Futuristic | Surviving The Apocalypse

[captain_bumblebee]

Code by: Ambiloquous

A

Surviving The Apocalypse - 1x1 RP between captain_bumblebee and Nomai

A parasite is an organism that lives on or in a host and gets its food from or at the expense of its host. Initially gone undetected, a new parasite evolved, one which feeds on humans' brains, using them as an incubator for their eggs up until these hatch and the host dies. The symptoms resemble those of the common cold/the flu - it starts with a cough, a snotty nose, tense muscles and exhaustion. A fever follows soon after. It's only when it's already almost too late that the infected loses any and all brain activity. They no longer exhibit any self-preservation, nor any thoughts - they are only driven for their sole need to hunt down more feed for the parasite living inside of them.

Although still at the beginning of the epidemic, settlements were quickly established in an attempt to keep any diseased people away from the healthy. Muse A lived in such a settlement, up until they were exiled for helping the sick. Lost, and completely helpless in the dangerous outside world, it doesn't take long for Muse A to find themselves in a sticky situation. What happens when Muse A is helped by a kind stranger, Muse B, and decides to tag along Muse B's journey? Can friendships still be formed in these times? Or are people set to all turn on one another at one point, doomed to perish?

 

[Nomai]

If someone had told Ada a year ago that she would one day play a key role in a drug smuggling scheme while navigating an apocalyptic hellscape, she would have asked what they’d been smoking. Yet, here she was, tucking a small packet of methadone tablets into the inside pocket of her jeans while she pretended to adjust her belt. Three months into the end of the world and she was already resorting to black market crime. Her mother would have been proud.

“Ada,” a voice from behind her said, and her spine stiffened before she realized it was only Imani, her friend and co-commiserator at their assignment working the med dispensary that was operated out of an old CVS. “What are you doing, girl? We need you up front.” Ada grabbed a prescription bag from the adjacent shelves and wagged it in front of her. “Well, no need for it to take two years.”

“Come on, Imani, you know I’ll never be able to keep up with you. You’re the best this dumpsterfire’s got. There’s a reason the big boss man got you your own apartment while the rest of us are painting each others’ nails in the dorms like a bunch of college girls.” Ada said, and immediately regretted it.

“I didn’t ask for it, you know. And I didn’t…I didn’t do anythi--”

“I know,” Ada said, averting her gaze. Imani sighed.

“You’re always in your head, you know. Someday it’s gonna get you in trouble.”

“Yeah, but someday’s not now,” Ada retorted. The words tasted like lies even as she said them.

“We’d better hope not. There’s too much work to be done in the place to lose anyone else. Now get your ass back up to the front.” Ada obeyed, trying to shed the guilt that clung to her like the fucking slime her little sister used to make.

I’m doing this for Mae, she kept reminding herself, and tried not to think about the patients who would find that their painkiller supply wouldn’t last until the next refill.

…

His name was Corporal Levine, and he was notable only for his weak chin and the patchy beard he grew to try to compensate for it. It was he who approached Ada after she was turned away from the MUPO -- the Missing and Unidentified Persons Office -- for the seventh time.

“I’m sorry, Maeve Dunne is not registered at any of the other QZ’s…”
“Unfortunately she hasn’t been identified…”
“I know this isn’t the news you were looking for…”
“Nothing…”
“We’ll let you know if we hear anything…”
“I’m sorry…”
“This is very hard, but I think it might be time to move on…”

So when he told Ada that he could help -- for a small favor -- of course she listened to him. She would use her position at the MD to smuggle pills, mainly methadone and other painkillers, to him, which he would then sell to other buyers. In exchange, he would have his contacts search for information regarding her sister. And, for two months, it went as planned, but in the end-times nothing can last for long.

…

At 1 in the morning, she met Levine in their usual rendezvous location -- a study room in the abandoned UCLA Powell Library. Staring him in the eyes, Ada took out the packet of pills but pulled her arm back when he reached for them.

“It’s been long enough,” she said. “I’ve brought your supply every run only to hear the same empty, bullshit answers. I need something.” Levine fidgeted.

“I’ve told you, we’ve been searching, but it’s not a cake-walk tracking down one teenage girl, especially with parasites and Infected lurking every which way.”

