Background Story:
In the age of 2015 an uknown disease started killing people in middle east. Disease started spreating around the world , at first govenrment tried to hide this news from people and public medias, but after some few month something happened it los angeles and disease came to the country of USA.
Government noticed all of these evens around the world and people named the disease "Shadow Syndrome". Infected people started acting like zombies and the illness start advencing on people bodies.
The disease controls human's brain and activities and doesn't give anyone a chance to live again.
A big group of Scientist around the world tried to make a cure for this illness but disease was strong enough. So they stopped trying untill they got killed by these zombies.
In the age of 2016 disease infected more than half of people in the world and 43 countries has been fallen. Millions of people passed away one after one. USA army decided to clear all of states from infected people. But after some weeks they all gave up for some uknown reason.
After that people cut their hopes from government and tried to start saving their lives themselves.
Food ended very early after government tried to give people some foods, after some monthes in 2017 MANY states of USA totally fell, and people made many groups from their family and friends as bandits or maybe they joined military to save america however it's too late
85% of prople in the world are now dead/infected and there is only few civilization around the world.
In the age of 2018 few people which are still alive started talking about a story that tells there is a safe place in CANADA. It was like a new hope or something like a good news.
The People which heard that, made themselves ready for action, and ready to hit the road, they don't know if it's true or fake but the only thing they know is that its only chance to survive and save humanity...
Here is a road, a death road...
~~ OOC ~~
This roleplay story has been written only for fun.
I have to say we only need realistic roleplay, here is NO magical thing and hero (etc.) And all of player must play as a human.
-Don't control other players.
-Don't disrespect each other oocly.
-try to make realistic roleplays.
-You can pm me if here is anything wrong.
Players should roleplay as a person in Los Angeles (Or anywhere else) which trying to survive and reach canada to have a better life in a better place.
Note: Please ask before join
In the age of 2015 an uknown disease started killing people in middle east. Disease started spreating around the world , at first govenrment tried to hide this news from people and public medias, but after some few month something happened it los angeles and disease came to the country of USA.
Government noticed all of these evens around the world and people named the disease "Shadow Syndrome". Infected people started acting like zombies and the illness start advencing on people bodies.
The disease controls human's brain and activities and doesn't give anyone a chance to live again.
A big group of Scientist around the world tried to make a cure for this illness but disease was strong enough. So they stopped trying untill they got killed by these zombies.
In the age of 2016 disease infected more than half of people in the world and 43 countries has been fallen. Millions of people passed away one after one. USA army decided to clear all of states from infected people. But after some weeks they all gave up for some uknown reason.
After that people cut their hopes from government and tried to start saving their lives themselves.
Food ended very early after government tried to give people some foods, after some monthes in 2017 MANY states of USA totally fell, and people made many groups from their family and friends as bandits or maybe they joined military to save america however it's too late
85% of prople in the world are now dead/infected and there is only few civilization around the world.
In the age of 2018 few people which are still alive started talking about a story that tells there is a safe place in CANADA. It was like a new hope or something like a good news.
The People which heard that, made themselves ready for action, and ready to hit the road, they don't know if it's true or fake but the only thing they know is that its only chance to survive and save humanity...
Here is a road, a death road...
~~ OOC ~~
This roleplay story has been written only for fun.
I have to say we only need realistic roleplay, here is NO magical thing and hero (etc.) And all of player must play as a human.
-Don't control other players.
-Don't disrespect each other oocly.
-try to make realistic roleplays.
-You can pm me if here is anything wrong.
Players should roleplay as a person in Los Angeles (Or anywhere else) which trying to survive and reach canada to have a better life in a better place.
Note: Please ask before join
Phill is in the forest, his speed is going to be faster and faster, he is old enough to get tired while running so fast, he continues it until he notices some zombies on his way so he takes out his machete from under of his jacket, while running hits that zombie on his face with it to make sure he won't bite him, after some minutes runnig from zombies he saw a car on his way in the road, hits the window with his elbow, throws his bag and things into the car, opens the door and steps inside before he try to engine it on, the key is right there, he attepmts to turn it on, after five times he finally did it, he drives off from that place. that full zombies.
