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| Immortal Medical: Chronicles; Zombies. Lots of zombies. | |
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| Topic Started: October 31 2008, 10:01 AM (204 Views) | |
| Jakob Gray | October 31 2008, 10:01 AM Post #1 |
The Gray Ranger
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OOC "So you're a cop now? Really?" Joshua Rollins said over the phone to his son. "Yeah, da', I finished Police Academy today." "Oh, wow. My son's finally doing something. You're actually doing something with your life!" "You said that when I started working at Silver Records." "Yeah, but this time you've got a real job." "Alright, Dad, whatever. I'll talk to you later." Mikhos hung up the phone, grabbing a cup of coffee and his leather jacket. He even got to work tonight. Popping a butt in his mouth, he grabbed his keys and went out the door. It might be his first night on the job, but at least he had been in training for what seemed like ages. He unclipped his keys off his belt, looking at the stars in the sky. It was awfully dark out, he noticed. He might see some action. On his first night! He was excited, to say the least. He wondered what it would feel like to arrest some drunken idiot on drugs, or some sort of moron who decided to punch his wife in the mouth. He put his coffee in the cup holder by his knee, and put the keys in the ignition. The almost new car sprang into life Pulling out of the apartment building parking lot, he turned on the radio, and his COPS-style dashboard camera. He liked to pretend that this would make it on the telly someday. First night of work. Couldn't be too hard. Edited by Jakob Gray, November 3 2008, 09:14 PM.
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| Wally Barrecks | November 2 2008, 06:15 PM Post #2 |
Jack of Many Trades
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A roaring engine tore through the night, that of a Blue 1980's Oldsmobile. The beast nearly glided on the road, probably 30 or 40 over the speed limit. Bloody marks were spread across the car, whether they been lines of crimson, or gruesome hand prints. Whoever the driver was, they had to be crazy. "Wellll, I don't need nothing, before the show, I don't need nothing, well that's not so, I neeeeed something before the show, just a little to to make me ggooooooo-" Wally could barely hear his own thought over the music he was blasting. Although, he wasn't about to turn down that beat. That, and he was too drunk to consider such an idea. The scientist was still wearing his lab coat, it's sleeves rolled up, and his name tag displayed on his front pocket. In his hand was a brew of Tussin and hard liquor, something most would be smarter than to drink such a mix. It didn't help that he was now seeing double illusions from the effects of drinking so much of the two. As his song switched, he took another 5 second swig of his drink, and swerved off the highway. |
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| Jakob Gray | November 3 2008, 08:57 PM Post #3 |
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The Gray Ranger
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Mikhos sat lazily, music quietly playing. He had chosen to lay in wait near the mall, Hawkley Mall. The three floor building was massive, and Mikhos knew that's the spot where people would no doubt gather and go about their boozing. It was always under-age kids, too. Mikhos frowned, thinking of the habit. He himself was never inclined to drink unless suffering from some sort of emotional melt-down. Several dozen cars had passed by as the sun went down, the scanner showing the same 40-55 km/h. Then again, this was traffic pulling into the mall. He nearly spit out the coffee in his mouth when he saw someone screech into the parking lot at 90 km/h. The other part of the meter read 56 mph. He gulped down the coffee and his hand flew to the keys to the ignition. Is this guy seriously going to cut through the parking lot at 90 km/h?! Is he trying to kill himself, or someone?! Mikhos took the car out of radio-mode and put it in drive, slamming on the acceleration as he turned on the no-longer-hidden police lights. Whoever this asshole was, he was not getting away with this. Edited by Jakob Gray, November 3 2008, 10:40 PM.