“Fine,” Ada said, tucking the packet back into her pocket. “Then we’re done here.” She began to walk to the door when she heard Levine murmur something unintelligible. “What did you say?”

“New York,” he said, casting his gaze away from her. Ada immediately stepped towards him.

“Where? Where in New York?”

“The city. Look, I don’t know much, and I don’t want this to get back--”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s all I can say,” Levine replied, his voice hardening as he placed his hand on his gun. “Now give me the pills and go home, preferably without getting your ass caught in the process.”


When Ada returned to the MD for her shift the following morning, Imani pushed her into an alley before she could even take a step though the back staff entrance.

“Imani, wha-?”

“They’re looking for you,” she said, panic bubbling in her voice.

“Who?” Ada asked, praying to a god she didn’t believe in that the answer wouldn’t be the one she already knew it was.

“The Feds,” Imani answered, and Ada felt her heart plunge. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. Had her boss caught on? Did Levine rat her out the second suspicions were raised? “They’re saying someone’s been lifting meds…that’s not…you’re not…?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Imani.” She saw the hurt in her friend’s eyes, and couldn’t bring herself to explain, to give her excuse. It wouldn’t be enough. Imani would forgive the stealing -- she had a little brother herself -- no, it was the lying that she wouldn’t be able to let go of.

“You need to leave,” Imani said. “Take the back exit out the QZ…that’s where they bring in the med shipments. There aren’t many Feds stationed there on non-delivery days.” Ada nodded and took Imani’s hands in her own. She wanted to say something but her mouth seemed incapable of forming words. “Go,” Imani commanded, the urgency in her tone finally shaking Ada into action.

She was able to reach the back exit without issue; it was still dark out and she doubted that many of the Feds were all too familiar with her face. However, as she slipped towards the cover of the overgrown urban ruins that lay outside the QZ and untouched by the Feds, she stumbled across a guard taking piss on a rusted fire hydrant. He quickly finished and turned when he heard Ada approach, aiming his gun at her.

“Well, Miss, I don’t think you’re supposed to be out here.”

 

[captain_bumblebee]

The Mystic — ADAM JENSEN

Carlos Díego Garcia — 37

“

I swing both ways.

Violently. With a bat.

”

Once a sprawling metropolis, Los Angeles now lay in ruins. Skyscrapers that once pierced the skyline stood as hollow skeletons, their windows shattered and facades crumbling. The once-busy streets were now eerily quiet, devoid of the vibrant energy that once characterized the city. Nature had started to reclaim its territory, with overgrown vegetation breaking through cracked concrete and asphalt. The smog that once hung in the air had been replaced by a heavy sense of desolation and decay. Buildings were covered in layers of dust and debris, remnants of the chaos that unfolded. Tattered billboards and faded advertisements hung precariously, swaying in the occasional gusts of wind, reminding passersby of the city's former glory. The infrastructure had suffered immense damage, with collapsed bridges and collapsed sections of highways, making transportation difficult and fragmented. Abandoned vehicles were scattered throughout the streets, rusted and lifeless, serving as reminders of a time when they were once the lifeblood of the city.

Empty and desolate, the neighborhoods of LA told stories of mass exodus and desperation. Once-thriving communities were now reduced to dilapidated and decaying structures. Broken windows and boarded-up doors offered glimpses of the desolation within, where remnants of people's lives lay abandoned and forgotten. The iconic landmarks of LA had also succumbed to the ravages of time and the apocalypse. The Hollywood Sign, a symbol of dreams and stardom, stood weathered and half-collapsed on the hills overlooking the city. The beaches that once attracted crowds now lay deserted, their shores lined with debris and the remnants of forgotten beachfront businesses. Among the ruins, there was an underlying sense of danger and uncertainty. Scavengers and desperate survivors roamed the streets, seeking supplies or shelter. The absence of law and order had given rise to makeshift camps and factions, each vying for limited resources and control.