Keeps driving until he get tired of the road, take something from the dashboard, it would be a CD, turns the CD-player on and puts the CD inside. The music is playing, phill smiles because of hearing a new song after five months. Tries to make his way towards roads with less zombies, after some minutes the song ended and the car is quiet again, he hears something from behind of himself, it would be from trunk, stops the car and holds his machete with his left hand while going out of the car to check he trunk, steps near the trunk, puts the key inside and twists it slowly, Suddenly opens it and noticed a zombie inside, his/her hands are tied and he/she can't move, phill can't believe what he see, places his both hands on trunk and closes his eyes for some few seconds, finishes the zombie with hitting him/her on the head, closes the trunk without doing anything else, goes inside the car and takes off his hat from his head and places it on the passenger seat, continues driving, "2KM to the gas station".
Depression was not a strong enough word.
Desolation.
The old zombie movies had never covered this aspect of the undead apocalypse.
The video games had made it seem fun.
It always went the same way: A group of survivors, tight-knit, somber about the passing of their pasts but seeing the bright side in a world free from the constraints of law and civility. Life as you knew it was over, but at least you could do whatever you wanted, right? If you could stay alive, you could do whatever you so chose. It was the American Dream made flesh. Made rotting, putrefying flesh.
But that wasn’t how it was. Not for her.
Above all else, the end of the world was lonesome. It was desolate. She had grown up in warzones, lived with the chattering of gunfire down distant streets putting her to sleep. She had lived with loneliness, too. But nothing like this. There had always been someone, before. Someone who could, if nothing else, agree that they weren’t so different, that they had more to gain by sticking together than by fighting. Not so anymore. The world was dead. Society was dead. Civilization was dead. Everything was dead. Dead, and shuffling aimlessly.
She wasn’t so different from the zombies, really. That her skin cells still multiplied and her heart kept plodding along meant nothing when the glazed look in her steely eyes was no different from the mindless undead that stumbled in hordes through the streets and alleys, wandering stupidly through the forests. She was as dead as they were - only on the inside. There was no point to anything.
She had come across the sea to the ‘new world’ just in time for civilization as a whole to come crumbling down. Even being just a kid, her experience with perpetual war and chaos had given her the quick reflexes she needed to be among the early survivors. She had raided an old army surplus store while the riots were still boiling in the cities. She had pilfered a gun from a half-dead National Guardsman when most folks were still counting on them to help. She had kept quiet when others screamed. She had conserved her scant munitions when others hit double-tap. She had collected things where she could, never going out of her way. She had starved herself to avoid endangering herself for food. She had hid, kept her head down - she had survived.
But why? What was the point?
Once, she had broken. In her desperation, she had approached a small holdout community for aid. She had been almost raped for the trouble. Barely escaped with her life. Bloody knuckles and a heavy pipe soaked in the blood of her ‘fellow man’. That had been the first time she’d killed another living person - but it hadn’t been the last.
She had it pretty good now, all things considered. Somewhere in a region she - with her limited knowledge of the American map - had dubbed ’Bumble@#$% Nowhere” - somewhere in the California wilderness north of Los Angeles - she had found a gas station. Citgo. Just off Interstate 5. She hadn’t intended to stay at first, but one good night’s sleep and it suddenly seemed like a pretty sweet deal. Far enough from civilization that visitors - living or otherwise - were rare. IT had been the same sort of empty husk that all buildings were when she arrived - but the location was good.
She’d learned early on that even two years after the end of the world, some people were still stupid enough to think that there was any petrol left in the pumps. At first she had gotten a ‘visitor’ once every two months or so. Some poor shmuck would pull up to the pull in their old beater, stuffed to the brim with supplies, food, ammunition, loved ones - looking to fill up and keep heading whichever way they were going, navigating the desolate Interstate 5.
She would hide out in the building, listen, wait. She would peer out over the window, level her gun, and take them out with a single shot to the head. She’d execute anyone else that remained in the vehicle. Then she’d drag the bodies to a nearby ravine - after looting them of course - and pull the car around back to unload all their precious supplies.
Since holing up at the old Citgo a year and a half ago, Riley DeMilo had murdered at least a dozen of her fellow living humans. Possibly more. Innocent people, just trying to survive - and she’d killed them for their stuff.
At the cost of her humanity, she had built up an extensive supply of food, water and munitions. She had a whole collection of firearms and weapons. Everything she had was set up in the building’s small basement making for a cluttered, but safe and sustainable domicile.
She had it made.
But what was the point?
She couldn’t trust anyone. Every time she’d tried it had ended horribly. Nobody could trust her, obviously. People were worthless, food and ammo were precious. But nowadays even that didn’t matter. Because nothing mattered.
She was alone. She hated herself. She lived day to day just sitting around, listening for sounds. Waiting for the one time that she would try to pick off a mark only to have her head blown off. Or worse.
