Snowblind

[NuclearTrinity]

This RP is written using the dark theme, so anyone on default might have trouble seeing text and images
​

New York City, Sunday, January 1st, 2016.
Everyone above the age of twenty has vanished overnight.


The remaining population awakens to the slow start of a light snowfall.


A boy wanders the streets of the East Village alone, searching for survivors.

 

[Psychonaut]

The snow started with the new year and hadn’t stopped yet. It had relented to a minimum flurry, the least that could be expected anymore, after having dumped two inches in an hour earlier. There was seven on the ground then.


The sleepless city seemed to, with only the susurration of wind and an occasional distant, snow-muffled shout to be heard. Everything but the featureless gray sky was coated in white.


A boy slogged down a street in downtown Manhattan. The path he had taken through the snow cut efficiently from broken-down door to broken-down door, visiting each residential building and terminating in tracks of crumbly bootprints tramped through their thresholds. His oldest trails were already being erased by the gradual accumulation of powder.


He came to his next waypoint and hefted the axe from his shoulder, adjusted his gloved-handed grip and posture, then reeled back and struck the door with an echoing crack. In five blows it gave, and he kicked his way through what little resistance it could still offer, entering the apartment building as it yielded.


It was no warmer within than without, but certainly yet more silent. The heat went out yesterday with everything else – electricity, cell service, even radio signals. A lot of things had been disappearing lately, and the building’s inhabitants were no exception. The boy commenced searching the floor with mechanical skill, rifling through drawers and cabinets and taking note of all of their contents in a small book. He kept nothing for himself as he went and proceeded through the first four floors scribbling away in his log.


He was halfway through the fifth when he stopped. He had worked through two dozen complexes in East Village that day and had yet to experience a sensation like that which gripped him then. As soon as he realized that all the buildings he was scouting were abandoned, he had settled into a relatively comfortable routine of mindless scouring. The moment he had come to that door, though, marked “521” under its frosted peephole, a sudden anxiety grasped his heart. A feeling in his gut told him that something was different about this room, and he hesitated to take his axe to it. He couldn’t place why, but the door seemed to radiate an awful, implacable foreboding.


Finally, he broke free of his paralyzing unease and reached out with one hand, rapping thrice on the wood with his knuckles. “Hello?” he called, voice colored with uncertainty. “Is anyone there?”

@NuclearTrinity

 

[NuclearTrinity]

For a while, another boy had been in the building.  Since the Day of Disappearance, he'd stalked the empty halls of his apartment building, eating whatever food could go bad if refrigeration went out, and sitting inside doing nothing more than watching old DVDs and playing games on his laptop.  Electricity had gone out a day or so ago, and he'd since turned any and all electronics off to save what little battery power they had.  The building provided most of what he needed, food, water, entertainment, but it was dwindling.  It wasn't a big building, only 3 floors and 6 apartments, and he'd considered going outside for some time.  His planned excursions, however, were quelled every time by a lack of motivation and a big depressive cloud that hung over him, as his mother was the only person he could ever look up to.  But she just, vanished.  



Here he was, sitting on his couch, reading a book about a space ship that gets stuck on an alien planet, its crew in cryo sleep for 200 years.  It was one of his favorites, and he'd reread it twice already.  As his eyes dragged themselves across the pages, he heard something.  There was someone else here, in his building.  Before long, after whoever was done scouring the bottom floor, the footsteps became louder, the stairs creaking.  


There was no time to waste, whoever was here could want nothing more than the food in his cabinets.  He swiftly pulled his spear-point combat knife from its sheathe, a final gift from his father.  Standing up, he quietly made his way to the door, pressing himself to the adjacent wall to take the intruder by surprise.  The footsteps stopped at his door, whoever was here was hesitating.


"Hello?"  The person called out, but this was the only time they bothered to.  Why? "Is anyone there?"


He didn't move or reply, maybe they would leave.

