If you're a returning member, no, your account has not been deleted, we've actually changed board since you were last here. just go ahead and register, PM one of the staff, let us know you're here, and we'll get right to work converting your information and post count from the old board. Keep in mind that any RPs running on the old site are probably still there, so if you don't see them here, just check the 'Home' Page, and follow the link back to the old board. |
| Empire of the Damned; Personal Apocalypse | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Oct 25 2009, 01:43 AM (134 Views) | |
| ~Jedi~ | Oct 25 2009, 01:43 AM Post #1 |
Anthropomorphically Awesome Jedi Knight
  ![]](http://209.85.62.24/static/1/pip_r.png)
|
A shaky piece of camera footage replays on TV's across the country. Taken from a National Guardsman's Helmet cam near the Huntington Blockade, it depicts the wearer firing a full burst of his M-16 Assault rifle into a large crowd of people, who are slowly moving towards him. The rounds blast through the flesh of the mob, but only one falls. Fires rage in the background as the soldier runs, others ahead of him firing back at the mob. A tank lies at the back of the street, it's main cannon pointing in the direction that the camera was running from. The camera dives to the ground, and a wave of static hits the screen as the tank fires. The mob is scattered, parts literally blown into chunks. Those that weren't killed still struggle tirelessly towards the National Guard line, either on legs or dragging along the ground with their arms. The camera turned, and suddenly was filled with a human face. At least, part human. One eye was hanging out of it's socket, the other fixed directly on the man wearing the helmet. It's face was eaten away, stringy bits of muscle hanging freely from it's torn jaw. "This video was recovered just a few days ago from the National Guard front line, which continues to be pushed backwards. The epicenter of this biological attack was Huntington, West Virginia, and all contact has been lost with officials within the city." Local news had been taken off the air in favor of a single, nation-wide news broadcast, which was played both over the television and the radio. The news station itself was a mess, people working furiously in the background and constantly moving behind the camera or handing papers to the anchor. "This just in, we have a copy of the government's infection rating for the country."  The map appeared on the screen, with the Anchor talking over it. "Severity level of infection ranges gray through red. Gray means sparse to no infection, green represents mild infections, yellow moderate, orange advanced, and red severe. Please note that lesser levels indicate that cases of infection are spread out, not that they do not exist. Also, most major cities show an increased population of infection." The feed cut back to the anchor, who was being handed another set of papers. "Residents are urged to not panic. The government would like to offer some suggestions to keep you safe. Please, do not go out after sundown. Avoid travel, and stock up on supplies. Do NOT, under any circumstances, react with any infected individuals. It is recommended that proper healthcare precautions are taken." The news went on to describe how scientists were still working on finding a cure for the virus, or finding out about what it even was. Reports were often contradictory and confusing, but there were a few things that were certain: It was lethal, caused infectee's to attack without warning or provocation, and granted someone infected with the virus near-superhuman pain tolerances. Or, so it seemed. No one was sure how the virus was spread, or why infected chose to try to eat their victims. The whole country was in a panic. "Again, it is urged that you are to stock up on supplies, stay in groups, and wait for further instructions." |
| |
 |
 
|
| ~TobiasBrahms~ | Oct 25 2009, 09:46 PM Post #2 |
Phantasmagoria
|
The newscaster said again, "Again, it is urged that you are to stock up on supplies, stay in groups, and wait for further instructions." Logan laughed, and turned the television off before tossing the remote across the room. "Wait for further instructions my ass." He moved across the break-room at Xe's USTC Facility west of Chicago, Illinois. He knew what needed to be done. He walked to the armory and pulled out his security badge. When he swiped it through the card-reader in the wall beside the heavy steel door, the locks clicked open and the door slowly slid open. Once the door opened, he stepped into the armory, pulling a large backpack from the wall for what he needed. He walked along the aisles, with the bag in his left hand, dropping equipment into it. Three twenty-round drums for the AA12, a five-hundred round box of twelve gauge shells, six spare fifteen-round clips for the Kriss Carbine, a five-thousand round box of .45 bullets, and a combat knife. He zipped the bag up before he headed to another aisle. He pulled a AA12 combat shotgun from the shelf, slipped the sling onto his shoulder and walked further down the aisle. A moment later he picked up a Kriss .45 Carbine, he checked the folding stock before he clipped it onto the front strap of the backpack. He left the armory with his equipment and headed for his car. As he exited the building and neared his car, he pulled his keys out and tapped the remote starter button on the keychain. The car started with a soft purr. He opened the passenger door of his car and dropped the backpack with Kriss Carbine attached into the front passenger seat. He carefully pulled the shotgun's strap off his shoulder and set it barrel first in the floorboard. He closed the passenger door and walked around the back of the car and opened the trunk. He smiled at his extra fuel cells in the trunk and pulled his tactical vest out. He pulled the vest on and zipped it up, then he pulled his katana out of the trunk before he checked to be sure the ethanol fuel cells were still full. He closed the trunk and continued to the driver side door. He opened the door and sat down, setting the katana in the seat as he did. He slipped the ignition key into the lock cylinder and pushed it into the 'run' position to unlock the remote starter's safety systems and the vehicle's shift and steering locks. He pressed the clutch in, shifted into first, and floored the gas, taking off in a cloud of smoke from the burning rubber. Edited by TobiasBrahms, Oct 25 2009, 09:47 PM.