Riley was seventeen years old. A murderer. A survivor.
Every day was a struggle not to put a bullet through her own worthless skull.
But at least she was familiar with the world as it was. Blowing her own brains out was even more frightening. So she convinced herself daily that there was a reason to keep going - to keep sitting around, hiding, killing.
Today was just like any other day, except that she was actually about to finish the job. Clock out and go to Hell where she belonged. She was seated in her basement holdout, chewing on the barrel of her favorite handgun - when she heard the sound of an engine.
It had been almost three, or four months since anyone had stopped at the station, hoping to find fuel in the tanks that were completely empty. But old habits died hard. She did it without even thinking. No reason. Just pure animal instinct.
Silently, the girl crept up the stairs, snaking her way past the door that she had ‘remodeled’ to help disguise her hideout. Staying low, she moved silently to the gaping window and remained out of sight.
The plan was the same as always. Not even a plan anymore. Wait and listen for the poor fool to get out of the car. Hear the car door slam shut. Listen for the fondling of the pump handle, then peek over the windowsill and fire. One shot. Hide the body. Nab the car, hoard the supplies. Same old song.
The irony that it was all probably going to go to waste - that she was probably going to kill herself later that night an make this next murder all the more worthless - was not lost on her. But Riley had long since given up smiling, even at terrible, @#$%ed up jokes like that.
In the silence of the dead, RIley waited. Waited for the person in the car to get out. Waited for the chance to take her shot.
Desolation.
The old zombie movies had never covered this aspect of the undead apocalypse.
The video games had made it seem fun.
It always went the same way: A group of survivors, tight-knit, somber about the passing of their pasts but seeing the bright side in a world free from the constraints of law and civility. Life as you knew it was over, but at least you could do whatever you wanted, right? If you could stay alive, you could do whatever you so chose. It was the American Dream made flesh. Made rotting, putrefying flesh.
But that wasn’t how it was. Not for her.
Above all else, the end of the world was lonesome. It was desolate. She had grown up in warzones, lived with the chattering of gunfire down distant streets putting her to sleep. She had lived with loneliness, too. But nothing like this. There had always been someone, before. Someone who could, if nothing else, agree that they weren’t so different, that they had more to gain by sticking together than by fighting. Not so anymore. The world was dead. Society was dead. Civilization was dead. Everything was dead. Dead, and shuffling aimlessly.
She wasn’t so different from the zombies, really. That her skin cells still multiplied and her heart kept plodding along meant nothing when the glazed look in her steely eyes was no different from the mindless undead that stumbled in hordes through the streets and alleys, wandering stupidly through the forests. She was as dead as they were - only on the inside. There was no point to anything.
She had come across the sea to the ‘new world’ just in time for civilization as a whole to come crumbling down. Even being just a kid, her experience with perpetual war and chaos had given her the quick reflexes she needed to be among the early survivors. She had raided an old army surplus store while the riots were still boiling in the cities. She had pilfered a gun from a half-dead National Guardsman when most folks were still counting on them to help. She had kept quiet when others screamed. She had conserved her scant munitions when others hit double-tap. She had collected things where she could, never going out of her way. She had starved herself to avoid endangering herself for food. She had hid, kept her head down - she had survived.
But why? What was the point?
Once, she had broken. In her desperation, she had approached a small holdout community for aid. She had been almost raped for the trouble. Barely escaped with her life. Bloody knuckles and a heavy pipe soaked in the blood of her ‘fellow man’. That had been the first time she’d killed another living person - but it hadn’t been the last.
She had it pretty good now, all things considered. Somewhere in a region she - with her limited knowledge of the American map - had dubbed ’Bumble@#$% Nowhere” - somewhere in the California wilderness north of Los Angeles - she had found a gas station. Citgo. Just off Interstate 5. She hadn’t intended to stay at first, but one good night’s sleep and it suddenly seemed like a pretty sweet deal. Far enough from civilization that visitors - living or otherwise - were rare. IT had been the same sort of empty husk that all buildings were when she arrived - but the location was good.
She’d learned early on that even two years after the end of the world, some people were still stupid enough to think that there was any petrol left in the pumps. At first she had gotten a ‘visitor’ once every two months or so. Some poor shmuck would pull up to the pull in their old beater, stuffed to the brim with supplies, food, ammunition, loved ones - looking to fill up and keep heading whichever way they were going, navigating the desolate Interstate 5.