 

[Psychonaut]

The boy hesitated for a long moment after he withdrew his hand, tightening his hold on his axe nervously. Though he had heard nothing more since knocking, he still felt a cold fear sitting heavily in his stomach. If anyone were in there, they would have made some sound by now, wouldn't they? He was doing his best to keep quiet as he moved through the building, but he had still needed to break down a few locked doors - there was no way he hadn't been heard.


His heart thumped against his ribs as he restrained his quickening breath and cleared his mind to think. If there was someone inside, they were either preparing for his entrance or getting ready to ambush him, and in either case, waiting around wasn't going to help him.


He took a step back and leaned into a hard kick at the door, aimed square on the keyhole. The door splintered at its hinges, loosening it from the frame but failing to grant entrance.
He paused, straining to hear anything from inside that he could before acting further.

 

[NuclearTrinity]

He'd been sitting at the door, waiting for the intruder to walk in or break down the door as he had downstairs.  There was a moment of silence as both parties considered their options, perhaps whoever was outside was going to leave.  Inside the room, the occupant was considering calling out.  If the intruder was reasonable, they would listen and leave.  If not, however, they would probably just break in and kill him.  Just as he opened his mouth to say something, something slammed against the door, resounding against the walls.  In the moment, the startling attack on the door made him shout.



"Fuck!"  His cover was gone, all he could hope was that whoever's outside wouldn't try to kill him.  "Who's there?" 


There was silence for a moment.  Maybe they would just break the door down and shoot him to death on the spot.  It could be that they weren't really expecting anyone.  Maybe they were the only people who hadn't disappeared?  No, he'd heard shouts and gunshots come from outside.  Just when he thought he was hallucinating the whole thing, he heard a noise...


@Psychonaut

 

[Psychonaut]

A voice! He bit down a gasp. He hadn't heard one of those for hours. It was no louder nor more grating than the crack of shattering wood or glass, yet far more jarring. He had yet to encounter a survivor in his scouting, and they hadn't given him any instructions in anticipation of one. They'd assumed everywhere he would be going would be empty, their inhabitants run out into the streets like they had the rest of them, and yet here someone was.
The boy had only seen a couple of days of this new world and already he had learned everything he needed to know. As soon as everyone realized that the adults were gone and nobody was enforcing the rules anymore, there had been a brief descent into madness. Old scores were settled with fists and baseball bats and throats were cut over food and supplies. Their spilled blood disappeared under the falling snow, their bodies dragged into alleys or left out to be slowly buried. He was lucky he found friends as soon as he did. There were a lot of people that didn't like him. There was no trusting strangers anymore.


His mind went suddenly, blissfully blank, his whole body calming as the choice became clear. He laid the door out flat with another kick and leapt into the room, axe held ready for a second swing.

 

[NuclearTrinity]

Damn it, he was right.  After a few seconds of silence, the hope of a friendly encounter was torn from his mind as the door was kicked to the ground.  He'd spent nearly a week doing nothing more than milling about the apartment building and sitting on the couch, and was in any state but physically fit.  His combat abilities were doubtful, to say the least.  Perhaps he could take the intruder by surprise, but there were no guarantees that he was going to walk into the room like an idiot.  The best he could manage as a defense was to just charge and stab when he walked into the room.  He said nothing this time, the stress of the situation starting to get to him.

 

[Psychonaut]

As ready as the boy had been two seconds ago to enter the room ready to hack anyone he met to pieces, he stopped midway through a stride. He might have felt invincible, but he wasn't. He could be surprised with something sharp or even simply be choked out if he didn't approach absolutely perfectly, and he knew he wasn't that good. He had been in a few schoolyard scraps before, sure, but he was no expert in hand-to-hand combat. There was no telling what whoever was in there was capable of, and he didn't feel like risking his life to find out. There was another way to handle this.
He tried to speak, but his words caught in his throat. He cleared his throat and began again.
"My name is Michael Wash. I'm scouting this building for supplies. If I'm not back in an hour, people will be looking for me. Nobody has to die today." His voice was low and firm when he found it. "But if you don't show yourself empty-handed in the next five seconds, someone will."