|
| |
|
|
|
| ~The Silver Fox~ | Oct 26 2009, 01:56 AM Post #3 |
Welcome To War
|
BANG! Smoke curled up from the barrel of the Heckler & Koch .45 caliber USP. The body of the gun's owner fell to the floor, a dark red hole in his forehead. The person holding the gun slowly lowered it, his breathing heavy and uneven. His arm shook from the adrenaline surging through his system and the realization that he had just shot someone. Granted, that someone was technically already dead, but that still didn't make things much easier. Nate gripped the pistol with both hands and proceeded to empty the rest of the magazine into the man's body, eyes closed as he did so. This was still too real for him. When the gun ran out of rounds, he dropped the magazine and forced the slide forward before loading another clip, his hands still shaking and making it difficult. Several other people heard the gunshots and ran downstairs to see what was going on, but Nate ignored them, muttering "Fucking...dumbass...get bit and don't tell me...stupid mike-foxtrot..." The man he had just killed (for good) had been the owner of a very impressive collection of guns, something Nate took advantage of as soon as his nerves calmed enough to let him do so. There were many nice weapons, including an M107, but Nate was no sniper, and such a weapon would likely be overkill against zombies. Nevertheless, he did grab two ten round clips of the .50 caliber amunition. You could never tell when you'd need something like it. One rifle in particular caught Nate's eye. Removing it from its rack, he inspected it thoroughly. An SL8, a sporting rifle version of the H&K G36 assault rifle. And judging from the high-capacity STANAG magazines stored in the cabinet underneath it, it had been fully modified to work as an assault rifle. An even closer inspection revealed that the safety had been turned into a fire selector switch, confirming that it was, in fact, capable of fully automatic fire. Nate carried the gun out to the car he had been driving, then through it and his backpack, full of ammo and a few dry foods in the backseat. He had stolen the car from another student back at Case Western, and was heading west. He had made it about halfway to Indiana before stopping at this gun collector's home for the night, along with a few other people. One of them had been infected, and managed to bite the owner. He had hid the evidence, and ended up becomming a zombie himself. Most of the other people at the house were on different floors, and so only learned that the owner was infected AFTER Nate had already shot him. The spectacled youth shot the others standing at the door an icy glare as he walked back into the house.He knew it wasn't really their fault he almost got eaten, but he couldn't help feeling angry with them for not being around to help him out in some way. Nate picked up a suppressor for each gun, then grabbed two extra cans of gas from the garage. Both gas tanks went in the trunk. He then got into the driver's seat, slammed the door shut, and sat still for a second, breathing heavily and slowly. After a minute, Nate started the ignition and slowly backed away from the house. Soon, he was on the road again, heading west. The goal was to meet up with his friend Mason somewhere in rural Illinois or Missouri and then head to Colorado or Wyoming. According to news reports, the rocky mountain states were the safest places to go. Nate could only hope they stayed that way long enough for him to get there as he grabbed a cold pop-tart and began eating it without satisfaction as he drove. |