She would hide out in the building, listen, wait. She would peer out over the window, level her gun, and take them out with a single shot to the head. She’d execute anyone else that remained in the vehicle. Then she’d drag the bodies to a nearby ravine - after looting them of course - and pull the car around back to unload all their precious supplies.
Since holing up at the old Citgo a year and a half ago, Riley DeMilo had murdered at least a dozen of her fellow living humans. Possibly more. Innocent people, just trying to survive - and she’d killed them for their stuff.
At the cost of her humanity, she had built up an extensive supply of food, water and munitions. She had a whole collection of firearms and weapons. Everything she had was set up in the building’s small basement making for a cluttered, but safe and sustainable domicile.
She had it made.
But what was the point?
She couldn’t trust anyone. Every time she’d tried it had ended horribly. Nobody could trust her, obviously. People were worthless, food and ammo were precious. But nowadays even that didn’t matter. Because nothing mattered.
She was alone. She hated herself. She lived day to day just sitting around, listening for sounds. Waiting for the one time that she would try to pick off a mark only to have her head blown off. Or worse.
Riley was seventeen years old. A murderer. A survivor.
Every day was a struggle not to put a bullet through her own worthless skull.
But at least she was familiar with the world as it was. Blowing her own brains out was even more frightening. So she convinced herself daily that there was a reason to keep going - to keep sitting around, hiding, killing.
Today was just like any other day, except that she was actually about to finish the job. Clock out and go to Hell where she belonged. She was seated in her basement holdout, chewing on the barrel of her favorite handgun - when she heard the sound of an engine.
It had been almost three, or four months since anyone had stopped at the station, hoping to find fuel in the tanks that were completely empty. But old habits died hard. She did it without even thinking. No reason. Just pure animal instinct.
Silently, the girl crept up the stairs, snaking her way past the door that she had ‘remodeled’ to help disguise her hideout. Staying low, she moved silently to the gaping window and remained out of sight.
The plan was the same as always. Not even a plan anymore. Wait and listen for the poor fool to get out of the car. Hear the car door slam shut. Listen for the fondling of the pump handle, then peek over the windowsill and fire. One shot. Hide the body. Nab the car, hoard the supplies. Same old song.
The irony that it was all probably going to go to waste - that she was probably going to kill herself later that night an make this next murder all the more worthless - was not lost on her. But Riley had long since given up smiling, even at terrible, @#$%ed up jokes like that.
In the silence of the dead, RIley waited. Waited for the person in the car to get out. Waited for the chance to take her shot.
hmm, can i join?
Matthew Nagle wrote:
hmm, can i join?
An old country song is playing from the radio, it brought phill to his old days in his father's farm, those days will never come back and it's the thing that he know already.
Imagines his father if front of himself when he tried to teach phill how to ride a horse in the farm, his father passed away many years ago and phill really missed him.
While driving suddenly notices a book next to his bagpack which is placed on the passenger seat by himself. The text "Holy Bible" can be noticed on the book tittle place.
Phill wasn't a religious persom but after world changed he decided to change the way of thinking about people.
Saw many people doing anything to stay alive, but he tried to avoid killing them because he believes in that, lives of people are valuable.
Lowers his speed when he saw the sign of gas station, looks at the building from inside of the car as he takes his machete from his bag, turns the engine off quickly and waits for a moment, looks at the store to check if anything is inside like zombie and etc.
Nothing is noticable except sound of birds living on the roof of building. takes his bag. opens the car door slowly as he holding his machete with his right hand.
crouches and moves towards right side of car slowly without making any noises.
after looking at the windows of the store he noticed there's not any zombies inside and it's suspicious. Suddenly he got an idea to make sure it's not dangerous to go inside. takes out something from his bag, it would be an explosive grenade, he is going to use it but something makes him to lower his hand.
after noticing a huge horde of zombies coming from left side of road from the jungle, they walking slowly and their distance from gas station is something like 28 meters.
"Holy $#%@"
thinks and thinks till he get a good plan, he got two choices and both of them will make him killed, they are coming and inside of the store can be dangerous for him, he doesn't have any idea but when he see a bottle of viskey in his backpack he got it.
takes it and opens the bottle there would be some viskey inside, takes a napkin from his backpack and puts it inside of the bottle very quick, he lights the napkin up and the molotov is ready to use, takes out his machete,uses it to break the glass of the window. two times hit and it breaks, throws it inside and run, fire is going to burn all of things inside and it's can be seen from outside by zombies, now they are going towards the fire expect phill so he ran off from the place and run as fast as he can, left his car to survive. He knews it zombies will go towards the fire or loud sounds and it saved him from this situation.
without checking behind, keeps running amd running on the jungle with machete on his hand, his bag is going up and down because of his speed, but after some munites surely he will get tired because of his age.