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| Wally Barrecks | November 3 2008, 10:55 PM Post #4 |
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Jack of Many Trades
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Being the insane driver he was, Walt wasn't phased by most of his actions. Although, usually people would notice when they were just driving in circles, especially in a parking lot. That, or the thumps of someone's car as it traversed the curb and islands of the lot. "I don't remember zose being zere...uhhh." Barrecks was fighting quite the urge to sleep, however, with the visions he was occasionally seeing, there wasn't much chance of that. It was quite some time before Wally noticed the flashing red and blues behind him. "Fucking svines... zey always have to ruin ze fun. Vell not tonight, I just have to..." The drunken joker looked down at his shifter, and before he knew it, the car was on the sidewalk, stopped just short of a tree. "Vas ze hell?" |
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| Colton C | November 3 2008, 11:16 PM Post #5 |
Chairman of Advanced Thinkers
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"Just a minute sir, we don't want to rush this." Colton picked up the drill, placing the bit inside the patients brace. "As I drill, I need you to read the cards that the nurse holds up. The biopsy will only take a few moments." Colton is a dexterous man, and keen in the mind. Vsssstt!!! The drill starts. Colton begins to push down, into the man's scull. One centimeter, two centimeters. Colton removes the drill. "Extraction kit!" A nurse walks across the room and hands a needle to Colton. Just place it in the brace... one centimeter, two centimeters, three centimeters... "Got it!" Eeeee!! "What's that?" A nurse walks towards the window, "some drunk just crashed onto the sidewalk across the street." "Great!... Close up." Colton then removes his apron and gloves, and walks out of the room. His shift is over. |
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| Jakob Gray | November 4 2008, 08:53 PM Post #6 |
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The Gray Ranger
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Mikhos got out of the car before angling the camera to watch him go up to the speeder's vehicle. He chucked the cigarette from his mouth on to the damp pavement by his feet. He waited as the man inside, who was in a lab coat, rolled down the window. Almost as if an omen, the spitting rain began to fall in more of a drizzle. "Do you have any fucking clue to how bloody fast you were goin' just now?" Mikhos asked, looking at the obviously drunk scientist. "In a parking lot, no less? You're lucky no one died, ya sod." The skinny cop furiously scribbled on the increasingly wet pad of paper, waiting for the drunken reply of the man in the car. |
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| Wally Barrecks | November 4 2008, 10:25 PM Post #7 |
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Jack of Many Trades
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Staring out the window at the cop looking down on him, the drunken scientist fought to not bob his head to the music still blasting. Something about a song dubbed "Wiid", and it's lyrics about marijuana seemed like it wasn't helping the situation. "Um.. I'm in a parking lot, I zought I vas in ze race track.. No vonder zose kids jumped out of ze vay." If his reply wasn't ridiculous enough, he rose the bottle in his hands up to his lips, and then held it up to Mikhos. "Drink?" "Hold on a second, aren't you zh lead singer of... vat vas zat American band of emos... oh yeah, Mein Bitchy Romance.... Vhere's ze rest of zem? Vatever, hold on, I gotta get out and take a picture.." Smiling,, Wally opened his car door, and fell to the ground as he tried to get out, his leg still stuck under the seat. "Vhere'd ze sky go?" |
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| Zac | November 5 2008, 07:32 PM Post #8 |
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He woke up to the sound of an engine ticking itself slowly cool. He smelt smoke and tasted blood. His face was resting on his wrists, which were handcuffed to a headrest in front of him. There was a throbbing in his head, and he was dizzy, but he concluded that nothing was broken or seriously strained. He lifted his head from his wrists and tried to look around. A seatbelt was holding him into his chair, but he couldn't move his hands from the headrests to unclip it. He looked to his right. He was sitting in the rear left passenger seat of a sedan, black leather upholstery. The front of the vehicle was wrapped around a telephone pole. Looking through the gap below the headrest and above the seat he could see the back of a man's head. It was bent at an awkard angle, just within the reach of his fingers. He reached his index and middle finger for the man's neck and felt for a pulse. Nothing. The man had broken his neck, and his head had been smashed into his side window. Fresh blood was trickling from his ear. He knew they can't have been there for a long time. On his right, a man, also visibly dead was compressed into the footspace of his seat, his chest was on his knees. Broken spine, he presumed. In the drivers seat a man was slumped forward, his head buried through the wheel. There was no horn though. The pole must have destroyed the battery. He himself was fine, but he had no idea why he was there, who the dead men in black blood-stained suits around him were, or, he realised with a dry throat, who he was. 