ve stayed in the bar with Wilson. No walker would mess with the bear.


But then he spoke, the stranger in front of him. Zombies didn’t speak words. They groaned, growled, and gurgled. Damien wasn’t the only one. Someone else had made it.


He removed his hand from the handle of his knife, wiping his forehead as he let out a sigh of relief. “You’re…you’re not one of them. By whatever god there is, you’re not one of them!...Right? Or…a delusion or something?”
 
@Damien


Will stood there, in his prison jumpsuit, hands cuffed, unmoving. It took considerable effort to swallow the lump in his throat. The nails of his fingers dug into his palms.


"....No sir, no I ain't." he replied at length, his eyes flitting between the knife, and the face partially hidden behind aviator shades. The man didn't look like one of the sick. And he didn't sound like a looter. If he had to guess - he looked no more than twenty. "...I'd be real grateful if you could tell me what the Hell is goin' on," the prisoner added hopefully, while remaining exactly where he was.


His legs were still ready to spring - but to attack or to flee, he still wasn't sure.
 
Damien rubbed the back of his head as he examined the stranger in front of him, obviously a prisoner by his dress. He partially wondered how the man had got out here with his hands cuffed; he must’ve been extremely lucky and not run into any walkers. Or perhaps he was just faster than they were.


“Well, mate,” Damien spread out his arms, motioning around him, “you've stumbled into the end of the world.”


He let his arms fall back to his sides, shaking his head. “It was some sort of disease…And now our dead start walking. Like out of a horror movie. Zombies…I guess the warden didn't let the inmates know?” He raised an eyebrow with the question.
 
@Damien


"Nah - nah, not really," the prisoner confirmed with a slow shake of his head. Well - this was something. Maybe the first conversation he'd had in eight hours. Slowly, he straightened his posture, casting a quick glance behind him before looking back to the stranger.


"...What do you mean when you say end of the world?"


He found himself hoping that was just teenage hyperbole.


There was no way it was that bad.
 
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“How many living people did you see on your merry way over here?” Damien asked. “This was Chicago. And now there’s nothing. Nothing except for dead that walk. You’re the first living being I’ve seen for days.”


He shook his head as he raised two fingers up under his sunglasses to rub his eyes. The last living beings he had seen were his friends that he was supposed to survive the apocalypse with. But now they were all dead, and it wasn’t a pleasant thought to think about.


“Hell, all we need is a giant wolf to eat Odin and a giant serpent to eat Thor, and we could call it Ragnorak.” He chuckled dryly and humorlessly. “I say when the dead rise, the world is ending.”
 
@Damien


"Days?"





Will looked around, baffled, at the city around him. The boy was right - it was empty. Where was the traffic? The sirens of police cars? None. The Windy City was - quiet. The bubble of suspicion he had been trying to ignore for the last half-day was about to pop. Could Chicago really be.....gone? The sickness -


He found himself staring down the street he'd just walked up, mouth slightly agape, as more realizations began to settle in.


"...Mah family -"


A moment of stunned silence fell.
 
"Okay Kimberly Amberdeen get your act together... Easy girl you got this," Ember muttered to herself, climbing back onto her feet. "I know it was a shock to see all those undead back at the campus..." Especially Rachel, she thought, but she couldn't bring herself to say it out loud even though there wasn't anyone else around to hear, "But you can find somewhere else to hole up for a while. If you're lucky, you'll live long enough to eventually travel to the forest or something. Somewhere not infested... Yeah." Cracking her fingers she surveyed the area again, this time with more of a game plan in mind. Zombies that way... also over there... but to the left it seemed mostly deserted. It was her safest path, anyway.


Ember sized up the building near her in that direction. Yeah, it was close enough that she'd make it if she jumped. She may have been an incredibly terrible aim, but the one thing she had really found useful so far since the world went to hell was her climbing and jumping skills. With a running start she cleared the gab, rolled, and leapt back onto her feet. She did this for the second building too, but after that everything else were too far apart. After locating the fire escape she clambered down as quietly as she could. Just as her feet touched the street she heard a voice.


A very loud voice.


A very loud voice calling for the Zombies!


Two thoughts entered her head. One, that there were, in fact, other survivors ---Or at least one. And two, that she had no idea how he'd lasted this long, since apparently he had the IQ of a cabbage.


Ember wasn't stupid enough to seek out this mystery idiot just yet, however. She knew well enough that while zombies were dangerous, other people could be even more so. Deciding to stick to the shadows, Ember crept along towards where she heard the voice come from, but kept quiet and hidden.
 
“Yeah, days.” Damien glanced down at his feet at the mention of family. Bad thoughts were there two. He concerned him with taking off his aviators and using the end of his shirt to wipe down the lenses. Afterwards, he hooked one of the temples through his shirt collar, folding the hinge in place so the glasses hung from the front of his shirt.