@NuclearTrinity

 

[NuclearTrinity]

He stood against the wall, weighing his options.  It is fully possible that Micheal was actually going to go about this nicely, but it could also be that he was just trying to lure him out so he could kill him with less effort.  Five seconds, he was told, five seconds.  He didn't have much time to decide, but he figured that if this Micheal actually didn't want to fight, then he could wait.  He slowly opened his mouth to speak.


"Alright, Micheal.  How can I trust you not to bash my head in as soon as I walk out the door?"  He paused, carefully considering his next words, hoping he sounded more intimidating than he probably did.  "Just know that if you try anything, I'm ready for it."


@Psychonaut

 

[Psychonaut]

He couldn't suppress a smirk. The kid was cocky. As controlled as Michael presented himself, inside a wave of relief washed over him. Cocky, maybe - but cooperative. They might be able to avoid a fight.
"Because axes don't bash, they cleave. You have my word."
Michael stuck the handle of the axe down his back, its head hooking securely onto the straps of his backpack. He drew his left elbow in briefly as he lowered his hands. The hard form of his knife greeted him against his ribs. He was no fool.
"See for yourself. I'm unarmed. I don't want to hurt you, I'm just here scoping the place out," he explained, lowering his voice to what he intended as a warmer, more friendly tone. He took a slow step forward as he did, coming within a foot of the threshold.

@NuclearTrinity

 

[NuclearTrinity]

He sighed, glad to have gotten over the hostility.  He ran his stray hand through his hair, and cleared his throat.


"Alright.  I'm stepping out now, so if you've got a gun then be aware."  He announced.


Slowly, he held his hands out with the knife in his right one.  He then stepped from the wall and presented himself in the doorway.  At first glance, it was easy to notice his piercing green eyes and black hair.  "My name's Vaughn.  Nice to meet you."  He said, extending his hand.  "I'm glad we were able to get out of this without killing each other."

 

[Psychonaut]

Michael was quite the sight. White-painted cargo pants were tucked tightly into the collars of heavy black combat boots wrapped in duct tape, with slits cut in the sides to access the zippers. He wore a thick down coat, also painted white, open with only a sweated-through white wife beater underneath, and a whitened backpack and gloves. He was light-skinned - pale by some descriptions - with long coppery hair cropped short on the sides, hard hazel eyes behind a pair of half-rimmed glasses, and fair Polish-Italian features, notably an angular jaw, subtle cheekbones, a light brow, and a rounded nose. At that moment, those features personated a pleasant, if guarded expression as he accepted the greeting, clasping hands with a few firm shakes and a widening smile.
"The pleasure is mine, Vaughn. That makes two of us." Caught up in the boy's suddenly disarming presentation, Michael made no mind of his guard and entered the room, putting a few strides' distance between them as he looked around and out the window.
"Sorry about your door. Nice place you've got here, though! Hope you're not too attached to it. You'll want to take everything useful you can with you and get going," he said, in a sudden gushing ramble, as though he were relieved to finally have someone to talk to. "I don't know how you've lasted here this long, the water doesn't work everywhere else I've been, along with everything else - I presume frozen in the pipes, and-"


He stopped short, confusion crawling across his face, as though he had been smacked upside the head with a perplexing realization.


"Wait a minute. Why are you still here?" He shifted backward, gaze trained inquisitively upon the other boy.

 

[NuclearTrinity]

Vaughn was definitely less presentable than Micheal, considering his lack of and feeling for the past few days. He was wearing a medium gray parka, black knit cap, black snow pants, and a pair of hiking boots.  His face gave hints of Greek descent, with a medium sized nose that traveled in a straight line, rather than rounded off.  He had a rounder jaw than Micheal's, a thicker brow, and higher, more pronounced cheekbones.  He stood about an inch shorter than Micheal, and his hair was unstyled and unmaintained since the disappearance.  Lowering his hands, he sheathed his knife and exhaled.  