|
"Why does everyone still call me 'kid'? I mean, seriously, right now, there's five twelve-year-olds helping fight this battle, and you're calling a nineteen-year-old gunnery sergeant 'kid'? I think I deserve a little bit more respect than that!" "Sure thing, kid." ~ exchange between Gunnery Sergeant Vanessa L. Hansen and Captain Mason N. Dowling in Sami's War | |
|
|
|
| ~TobiasBrahms~ | Oct 26 2009, 07:48 PM Post #4 |
|
Phantasmagoria
|
Logan had been driving for hours, he pushed the button on his radio, "Colonel Logan Fuller, US Air Force, calling Wright-Patterson control." He continued driving in silence as he waited for a response, he knew he'd been driving on I-65, headed south for nearly forty miles. A small red light, flicked active on the dash followed by a beeping alarm. "Shit, have I really driven three-hundred-fifty miles?" he asked himself. He flicked a switch and the light and alarm turned off. He pressed the button on his radio, and tried again, "Colonel Logan Fuller, US Air Force, calling Wright-Patterson control, emergency priority code four. Please come in." A burst of static answered him, follwed by a faint voice, <Wright-Patterson control here, Colonel Fuller. Chief Master Sergent Sylar here sir. What can we do for you?> "Sylar, I'm inbound to you from Chicago. About two hours out, I require access to the Xe Services hangar, and the base armory, I also need a volunteer from the base personel pool to acompany me from the base to Huntington, West Virginia to assist the Army quarantine of the area." <Well sir, that volunteer would be me. I'm probably the only person on the base that has special ops training like I would hazard a guess that you have sir. I'm sending someone to unlock the armory for you now. Anything else you're going to need, sir?> "Yes, I'll need someone from the mechanic pool to weld some supports onto my car. Something to keep infected people from being able to break the glass. I'm also going to need as much MREs as can be fit into my car and a Xe Services Grizzly APC, it was up for the Army's MRAP-2, but was passed over, I happen to know for a fact that there is one in the Xe hangar, equipped with an AA12 Hammer remote turret." <Yes sir, I'll get some people on that right away.> Fuller paused for a moment, "Sylar, are you the ranking man on base?" He heard a sigh over the radio, <Yes sir, I am. Major General Mitchell was killed when the base perimeter was breached yesterday.> "Okay Sylar, just hang tight. I'll get there as soon as I can." *** Two hours later, Colonel Logan Fuller pulled up to the main gate at Wright-Patterson AFB. The base mechanics has set up a three gate lock at the gate. He pulled up to the front gate, and it slowly rolled open. After pulling through the first gate, it closed behind his car. Once the first gate closed completely, the second gate opened, and he pulled through it. The procedure repeated for the third gate and he was now on the base. He drove straight to the Xe Services hangar. *** Edited by TobiasBrahms, Oct 26 2009, 07:50 PM.