Surrounded by high concrete walls topped with barbed wire and reinforced with makeshift barricades, the quarantine safe zone in Los Angeles stood as a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. A heavily guarded entrance served as the gateway into this protected enclave, manned by armed guards who carefully screened those seeking entry. Inside, the safe zone was organized and structured, with designated sectors for housing, essential services, and communal areas. The buildings within the safe zone had undergone necessary repairs, their walls reinforced, and windows fortified with metal shutters or protective screens. Narrow streets crisscrossed the safe zone, flanked by low-rise buildings that had been repurposed as living quarters, medical facilities, and supply depots. Makeshift signs and markings guided residents through the maze-like streets, ensuring efficient navigation within the confines of the safe zone.

A central plaza served as a gathering point and a hub of activity. Here, survivors could find community bulletin boards, where important announcements and updates were posted. It also served as a marketplace, where residents could trade essential supplies and goods salvaged from the outside world. In the safe zone, basic amenities such as electricity and running water were restored, although they were rationed to ensure sustainable usage. Small gardens and hydroponic systems were cultivated to provide fresh produce and supplement limited food supplies. Water filtration systems were in place to ensure a safe and clean water source for the residents. Security obviously remained a top priority within the safe zone. Regular military patrols, both on foot and in vehicles, monitored the perimeter and kept an eye out for any signs of external threats. Guard towers were strategically placed along the walls, offering vantage points for surveillance and defense.

Community involvement and cooperation were encouraged within the safe zone. Residents were expected to contribute to the well-being of the community, whether through assigned duties such as gardening, security shifts, or providing medical assistance. Communal spaces, such as meeting halls or recreational areas, offered opportunities for social interaction and shared activities, fostering a sense of unity and resilience. While the safe zone provided a semblance of security, there was still an inherent understanding that the outside world was dangerous and unpredictable. Regular communication systems were established to monitor radio frequencies and gather information about potential threats or opportunities for resources beyond the walls.

Carlos Garcia had spend the last few weeks diligently preparing himself for the perilous journey that lay ahead. In the midst of this strange new world, where danger lurked around every corner, Mark had honed his skills and gathered crucial intelligence to ensure his chances of survival outside the relative safety of the LA safezone. Physically, Carlos was of average height and build, his body reflecting the months of hardship and constant struggle for survival - even pre-outbreak. His face bore the marks of battles fought, displaying a mix of determination and weariness. His piercing gaze held a flicker of hope, an unwavering determination to persevere despite the chaos that had engulfed the world. Even Carlos' attire was a testament to his practicality and adaptability. He wore a worn, rugged leather jacket that provided some protection against the elements and the grasping hands of the Infected. Beneath the jacket, he donned layers of durable, camouflage clothing, allowing him to blend into his surroundings when necessary. His sturdy boots were scuffed and well-worn, and would serve him faithfully as he'd navigate treacherous terrain.

Equipped with a weathered backpack, Carlos carried a meticulously organized array of supplies, each item chosen with purpose. Inside, one could find a combination of essential survival tools, including a trusty hunting knife, a compact but reliable firearm, and an ample supply of ammunition. He also carried a carefully rationed stockpile of non-perishable food, water purification tablets, and a first aid kit to tend to his own injuries. A rifle, very obviously stolen from one of the military outposts, was slung around his shoulder onto his back.

Carlos' unwavering determination was matched by his strategic mindset. He had diligently mapped out potential routes and identified potential safe havens and resource caches. His weeks of gathering intel had equipped him with knowledge of the Infected's patterns and vulnerabilities, providing him with an advantage in evading their relentless pursuit. As he prepared to venture beyond the relative safety of the safezone, the man felt a mix of apprehension and excitement. He understood the risks that lay ahead, but he also recognized the necessity of exploring the outside world to uncover answers, and more importantly: to reunite with loved ones.