"Well, I was planning on leaving later today, actually.  It's just that I was in a bit of a mood ever since everyone, you know, disappeared and all.  I was planning on checking out all the closer buildings first, as I hadn't seen anyone else in this area for a while - until you showed up anyway."  Vaughn explained, barely hiding his trepidation.  "And, don't worry about the door.  It's just a matter of time before I abandon this place.  I can't handle the lack of electricity.  I was thinking of moving somewhere farther south with a bit less snow, and a bit more people." he joked.

 

[Psychonaut]

Michael looked sidelong at the boy, brow furrowed. Now that he thought of it, it didn't seem impossible to have just stayed put after the disappearance, but it seemed like nobody had. He personally had had little reason to - his place was nearly picked clean of food from the previous night, so he had simply geared up and got going, and it seemed that most everyone else were doing the same. Apparently not this kid, though. Michael struggled to extinguish his irrational reservation.
"Uh-huh," he droned, syllables stretched with audible suspicion. "Yeah. That's not a bad idea."
He adjusted his stance, shifting his weight onto his back foot and crossing his arms. To the casual observer it seemed he had merely closed his body language, but more eagle eyes would see that his right hand had disappeared into the breast of his coat, thumb and index finger curled around the pommel of his knife.
"Well, you're going to have to expedite your exit schedule. This whole street is getting looted by nightfall, and I doubt all of my people will be so friendly."

 

[NuclearTrinity]

"Hm."  Vaughn mused, barely audible.  "Well, up until now, nobody has come up this way.  I've got nowhere to go, and if there's other people scouring around like you say there are, I guess it's better to go with you, to wherever you're from.  I'll bet that whoever's in charge over there wouldn't mind an extra person who can help out,"  he said.  "If you'd give me a minute to gather anything I'd rather keep, I could go with you."  


His expression, coupled with his tone of voice made him seem almost reluctant to leave.  It was his home, but if he was going to survive in this new world, he'd have to move on.  


Not waiting for an answer, he darted deeper into the apartment, emptying his worn out black school bag and going room to room filling it with what he though could be useful in this new world: a half-full utility lighter, some scraps of paper to be used as kindling, what little cash he had, a pry bar, a flashlight, water, and non-perishables.  He was just turning the corner to the entrance when he noticed the worry beads hanging on the picture frame of his brother.  He took a slow step over, picking them up and fiddling with them, as you were supposed to do when you were worried.  The worry beads belonged to his grandfather, an immigrant from Greece who died shortly after Vaughn turned 13.  He and his grandfather were very close, spending a lot of time together in his grandfather's metalwork shop, where he once fashioned a small dagger.  The dagger had long since chipped, damaged, and lost, but it had been quite special to him. They were small enough to carry in his inner coat pocket, so he stuffed them in his jacket.  


"I'll see you soon bro," he lamented, taking a final glance at the picture, brushing his hand taint the frame.


Upon returning to the entrance, he found Micheal standing there, waiting for him.


"Ah, you didn't leave, that's good.  Now, unless you want to soak in the rest of this place's beauty, I can assure you there's nothing upstairs that could be of any use," he said.

 

[Psychonaut]

"We'll see."
Michael watched the boy retreat into the apartment and released the knife, permitting himself to relax. The kid was eager, not that he could be blamed for it. He leapt at the opportunity to group up when he was faced with it, yet now that he had people, he was wary to let him in so readily. Trust was one of the rarest things out there then, and another pair of hands came with another mouth to feed. Still, the choice wasn't his to make.


His consideration quickly passed the time the other had spent packing. When he returned, Michael seemed perhaps a little softer.