|
|
| |
|
|
|
| ~a young cunning fox~ | Oct 26 2009, 09:12 PM Post #5 |
Phantasmagoria
|
"i need to get to Nebraska", Nick said to a patrol guard in Huntington. I'm sorry sir. no one can leave this area. It is still the most infected location at the moment", The guard replied. you don't understand I'm not infected." "that doesn't matter you could still carry part of the infection." "Fine you know what I'll go to Canada tomorrow", Nick retorted before slammed the gas pedal, and sent his van hurdling down the road. Nick was still driving when he found an auto-shop place. He pulled in, and grabbed a welder, and some steel sheets. He then opened up the back doors to the bed of the van, and landed a steel sheet up against a wall, and started welding the steel sheet to the wall. until he welded the roof, all the walls, and even the floor was welded with two steel sheets. Nick then headed out to find a gun store. He drove around for about an hour until he found one. He pulled into the parking when he opened the door he saw three infected round the corner. Nick ran, and the infected followed at a slow jog. He busted open the door ran behind the counter, and grabbed a 12. gauge pump action shotgun from under the counter. When he looked up the infected had just made it inside. "Don't be empty, please god don't let this gun be empty,"He said as he point at one, pumped the shot gun, and click. BANG. pump. click. BANG. pump. click. BANG. After getting over the shock that Nick had just killed three infected, he grabbed a sword from a display case(It looked like a cutlass), kept the 12.gauge pump action, and found an AK-47 with some extra rounds. Hr found a door which lead actually to a house behind the store. He grabbed a duffel bag, and stole the mattress, pillows, and blanket. Nick then got out of the store opened up the back threw every thing in, and landed down the bed, closed the door, got in the front, and drove to the town barrier. "There.Just ahead", Nick said to himself. When he saw the barrier he slammed the gas pedal downed, and rammed the barrier made out of crude wood and steel sheets. He heard a loud thud, and to his surprise he made it. Nick then drove off to Nebraska, and then Canada... |
| |
|
|
|
| ~Jedi~ | Nov 5 2009, 08:38 PM Post #6 |
|
Anthropomorphically Awesome Jedi Knight
|
"Good Mooorniiiiiiiiiing Vietnaaam!" Mason jerked awake as the custom ringer on his cell phone alarm repeated, Robin William's voice continuously recounting the funny phrase from the movie of the same name. He reached up and slapped his alarm, dragging himself out of bed. Grumbling a little to himself, he walked over to the window behind the television set, which offered a spectacular view of the nearby EL train tracks. One of the trains was stranded on the tracks, as it had been for the past week when the city stopped running power to Public Transportation in order to conserve it for more necessary functions. Ara, his roomate, was still asleep, as he usually was on Thursday mornings. He didn't have class until 1:00 PM, so Mason was usually up and gone by the time he woke up. Then again, after classes had been cancelled, Mason still found himself waking up before his high school friend. Despite the fact that he hated the mornings, he still found it invigorating to wake up early. Or, at least earlier than Ara; it was, after all, 9:30. Mason made his was to the bathroom and stripped out of his shirt and boxers, stepping into the shower. He had only just got done rinsing the shampoo out of his hair when the water sputtered a few times and began growing cold at an alarming rate. "Son of a bitch!" Mason hollared, quickly turning the water off. He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself, shivering a little. "Whuzzah...." Ara's voice drifted in through the thin walls of the bathroom. "I think the pilot light's out. That, or the heat's just gone," Mason replied, quickly drying himself off and changing into a fresh set of clothes. It was a simple but effective garb; a pair of tough, dark-blue jeans, a black My Chemical Romance shirt with white writing, and his trusty, slightly-oversized gray hoodie jacket. Throwing his Medic-Style Messenger bag over his shoulder, he walked out his Dorm room's door, hearing Ara's snores resume at a slow, steady pace. He made his way down through the floors of the Regis dorm building, just throwing a cautious eye down the hallways. Classes had been cancelled, but most of the students who didn't commute still lived on-campus. No one knew when classis would (or even if they would) resume, but, at the moment, Loyola was holding it's own among the various forms of chaos that held the general city of Chicago. Several volunteer groups of Students patrolled the Loyola campus and border 24 hours a day, willingly taking in misplaced Chicagoans and keeping any infected out. While it wasn't a rare site to see a random infected person shambling around campus, it was rare to see any more than three in one place at one time. Most people didn't leave their respective dorm buildings anyway, so there wasn't much real danger from infectees unless someone went out and was being an idiot. The dorm buildings themselves were reinforced, having several students stationed in the Lobby at all hours. The doors themselves remained locked anyway, and one couldn't get in unless they scanned their Loyola