Carlos, acutely aware of the necessity to evade undue attention, meticulously devised a plan to traverse the labyrinthine depths of the Quarantine Zone. Recognizing the strategic advantage offered by the less-frequented rear exit, particularly under the cloak of darkness, he embarked upon a silent journey, cautiously treading the path towards his escape. Every step was a calculated ballet of stealth and discretion as Carlos deftly maneuvered through the shadows, keenly attuned to the slightest hint of movement or sound. He meticulously scanned the surroundings, ensuring his clandestine departure would remain unseen by prying eyes. The weight of the world seemed to rest upon his shoulders as Carlos wove through the complex web of structures, his senses heightened, anticipating any potential obstacle that may threaten his progress. Each moment spent inching closer to the back exit was accompanied by a surge of adrenaline, fueling his determination to remain undetected. With an unwavering resolve, Carlos pressed forward, mindful of the ever-present risk of discovery. His heart pounded in synchrony with each carefully measured footfall, his body attuned to the rhythm of stealth and evasion. The cloak of darkness concealed his movements, granting him temporary respite from the watchful gaze of the authorities. In this dangerous dance, Carlos knew that every decision held weight, every breath drawn in silence was a testament to his commitment to survival. The path to freedom lay before him, and with unwavering determination, he propelled himself closer to the beckoning exit, resolute in his quest for liberation from the oppressive grip of the Quarantine Zone.

As the former soldiee cautiously approached the back exit, a glimmer of hope flickered within him, bolstered by the absence of immediate obstacles. The cover of darkness embraced him, shrouding his movements, and he believed that the unfamiliarity of his face to most Federal authorities would work in his favor. However, his heart sank as he witnessed an unforeseen encounter unfold before him, threatening to jeopardize his escape. Carlos's instincts kicked into high gear as he observed the guard concluding his unceremonious act, hastily turning towards the sound of someone else's approach. The guard's swift reaction, gun aimed at a young woman with an air of authority, painted a grim picture of the imminent danger that had materialized. In that pivotal moment, the man's mind raced, searching for the optimal course of action. He understood that a misstep could lead to catastrophe, potentially unveiling his presence and sealing his fate within the confines of the Quarantine Zone. Fueled by a combination of survival instinct and a keen understanding of the stakes, Carlos needed to make a decision swiftly and wisely.

One possibility was to seek immediate cover, utilizing the shadows and remaining as inconspicuous as possible. This would buy him time to assess the guard's intentions and potentially exploit any fleeting moments of distraction or vulnerability. Alternatively, the man could opt for a more direct approach, attempting to engage the guard in a verbal exchange that could defuse the tense situation. Skillful negotiation or deception might grant him an opportunity to convince the guard that he posed no threat and was merely a lost or confused bystander. Ultimately, the choice would depend on Carlos's assessment of the guard's demeanor, and the overall risk involved. With his escape hanging in the balance, Carlos would need to rely on his wits, quick thinking, and the ability to adapt to the unfolding circumstances to ensure the best possible outcome in this dangerous encounter.

Eventually, the man narrowed his eyes, a deep sigh escaping his throat. The former special forces soldier moved with the stealth and precision that only years of rigorous training could have provided. Every muscle in his honed physique seemed attuned to the art of silent movement as he closed the distance between himself and the unsuspecting guard. With the darkness as his ally, Carlos skillfully navigated the dilapidated urban terrain, his senses acutely attuned to the faintest sound or shift in the surroundings. Each step was a careful dance, his footfalls muffled against the decaying remnants of a once-thriving city. As he closed in on the guard, the man blended seamlessly with the shadows, his body becoming one with the darkness. His senses were heightened, every nerve on edge, as he meticulously planned his approach, analyzing the guard's stance and movements for any hint of vulnerability. Silently, like a wraith, Carlos closed the gap, his training and instincts guiding him. His breathing slowed, becoming controlled and deliberate, matching the rhythm of his calculated advance. His eyes remained fixated on the guard, assessing his body language and the positioning of the firearm.

Timing was crucial. With a surge of agility and years of combat expertise behind him, Carlos launched into action. Swift as a striking serpent, he closed the remaining distance in a blink, his hand finding its mark on the guard's weapon with precision and dexterity. "Run!", he yelled out to the unfamiliar young woman, exploiting a moment of surprise as he deftly disarmed the guard, employing a seamless combination of fluid motion and finely honed technique. With the firearm securely in his possession, Carlos pressed the advantage, quickly maneuvering into a position of control, subduing the guard with a calculated yet efficient display of force. His military training shone through as Carlos swiftly neutralized the threat, rendering the guard incapacitated and unable to raise an alarm. In a matter of heartbeats, he had transformed from the hunter to the hunted, seizing control of the situation with the calculated finesse that defined his special forces background. As the tension dissipated, Carlos exhaled a silent breath of relief, his expression betraying a mixture of satisfaction and unwavering focus.