"Then let's get going. It's no short walk back to the rest," he said, adjusting the straps of his backpack and taking a few steps toward the empty threshold. "I'm going to have to take that knife of yours, though, and anything else you might think of using as a weapon. Just for now. You understand." There was no trace of a question in his voice.

 

[NuclearTrinity]

Vaughn was all giddy and excited to finally be leaving, when he was slammed in the face by some words he didn't want too hear.  


"I'm going to have to take that knife of yours," (Italics don't seem to be working)


Dammit, this wasn't just a grab'n'go decision to make.  For all he knew, Michael could just be playing a facade, waiting to lure him into a false sense of security only to kill him and take everything he had.  He stood a few feet away from the other boy, frozen mid-stride.  He reverted back to a normal stance, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at Michael.  "Any why would you need it?  I doubt you guys have some official policy that states that you are required to disarm anyone you bring back to - camp, I guess."


Vaughn hated to bring an air of hostility into the room, but he didn't trust this Michael guy enough to just hand his knife over, even if he was friendly up to this point.

 

[Psychonaut]

Michael held firm, his gaze cold.
"We survive because we trust each other. I just met you - I have no reason to trust you." Though he was looking at the boy, his mind was on the knife in his breast pocket, priming his reflexes to draw it. "If you want to join us, you're going to have to earn our trust, and you trusting that I won't put that knife in your ribs as soon as I take it is the first step towards me trusting that you won't put it in my back if I don't."


He extended his left hand, palm up. Time to close the deal.
"There's no way you're leaving with me unless you give me that knife. I've got two inches and thirty pounds on you, and if you've been in here since it happened, I'm willing to bet that I'm more familiar with fighting. Maybe you get lucky and kill me, and then you're on your own. I give you three days. Give me that knife, though, and maybe I kill you, but maybe I don't and you live until somebody else does. What's it gonna be, kid?"

 

[NuclearTrinity]

Vaughn hesitated.  There was no way he'd take his chances with this person who breaks into the building and kicks his door down.  


"You know what, I'll just go my own way.  If you don't mind moving, I'll just get out of your way and never see you again."  Vaughn was keeping his anger down, something that he'd learned to do as a child.  


There was an air of suspense, Vaughn wasn't expecting Michael to let him walk out.  If it came down to a fight, he would have to do everything he could to make it out of the entrance and into the hall without getting hurt.  He doubted that he could take him on, and his face was starting to give away his anxiety.  He was quickly trying to think of a way to get out of here, but he saw no options that didn't involve a quarrel with Michael.  Unless, of course, he let Vaughn leave.

 

[Psychonaut]

He stood his ground for a moment, his eyes smoldering like two black coals. There were already hairline cracks forming in the kid's stoic veneer. Perhaps he could have been intimidated, but it wasn't worth the time. They had no use for another green little scrub anyway.
"Fine." Michael stepped out into the hall, floorboards creaking underfoot, until his back was against the wall opposite the empty threshold. He gestured to the end of the hall on his left from which he had entered, his right hand stuffed into his pocket.


"Get out of the Village. If I see you outside when I'm done here, you'll regret it." It sounded like a promise.
The silence that followed the utterance of his last word was far briefer than he had expected. A near-imperceptible reverberation came up through the floor accompanied by minute sounds of footsteps. By his best guess, there were at least three others entering the building. He looked urgently at Vaughn, wide-eyed but with a hard, lowered brow, and drew a finger to his lips.

 

[NuclearTrinity]

The sound of footsteps replaced the sound of their voices.  Vaughn was just about to walk out the door and into the street, but with the arrival of a party of possibly armed and dangerous individuals, both he and Michael were looking at each other with a mutual knowledge of what was very likely about to happen.  Vaughn gestured deeper into the apartment, indicating for Michael to follow him.  He slowly turned around and quietly made his way over to a doorway.  Each step felt like he was walking on broken glass, but he managed to stay silent.  Hopefully they hadn't yet made enough noise to alert whoever else were encroaching the building.  They were making their way upstairs, the fifth step giving it's characteristic squeak six times.