“We probably shouldn’t stand here all day. If you made it out, there might be more out there. Besides, we’re going to need food, water, and, well…Find a way to get rid of those.” He jutted a finger out towards the prisoners’ handcuffs.


He adjusted the strap of his backpack before beginning to walk forward, past the inmate and onto the street. He stopped to turn his head, however. “The name’s Lance, by the way. Damien Lance.”
 
@Damien


A part of him wanted to snap right around, shoulder through this doom-saying kid, and march right up to his brother's house. And then to his two sister's houses. And then to his parent's house. There was no way - there was no fate was so cruel. That the Hood that threw his life away was the only one still walking. This kid was wrong - this damn kid was just spewing bullshit. Fuck that, there was NO WAY.


But Will knew he was right. Because if he was wrong - wouldn't this boy be with his own family right now? Friends? Classmates, somebody, anybody? No. He was alone. Not because he chose to be, but because there wasn't anybody else left. Least nobody he knew. Nobody that wasn't hidin', or fleein', or dead. And that meant his family was dead. More than likely. Almost absolutely.


"...This is a fucked up world we live in," he muttered solemnly, the statement delivered like it was the truest statement he'd ever uttered. His expression was like stone. As it was now, he was shocked, but the emotional backlash had yet to hit. He knew it was coming. But for some reason, it was waiting. And he didn't know why. Right now, rather than look grief stricken, he looked grim, and certain.


...Vaguely, he'd been processing what the boy had been sayin', and his response was a long time coming. It struck him eventually - that this kid had just waltzed right up to him, speaking with 'We,' and talking like they were already partners on some earlier, less horrific circumstance. This kid couldn't be more than twenty. And here he stood, next to Will Hood, lifetime convict of double homicide, like he was anybody else in the world. If nothing else, it said one of two things. Either this boy didn't recognize a felon when he saw one, or he was just straight up desperate enough, or apathetic enough, to not question Will's cuffs and uniform.


So he glanced at this Damien, an eyebrow slightly raised - the first real demonstration of expression so far.


"You're one crazy boy, did you know that?"


"Will -" he answered shortly after, offering a hand.
 

Poking his head in through the door, Parker let his eyes roam around the first room before actually entering. It was a mess, bits of everything spewed randomly over the carpet and couch. shards of glass glittered on the carpet from the light getting in through the window but the most impressive thing was the mound of furniture pushed against the far wall. It looked as though someone had been trying to make the ultimate fort, it hadn't done a very good job though because it's constructor lay half-disemboweled in the kitchen.


"I have to say, I like what you've done with the place." He said poking the corpse with the toe of his boot. "Mind if I look around? Of course you don't... you're dead." Parker began to whistle as he dropped his backpack, pink and stained with mud, on the table so that he could go look through the pantry. It seemed it was practically bear, it would have growled at him in hunger if it were a stomach. Or a zombie... but they growled no matter what so it wasn't like he could compare them to anything. He was able to find a can of tuna though, tucked way in the back behind some stalk bags of chips and an empty plastic container.


"Bingo~!" He chimed, glancing at the can for any signs that it had been tampered with. It looked like it didn't expire for some time, not that it matter since with a happy sigh he perched himself next to his backpack on the table and popped it open. He hadn't eaten in... how long had it been? Two days? Maybe three... Either way the tuna was the best thing he could ask for at that moment. "Sorry, brother of the sea." He said pulling a fork from the nearby drawer. "But it's animal-eat-animal world out there. Or Zombie-eat-man-eat-fish world... but you understand." Taking a medium sized scoop he placed it in his mouth and practically moaned in delight.


"So damn good." Parker groaned taking one more bite before he emptied the rest of the can into his little plastic container and sealed the lid. He would have kept eating if there had been more but it didn't seem like there was anything else that he could scavenge. He had to save the little food he had so that it lasted. With that he plucked the bag of stale chips from the pantry, tugging it open as he shrugged on his backpack and headed out into the street again. Crunching on them as he walked, Parker wondered where he would bunk that night. It would get dark eventually and the zombies were harder to see when it was dark. Another townhouse, perhaps. One with several exits and a pantry stuffed full of food. His mouth watered at the thought.


"Shit, I really want a burger."

​
 
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The man gave a smirk as he continues to dance with the intestine in his hands to Beethoven 5 symphony. He starts to do a waltz with it as the music continues to play. The music was loud enough do if anyone's was around the vicinity they would he able to hear it with no problem at all. He starts to twirls the intestine as it made some blood spray around the room he was in.


"Oh I'm so sorry madam but it seem this dance has to end soon" he said as gave a mad chuckle


The song starts to end as he dances expertly with the intestine before ending it with a dip. He chuckles as he take it with him as he goes to the roof acces to the building he was on. He goes out in the fresh air with his lab coat slightly blowing in the breeze. He takes the intestine and then throw it in the middle of the street.


A zombies comes out of a building near then as it was a male. The zombies skin looks grey and dead as it eyes looks void of any and all emotion. He had tattered clothes and his body had splotches of dry blood on it. He saw the meat and then runs off to it wanting food.