Without missing another heartbeat, Carlos reached down to grab the guard's gun, not wishing to waste such a useful resource. The man looked back at the QZ one last time before he finally turned around, following the unfamiliar young woman into the darkness.

 

[Nomai]

Back when Ada and Mae were little and their father was still a part of their lives -- albeit an increasingly fleeting one -- he would whisk them off to to his Beacon Hill townhome on the occasional weekend. To the girls, the building appeared a castle; with it's brownstone walls and protuding half-dome coloums, they could pretend that they were lost princesses returning home from a life of destitude. During the day, Isaac would take them to the Commons where they would ride the duck boats before going out to Ben and Jerry's for ice cream when the heat got to be too much. And at night, they would play Sluagh.

The game would work like this: one person would be the sluagh -- a maelevolent fae or damned soul from Irish lore -- and would be tasked with hunting down the "humans." All of the lights were dimmed with the exception of a few lamps, and the sluagh would count to twenty while the others hid. Then, using darkness to their advantage, the sluagh would creep through the home, attempting to catch the humans before they had the chance to run. When a human was "eaten", they would become a sluagh as well...after all, the sluagh found the most success in packs. Eventaully, they had to stop playing because Mae started having nightmares.

So, as the guard stepped towards her with a leering smile and his fly half-unzipped, Ada barely had time to react before a lean. dark figure swept down upon the man like a fucking sluagh and disarmed him within the blink of an eye. She froze in shock, her mind struggling to keep up with the speed of what had just occured in front of her. The sluagh yelled something at her, but it took her several moments to comprehend what he was saying. Run.

Stumbling backwards, Ada tripped over the split sidewalk, her hand stinging as she narrowly managed to catch herself on the cold cement. Picking herself up, she tore through a partially collapsed alleyway, kicking up debris and and stringy weeds as she scrambled over the broken stone. It felt like she was back in her father's townhome, sprinting across the carpeted floor when he inevitabley found her not-so-hidden hiding place. Except she wasn't in Boston and the monsters were not for pretend. After running for what seemed an entire lifetime, Ada slid inside an abandoned coffee shop and collapsed behind the counter. It was a Starbucks, by the look of it, if the green, forlorn, siren mascot was any indicator, and despite her current situation, Ada still couldn't help but let out a scoff. Not so high and mighty now that there's no one left to buy your over-priced coffee.

Taking a breath, Ada closed her eyes, praying to a god that she didn't believe in that she could have just a moment where someone didn't want to blow (or eat) her brains out, if that wasn't too much to ask.

 

[captain_bumblebee]

The Mystic — ADAM JENSEN

Carlos Díego Garcia — 37

“

I swing both ways.

Violently. With a bat.

”

Carlos's heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted through the desolate streets, each step echoing his urgency. The once bustling city now lay in ruins, nature reclaiming its territory with relentless determination. Overgrown vines coiled around crumbling buildings, and shattered glass crunched under Carlos's boots. The air was heavy with an eerie silence, broken only by the distant howl of wind and the rustling of leaves. Carlos glanced back over his shoulder, making sure he wasn't being pursued. He had just rescued a young woman from the clutches of danger in the Quarantine Zone, a place he knew he had to escape. Why he had stepped in, the man did not know. He didn't know the kid, had no affiliation with her whatsoever. Rescuing her might have jeopardized his own escape. With every step, he could feel the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, knowing that his life depended on how fast and far they could run.

The young woman, her face etched with fear and exhaustion, ran far ahead, leading the way through the maze of broken streets and dilapidated buildings. He tried to match her pace, his legs burning with exertion, refusing to let fatigue hinder his progress. "Wait!", the man called out to her, though she didn't seem to hear him. Or maybe she just didn't wish to talk to him at all. Carlos; however, needed to know. Why would anyone wish to escape the QZ, the apparent safe haven for everyone? Carlos had a mission ahead of him, people to find and rescue - but that person? That young woman, barely an adult - what was she doing out there? Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he stumbled upon an abandoned coffee shop—a Starbucks. The once-familiar green logo had faded, and the windows were covered in grime, concealing the interior from prying eyes. Carlos pushed open the door, and it creaked in protest, as if voicing the desolation of the world outside.