'Oh shit' He croaked. His own voice was unfamiliar to him. He coughed to clear his throat and swallowed spittle to whet it slightly. Experimentally he repeated: 'Oh shit.' His voice was clear now, but still unfamiliar. He gathered that he was American, but his accent he couldn't recognise. He couldn't remember who he was, but he knew what America was? He looked around for something, anything to recognise, now more than a little panicked. The gun on the seat was a Glock 17c, semi/automatic 9x19, issued by FBI on overseas operations, used by somewhere around 40% of the World's law enforcement, popular civilian weapon also. How he knew that, he had no idea. He rammed his fists once more up into the headrest, to no avail. It wasn't budging. He was stuck. He called for help multiple times, but he would have thought people would have already heard the crash and come running, it can't have happened more than an hour ago. He had to hope that someone was coming for him. 'Help!' He called again. He didn't know who he was, he didn't know where he was, and he was stuck in a smoking sedan with three dead men. He tried not to look at them, not because of their violent death positions, but because of what his mind was doing. He glanced quickly at each of the two visible men and his eyes were instantly drawn to small bulges, then his mind was working out their approximate size, determining that the one in the driver's seat had a gun in his inside coat pocket, and two magazines, and the crumpled man on his right must have been holding the gun during the crash, as he had no gun in his pocket, but one magazine. Then he was scanning the car for where the magazine spare might have fallen, on the ground? Under a seat? Out the window? He had determined somehow that the man in front of him had died of grievous head trauma, which was then followed immediately by a breaking neck. He visualised the situation, the car slamming into the post, the front crumpling, the man's head slamming into the dashboard as it crumpled inwards, snapping his neck backwards and pushing him back into his left hand window. He shuddered. It didn't take a Doctor to know that the man on his right had died of a broken spine, lifted from his seat, perhaps not wearing a seatbelt as he held a gun, perhaps they were involved in a shootout? Perhaps they had been pointing the gun at him? Or another man in the car? Anyway, he had been lifted out of his seat by the impact and thrown into the small gap back wards, as the car crumpled inwards this pushed his spine beyond his legs and broke it. And the man in the Driver's seat had also died of head trauma, there was no visible bruising around his neck. A moan finally snapped his thoughts away from these gruesome images and back into reality. He looked around in case someone else in the car had in fact survived. No, they were all dead. The source was coming from in front of the car. He frowned, looking as best he could through the windscreen, which, under the trauma had been turned from transparent to the blue shards holding on to each other and keeping together like a carpet of broken glass. He looked through a small hole at the pole in front of them and was disgusted by what he saw. Someone was trapped between the bonnet and the pole, and yet they were still alive, when they should have bled to death from being cut in half. He stared, puzzled. The man looked dead, his skin was blue-grey and there were many visible wounds, each finger pointed in a different direction and his neck was flat against his shoulder, and yet his eyes were open and staring at him, his mouth was opening and closing, gnashing his teeth and moaning. He knew he can't have been possibly alive when he smelt the rot however. He looked away, outside his own passenger window, and then jumped and cursed to see another one, less broken but equally rotten and, like the other one, gnashing it's teeth and moaning, scraping it's fingers along his window, trying to get in. This was just wrong, like a lucid dream, a corpse was trying to break into his car. 'Help!' He shouted again and began the process again of slamming his fists into the headrest, upwards, in an attempt to rip it free. Why was he handcuffed?! He slammed his fists up again and pain shot up through his wrists, then he repeated. He needed to get free, it looked like the thing wanted to EAT him! He slammed his fists into the headrest with all his might and it slammed up into the roof and bounced onto the seat next to him. He couldn't do anything about the handcuffs though. His seatbelt was jammed as well. He swore and tugged at the seatbelt, and then, grabbed the handgun and, without stopping, fired two shots, one out the front window, and swinging it against his chest, firing again out his passenger window. The first bullet went through the throat of the gnashing corpse, banging it's head against the telephone pole and ripping a large hole in it's throat, which didn't ooze blood. It was dead, damnit! The corpse on his left had been shot in the forehead and had fallen. He turned the gun on the seatbelt clip then, and with a bang the seatbelt snapped back into the roof, releasing him. He looked at the gun in his hand. He didn't know how he knew to use it, and accurately, but he could. He leaned over and pulled a magazine from the crumpled man, and then two from the man in the Driver's seat, and another one from the man in front of him, stuffing them all into his Jacket's pockets. He kicked his crumpled door open and pulled himself out, and then, in a matter of seconds he was standing in the middle of the road, gun lowered but ready, looking around for targets. A perfectly executed, military exit. He caught himself, how was he doing this? It was all instinctive reaction, he knew nothing about guns or 'squads'. He didn't know who he was! He didn't...know...Who he was...? The adrenaline which had kept him through that encounter had just worn off, he had just realised fully that he was a man with no memory, and with that he lost consciousness, falling to the tarmac with a quiet thud. Edited by Zac, November 14 2008, 07:35 PM.