A female zombie comes out of another building. The clothes that she has on were tattered and it showed her dead skin. She saw the meat as well and goes after it but both zombies grabbed it at the same time


The zombies growl each other as thy both starts to fight for the food. The male zombies bite the femals hand trying to rip it off. The femal zombies went and bites the male zombies neck as blood was starting to drop from both of thier wounds.


The man on the roof was kaito a mad scientist who has gotten and interest with the zombies. He gave off a dark chuckles as he continues to watch the zombies fight for the intestine. He takes out a pad and pencil as he starts to take notes on his observation.
 
"Let's go on a road trip, she said." The red head rambled on to herself, kicking a rusty can along the path she had been walking for what felt like a lifetime. "It will be fun!" She sneered at the memory of her friend who had practically pulled off her right arm, begging her to join her on a road trip through the US. At the time, Chelsea was a little off about the idea of taking time out from work to go on an out-of-the-blue holiday as spontaneity wasn't her thing and looking around the desolate streets and torn up town she knew exactly why. She was a home girl and travelling too far from home, despite her ability to adapt well to new places, was a little too much for her.


Picking up the can she examined the object and sighed. Even a rusty can of Coke made her current situation seem more real. Within a week of arriving at her holiday destination things had gone from great to life-threatening quite quickly, and life-threatening was no understatement. Her best friend was missing and no doubt now part of the 'brains for dinner' crew which left Chelsea alone to walk along unfamiliar roads, scared and hungry. Although, Chelsea would be the last person to show she was scared. She disliked being weak and needy and especially hated sympathetic looks and words of comfort when it came to protecting her pride.


"What do we have here then?" She questioned, stopping outside of what used to be a small store selling fresh fruit and veg. Throwing the can aside, no longer caring for the cleanliness of the streets, Chelsea rubbed at the dirty shop window to take a peak inside.


It was dark and clearly had not been in use for a good few days by the look of the produce that sat there still, neatly stacked and presented. Even though the fruit looked a little less fresh and a little more dead; She couldn't help but feel her stomach whirl and rumble at the site of food.


"Waste not, want not." Her shoulders shrugged as the hunger over-ruled any safety warnings, allowing her to try out the door. Luckily for her, it opened with ease as it was obvious the owner had no time to lock up as he or she ran for their life. "I guess they were in a hurry." She chuckled to her herself and took an eager step inside.


Bon appetit!
 
At the mention of being crazy, Damien started laughing. After a few moments, he realized he probably shouldn’t, yet he couldn’t stop it. This was the sort of stuff that drove people mad and made serial killers: family dying traumatically, watching friends get their guts torn out and flesh eaten, and isolation from the world, from everything. His laughter died off quickly. “Crazy? You don’t even know. I just spent the last few days talking to a dead, stuffed bear and calling him Wilson.”


He held out his hand to shake Will’s. It was a bit odd teaming up with a prisoner, but what choice did he really have? This was the apocalypse. Armageddon. Doomsday. He was taking a hint from wolves; the pack survives while the loner dies. Besides, perhaps he didn’t commit that big of a crime. Or was framed. Or he killed somebody. At least that’d be kind of useful.


“Look, mate, I’m not going off on some righteous judgment of the world, examining everyone’s fuck ups that lead to this. I want to survive. Turns out, I like living.” He turned around to glance down both ways of the street, looking for anything dead that probably wanted dinner. “As long as you don’t try to kill me when I’m awake or asleep, we’re good. Congratulations, you get a get out of jail free card when you pass the end of the world."
 
@Damien


"An' I spose I'll impose similar terms then. I like the whole 'let's not try and kill each othah' idea, awake or asleep," he replied with a small smirk. While there was a slight (or was it) manic air to this kid, Will certainly got a genuine, honest vibe off of him. And he could appreciate that. He could save the more depressing thoughts for a more pensive time of day. And besides, Will didn't want to die either.


"And if I remember correctly, I'm also supposed to get two hundred dollahs. But I guess I'm shit outta luck there too," he added, following Damien's glances up and down the street. "...Where were you headin? Did you have a plan?"
 
“See? Good rule. It’s rather nonproductive to be killing the only living things in a world of dead.” Damien crossed his arms over his chest, glancing back and forth, down and up the street. Truth was, he had no plan. Truth was, he was playing ‘eeny meeny miny moe’ in his head at the moment.


He suddenly jerked his thumb out towards the right. “That way. We can travel down the street and see if there’s any stores with some food, medicine, and other things we need to not die. I was holed up in the bar you saw me come out of, but I ran out of supplies. We can always go back there if we need a safe place to stay.”


He started walking down the direction he had pointed to, scratching his chin as he did so in thought. They’d need to break into a place. That was certain. And they needed something to deal with those handcuffs. “Think if we found a clothes-hanger, bobby pin, or something you could pick out of those?”
 
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