Inside, the air was stale, tinged with the faint scent of roasted coffee beans that lingered despite the months of neglect. The counters were coated in a layer of dust, and broken ceramic cups lay scattered across the floor, remnants of a bygone era. The silence enveloped the space, amplifying the emptiness of the once lively establishment. This abandoned coffee shop, now his temporary sanctuary, offered a momentary respite from the harsh realities of the outside world. Carlos knew he couldn't stay long, but for now, he would catch their breath, potentially regroup, and plan his next move. "Are you in here?", the former soldier called out, his hand still holding the gun he'd stolen from the guard. "Listen, I don't wanna hurt you.", Carlos mumbled, exhaling sharply. It'd definitely been a while since he'd last ran for such a long time.

Carlos closed the door behind him, shutting out the desolation that awaited beyond. In the dim light filtering through the grimy windows, he found a small table near the counter and took a seat. His weary body sank into the chairs, aching for rest, yet his mind raced with the weight of his predicament. As he sat in that abandoned Starbucks, the sound of both his and the woman's ragged breaths filled the silence, mingling with the distant whispers of a city in ruins. Carlos knew that danger lurked outside, that his journey had only just begun, but for that fleeting moment, he found solace in the shelter of a forgotten coffee shop—a silent testament to the world that once was. "Are you hurt?"

 

[Nomai]

In the before-times, Ada had always preferred the closing shifts at Caf. "I don't get it," her butch, sixty-something manager Al said when she asked for her fifth night shift in a row. "I usually have to threaten "replacements" to get anyone to close."

Ada shrugged, wiping down the espresso machine with a partially soiled cloth. "Does this mean you'll give me a raise?"

"Ha! Is that what you were aiming for all this time? Sorry, Bean, but I'd have a mutiny on my hands."

"Worth a shot," Ada replied, feigning disappointment. In reality, she enjoyed closing--she liked watching as customers slowly dispersed and the coffee shop grew quieter, and when the bell at the door clinked and announced the departure of the final patron, it felt like she was the last person in the world. The Caf would still be warm from the heat of the steamers, and the bitter and comforting scent of coffee dregs would settle around her like an airy blanket. And, as Ada locked the doors and dimmed the lights, she felt safe. Safe from what, she didn't know, but in her mind it seemed as though nothing could penetrate her fortress of espresso beans and caffeine.

But now, in the dilapidated Starbucks, she felt anything but that. The quiet that had once been a source of peace felt irreversibly wrong, and the smell from the molding pastries in the display made her want to retch. Behind her, she heard the crunch of glass on the floor, and with panic filling her chest, Ada snapped her head towards the door. As the stranger--a soldier of some kind, he must be...perhaps a deserted Fed? A merc?--stepped into the coffee shop, she unconsciously scrambled for a shard of broken ceramic. Its sharp edges dug into her skin as she clutched it in her hand, she silently begged for the man to just turn around and leave.

"Are you in here? Listen, I don't wanna hurt you." The voice grew closer, and she imagined his eyes scanning the room, searching.

Yeah, right. because you can one hundred percent take someone at their word, especially when they're equipped with a gun and most certainly have used it before.

The door creaked shut...she was a wild animal trapped in a corner. In the dim light, the man moved into Ada's line of sight sank into a partially splintered chair. She wasn't fooled though; despite his relaxed demeanor, she knew he was still alert, ready to jump into sluagh mode at any moment. For a few seconds, neither of them said anything, and she was surprised by how winded his breathing sounded. Perhaps he wasn't an unkillable beast after all. Ada started when he spoke again...Are you hurt? What kind of question was that? He didn't know her, had probably never even seen her before? She briefly considered the possibility that he was gauging how difficult she would be to take down before turning her into a nice dinner, but no...He had told her to run. Not something many hunters advise their game. And he had saved her, regardless of what he intended to do next.

Gripping the rim of the counter, Ada stood up, still grasping the broken shard. It was only then that she realized how ridiculous she must look--a tiny woman with no real weapon against a soldier with a gun. Buzzing with adrenaline, she summoned up as much delusional courage she could manage. Ignoring his question, she leveled her gaze at him and asked her own. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"