With a quick glance back to Michael, he stole into the bedroom, where in the corner stood a large bureau.  Vaughn whispered, barely loud enough for Michael to hear, "There's a false cabinet on the right side, behind it is a hollow space."


With that, he went over to the closet, which was nearly empty.  He went in, trying his best to hide himself behind a few shirts.  He waited and could do nothing more than hope for the best. 

 

[Psychonaut]

Michael hesitated to be led, then relented, his footfalls as feather-light as he could manage. Though the boy went to ascend the stairs, he didn't follow as readily. He tried to get his attention to tell him his intentions, but Vaughn seemed too focused to notice. His eyebrows bounced on his head, lip tightened. Oh well. He would get the message one way or another.
He took the other stair, descending without any care to go unheard, landing heavy on each creaky step and raising his voice.
"Hello down there! Who goes?" he called, reaching the landing of the fourth floor. He briefly scanned the hallway and strained to hear anything. Their movement below had stopped, or they had at least begun moving silently. He figured that there was no chance of hiding, and that if they were found, they would certainly be at a disadvantage in an ensuing fight. His heart pounded in his chest, but he struggled to breathe deeply and keep calm. Everybody dies eventually.


He resumed his audible descent at a lessened pace, eyes peeled, and called out again.


"I mean you no harm! My name is Michael. I'm here from the gang up in the Garment District," he lied flawlessly as he came halfway down the flight. They were chattering amongst themselves in hushed, nervous voices. He could see through a sliver of the doorway, pausing his stride a moment to analyze his situation. There were three of them, younger than himself by his best guess, and two of them were armed with a baseball bat and a crowbar respectively.
He completed his descent and presented himself in the doorway, hands on his hips.
"What brings you to the East Village?"

 

[NuclearTrinity]

Vaughn had been too focused on garnering an escape plan during their ascent to notice Michael leave, but the creaking on the stairs alerted him to his absence.  He turned around and saw Michael going the other way and decided that if he was planning on taking these people by surprise or probably talking to them, that was definitely better than being caught in hiding.  Being caught would only lead to their demise anyway.  As Michael spoke, the people below stopped talking and moving.  Vaughn was beginning to think this was a bad idea, when they turned to go down the next flight of stairs and saw that the other people were slightly younger and quite scrawny.  In their eyes, he could see that they were all scared and definitely didn't want to fight.  Vaughn stood at Michael's side, ready to support him just in case.

 

[Psychonaut]

Michael must have been too caught up in his own plans to have noticed that Vaughn had changed his own and was now standing just beside him at the landing before the three intruders. Somehow his presence was reassuring, despite his left brain's insistence that the boy was nobody to be trusted, yet his right suggested that his sudden supportive appearance was reason to believe in him. He swallowed the thoughts and stepped forward, out into the hallway and out of the bottlenecking safety the threshold offered.


"Stop!" one of the boys shouted. He couldn't have been any more than fifteen, dark-skinned and wiry. He gripped his baseball bat white-knuckle-tight, eyes full of unrestrained fear. "Don't come any closer!"


"It's alright," Michael assured, his voice drawn low as he took a few steps closer. "You could fit that bat up my ass faster than I could pull my axe, couldn't you?"


The smallest of the boys found some humor in his words, but was quickly silenced by another, tall and black. "There's three of us and two of you. Do what we say."
Michael allowed himself a laugh. "There's a lot more than just the two of us, kid. A dozen more are coming to loot this block, and they'll be here any minute. Now, if they find you and I tell them you were well-meaning and cooperative, they'll let you go on your way - but if I tell them to, each one of you are gonna have four stronger, older boys to deal with, and they'll pull you apart like a rack of spare ribs. What's it gonna be?"