University ID. All in all, it was pretty safe. Mason made his way through the lobby, trading a word or two with the RA working the main desk and chatting for a minute with one of the Sentry's that he recognized. She had sat next to him in Chemistry. Making his way over the small barrier in front of the door, he grabbed one of the titanium baseball bats that rested near the door. Students had a variety of makeshift weapons and armor: Baseball bats, Hockey Sticks topped with sharpened skate blades, and Football padding that was for intermural football games. He had come to favor the baseball bat, and had taped a string of blue electrical tape around the handle and "Sweet Spot" of the bat to signify that it was, in fact, his. He couldn't actually claim it if anyone took it, but they generally knew who used what and respected it as such. The meet-up spot was the middle of campus, on a large grassy field that had once been used for pickup soccer games and a sunning spot on warm afternoons by the various college girls. It was about a five minute walk from Regis, which Mason didn't mind; it allowed him time to wake up and get a sense for everything. It was nearly silent throughout the campus, which was still unsettling to him. He was used to the hustle-and-bustle of hundreds of students at any given time, along with nearby road traffic. Now, the only thing that was making sound was his own footfalls, his bag hitting his thigh, and various gusts of wind from the lake. A shuffling sound from nearby broke the silence. Mason's heart skipped a beat, and he gripped the bat tighted, sliding the bag off of his shoulder. The sound had come from in the parking garage, and, a moment later, Mason heard glass break. He swore, picking up the Messenger bag and running to the garage. It sounded close, so it wasn't on any of the upper floors. A crink-crunch style noise let him hone in on what was causing the sound: A lone infected, who had apparently locked himself in a car before turning. The man, who looked almost human aside from the stark paleness of his skin and the bloodied marks on his hands where he had punched out the window, was slowly pulling himself out of the car. He made it out half way before gravity took over, the dark-haired man falling to the ground. Despite being so close to an infected, Mason sighed and began calming himself down. It was just early morning jitters; he normally wouldn't have gotten as worked up as he did. Hell, he had read enough Zombie books before the disease spread to know that panicking was one of the worst things to do. The man slowly got to his feet and spotted Mason, and let out a small moan and began stiffly shuffling towards him. Mason eased the bag down onto the ground and took a two-handed grip on the bat. "Sorry, mate," Mason said, taking a batter's stance. The zombie got within swinging distance and tried to lunge towards Mason. "Nothing personal." He swung the bat around from right to left, feeling it tear through the air before making contact with the man's head. A thick, high-pitched BINK resonated through the hollow tunnels of the parking garage as the bat's metal contacted the flesh and skull of the infected. The zombie's head jerked backwards at an unnatural angle, doing so with such force that his feet left the ground and having him fly backwards a few feet. Mason walked over to the crumbled body of the infected man, nudging it with the tip of the bat. A large, bloody indent was in the man's skull, slowly seeping crimson-black liquid onto the cracked asphalt of the garage. Another breeze blew through the parking garage, signifying a return to the commonplace. Mason sighed, and looked down at the bat. He had added yet another small dent to the end, acting both as a mark of honor and a reminder to what he was doing with it. He picked up his bag and slung it back over his shoulder, meandering through the garage and back towards the meeting point. His voice drifted back behind him, echoing eerily through the concrete structure: "I keep a close watch on this heart of mine... I keep my eyes wide open all the time... I keep the ends out for the tie that binds... Because you're mine, I walk the line...." |
| |
|
|
|
| ~Bloody Pom~ | Nov 6 2009, 05:38 AM Post #7 |
I Fly!
|
This changes everything. We're living in a country with the most advanced medical science known to man, and then... this happens... Isaac just couldn't get over it. In a matter of mere days, almost all of America had come under the influence of this bizarre ailment... a virus that turns its victims into bloodthirsty, mindless animals. It was as if the Devil himself had taken the common rabies virus and twisted into some unholy blight of his own design. Normally, the young medical student wasn't much of a praying man, but after seeing the camera footage, it suddenly sounded like a good idea to him. Rising from the side of his bed, he drew the sign of the cross. "Amen." Thankfully, life was almost normal in Anaheim. Reports of infection were springing up regularly as with all the yellow zones, but the general running of the city seemed to be holding together... for now. Taking the time to shower and clean himself up, he knew he had to get out of town. The grey zone wasn't far from his location in southern California, so he figured that the best plan of action would be to stock up for the journey and get there