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| Jakob Gray | November 6 2008, 06:53 PM Post #9 |
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The Gray Ranger
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Mikhos stuffed the pad of paper in his pocket, finishing the scientist's copy of the ticket. The ink was running, and he had to deal with this mess. He mentally noted: Criminal Speeding, Driving While Intoxicated. This was all he had found so far, though. "Never heard of them," Mikhos lied, hoping to keep the man in the car. He almost felt bad for the guy. He looked as if hell was on his ass. But, no. The retarded scientist got out of the car. When Barrecks fell to the wet pavement, Mikhos sighed. Was he really going to go out of his way to be nice to the first guy he stopped? "Listen, arsehole. Get back in your bloody car, and you won't come with me." Mikhos growled, running a hand through his dampening hair. "And it's raining. Hurry the fuck up and you can go home, after paying the fine." |
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| Wally Barrecks | November 9 2008, 08:19 PM Post #10 |
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Jack of Many Trades
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With drops of rain running down his face, tickling his mouth and nose, Walt raised his head, and took another swig of his drink, although most of it poured onto the curb, the water dilution changing it's color. The deer and cross on the bottle made it clear it was one of the lesser drinks on the market, rather than the 100 proof killers. "Vhere exactly is mein home? Are zere vomen zere? Walt vants sex... Ja, ja, und more party liquor.. und some ozher zhings." The scientist lazily rolled over to lay on his back, his expression almost euphoric, regardless of the exploding droplets of water pelting and exploding on his face. To him, it was images of naked angels overhead. "Could you take a step to ze left, you're blocking ze show.." Clearly he wasn't listening to Mikhos. |
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| Jakob Gray | November 14 2008, 10:22 AM Post #11 |
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The Gray Ranger
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Mikhos casually handcuffed the scientist. "Alright. Yer obviously drunk 'ff your arse." He lifted the moron off of the ground, slamming him onto the hood the car. "Since we can't seem to listen, ah guess we can always sleep it off at the jail, eh?" The drunk scientist was not incredibly compliant, but then again, it wasn't as if he was purposely resisting arrest. Maybe he could find why the fool was going so fast in the first place. "Why were you driving like a bat out o'ell, anyway?" Mikhos asked, wanting to light up a fag. Stress was quite a bit easier to manage for the anxious cop when there was a cigarette to provide the nicotine his body craved so much. |
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| Wally Barrecks | November 14 2008, 09:59 PM Post #12 |
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Jack of Many Trades
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Walt ignored the feeling of his face bouncing off of the hood of the car, it wasn't much worse than a palm strike to the forehead. "Hey hey hey, I vas vatchin' za ladies..." His grin was rather comical as rolled back over to continue watching the sky. As he was questioned by Mikhos, Walt's expression became grim, as well as words became less slurred as they escaped his mouth. Ironically, his car started playing MC Chris is Dead. "Vhy you ask? Ze fucking zombies man, ze fucking zombies. Mein vorkplace became overrun vith zese monsters... humans zat vere poisoned, infected. Zis infection, it destroys almost everyzhing about ze brain, und forces it's host to zhink on a basic level. Ze closest zhings I can zhink to zem would be Zombies." |
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| Jakob Gray | January 4 2009, 10:14 PM Post #13 |
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The Gray Ranger
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"Do these 'zombies' eat flesh, German?" Mikhos asked. Either the guy truly believed there were zombies out there, or he was drunk off his ass and decided to play around with a cop's nerves. No matter, Mikhos' next decision was to haul the guy up to a standing position. "Listen, arsehole. You won't be in the slammer tonight if you agree to get to a court hearing sometime in the next two weeks." Mikhos knew the guy wouldn't make a break for it as Mikhos looked in the scientist's dash for registrations. A Mr. Walter Barrecks. "Listen, Mr. Barrecks. I'll call you tomorrow and let you know when the court date is, because I want to go home, and I bet you do too. Comprende?" |
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