as soon as he could. He cleared his pantry of everything that wouldn't go off; bottles, cans, jars and packets. Those, he stashed in the trunk of his car. Knowing that it probably wasn't a good idea to leave the house unarmed in case he was set upon by the infected, he decided to use what he had; a Colt Python, a gift for his 21st birthday, and the Remington shotgun he'd bought for himself. After all, you could never be too careful. Maybe the English man was just paranoid after hearing some nasty stories about the crime rate in America. He noted that he didn't actually have much ammunition for either; a quick stop over at a gun store would remedy that, surely. Unfortunately, no sooner had he opened the garage did the thing he'd been fearing turn up. A strangled noise that was somewhere between a moan and a growl distracted Isaac, who wheeled around on the spot... to see the infected, feral figure of the single mother who lived a few houses down the street for him. "Oh, God..." He knew that if she was infected... either her young boy was dead or infected himself. Biting his lip, he dug his hand into the waistband of his jeans where he'd stashed the Colt. "Forgive me." No sooner had she turned hostile and lunged for him, had he drawn the revolver, bringing it level with her head, pulling back the hammer and looking away as he pulled the trigger. There was a loud bang and the growling noise stopped abruptly, instead replaced by a gurgling death rattle as the woman's corpse dropped to the floor, a bloody hole where her right eye used to be. Opening his eyes and looking around at his victim, Isaac let out a choked gasp, staring in horror at the now-lifeless body before him. Retching, he suddenly dropped to all fours and doubled up, vomiting onto the ground right there and then. Coughing a few times, he drew a shaky breath and rose to his feet again, swallowing and tucking the gun back into his jeans. "I have to get out of here now... even this neighbourhood's infected now." And he did, wasting no time at all starting up his car and speeding off, turning the Nissan towards the northwest. Get to the grey zone... that's all he needed to do. Then everything would be alright... wouldn't it? Edited by Bloody Pom, Nov 6 2009, 05:39 AM.
|
"A battle for supremacy against many foes is a battle of the best kind. There are few considerations, only those concerning where to place your next shot. It is war in its purest form." - Commander Karziel, Ultramarines 5th Company  
| |
|
|
|
| ~Jedi~ | Nov 30 2009, 02:51 AM Post #8 |
|
Anthropomorphically Awesome Jedi Knight
|
General Samuel MacMillan slammed his fist against the card table, causing it to wobble threateningly. Inside of their impromptu command base, inforation was flowing about as fast as Niagra Falls, but the ammount of it that was actually useful was the comparative tea kettle. However, the latest revaltion, though a mere drop, was enough to make him shake. Reports were arising of isolated cases of the infection popping up in England and France. "This," MacMillan said, tapping a finger heavily upon the piece of paper on the table in front of him, "does not leave this tent, and for damn sure doesn't get to the press." The young E-3 paygrade that brought him the report nodded and stepped away from the table, returning to her prior duties. The General sighed, a hand snaking up to his brow and running across it a few times. He was 65 years old, and should be retired. He could've had nice house, a farm somewhere. That'd would've been his dream home, to take his wife Margret out to the midwest somewhere. 'What kind of nightmare is it now, though,' he thought to himself, looking around. Whatever these....things were, they weren't like any enemy he had fought before. They were civilian, or at least supposed to be, but at the same time had more focus and determination than any soldier he had ever seen. A soldier, a sergeant of about 30, rushed into the command tent, interrupting MacMillan's thought. "Sir," he said breathlessly, "Zack's moving through. We just lost contact with Ohio South." ---------------------------- "We now go live to senior correspondant Jeff Ames. Jeff, how're things looking out there?" "Not good, Henry. I'm here in Central Park, which has turned into a kind of 'Hoovervile,' for lack of better term. Camping tents, trailers, and arrangements of all shapes and sizes are crowding the park, trying to fit as many refugees as possible. Word of increased fighting has reached us from inside the city, and, according to our contact with the government officials here in New York, they will likely soon try to close down most vehicular traffic until the situation is under control. We have reports of infection spreading more throughout the city, though those rumors are unconfirmed at this time. And it's not just New York, apparently most major cities, because of their population, are experiencing a rapid growth of this disease. Scientists, both private and military, are working around the clock to find a cure. To those listening, the military urges you to stay where you are, or to go to the nearest military facility. This is Jeffery Ames, reporting live from Central Park, New York City. Back to you, Henry." Edited by Jedi, Nov 30 2009, 02:52 AM.
|
| |
|
|
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Random Role Plays · Next Topic » |
3:07 AM Dec 6