(( Sorry i replied too late, i was busy, won't happen again ))
Imagines his father if front of himself when he tried to teach phill how to ride a horse in the farm, his father passed away many years ago and phill really missed him.
While driving suddenly notices a book next to his bagpack which is placed on the passenger seat by himself. The text "Holy Bible" can be noticed on the book tittle place.
Phill wasn't a religious persom but after world changed he decided to change the way of thinking about people.
Saw many people doing anything to stay alive, but he tried to avoid killing them because he believes in that, lives of people are valuable.
Lowers his speed when he saw the sign of gas station, looks at the building from inside of the car as he takes his machete from his bag, turns the engine off quickly and waits for a moment, looks at the store to check if anything is inside like zombie and etc.
Nothing is noticable except sound of birds living on the roof of building. takes his bag. opens the car door slowly as he holding his machete with his right hand.
crouches and moves towards right side of car slowly without making any noises.
after looking at the windows of the store he noticed there's not any zombies inside and it's suspicious. Suddenly he got an idea to make sure it's not dangerous to go inside. takes out something from his bag, it would be an explosive grenade, he is going to use it but something makes him to lower his hand.
after noticing a huge horde of zombies coming from left side of road from the jungle, they walking slowly and their distance from gas station is something like 28 meters.
"Holy $#%@"
thinks and thinks till he get a good plan, he got two choices and both of them will make him killed, they are coming and inside of the store can be dangerous for him, he doesn't have any idea but when he see a bottle of viskey in his backpack he got it.
takes it and opens the bottle there would be some viskey inside, takes a napkin from his backpack and puts it inside of the bottle very quick, he lights the napkin up and the molotov is ready to use, takes out his machete,uses it to break the glass of the window. two times hit and it breaks, throws it inside and run, fire is going to burn all of things inside and it's can be seen from outside by zombies, now they are going towards the fire expect phill so he ran off from the place and run as fast as he can, left his car to survive. He knews it zombies will go towards the fire or loud sounds and it saved him from this situation.
without checking behind, keeps running amd running on the jungle with machete on his hand, his bag is going up and down because of his speed, but after some munites surely he will get tired because of his age.
(( Sorry i replied too late, i was busy, won't happen again ))
In the dead silence of the morning, it was easy to hear the car come rolling up, its engine screaming and shattering the quiet with every punch of the pistons. Riley never quite understood why people still bothered with cars - unless they were the kind decked out with armor intended for mowing the bastards down. The sound was a zombie-magnet. The only saving grace was that generally when the engine stopped, so did the zombies. They were more attracted to the site of a noise than they were the site that a noise had once been.
Riley remained in her hiding spot. The engine stopped. The person in the car got out very quietly, almost silently. Almost. She listened for the creaking of his boots as he skulked around the car, watched his shadow on the wall as he peered in the gas station windows. He did not see her, but she got a glimpse of him. Looked like an old man with a long beard. Not the ‘easy pickings’ she might have expected,Riley knew. The old mountain-men were the toughest kind of the lot.
She was still formulating her plan when she saw the old man stop suddenly, then spin around, looking to the opposite side of the road which passed under the freeway running perpendicular.
He swore.
Riley peeked over the sill just in time to see a great horde of the undead SOBs stumbling out from the woods beyond the road. Her heart sank. An icy claw gripped her gut. That was a big one.
Instantly all thoughts of ambush left her mind. She glanced back to the old man just in time to see him preparing a molotov cocktail and knew immediately what he was doing. He wasn’t stupid enough to try and burn them all with one ounce of whiskey. No, he was going to light up the gas station and run for it. She probably would have done the same.
With no hesitation, the girl raced to the back of the gas station where she kept her ‘emergency evacuation kit’. She shrugged herself into the old army field jacket with eight or so pockets, all stuffed with supplies. Holstering the heavy, silenced handgun at her thigh she slipped the backpack over her shoulders - it too packed with the best supplies and gear she had looted over the months. Protein-bar rations and, most precious of all, a pack of water purification straws. Enough to last a year if she was careful. Several explosives and a glorious, high-power, low-recoil rifle she had snagged from some gun nut she had caught by surprise. Several clips, too. It was a heavy kit, but all tied down carefully so as to not clank and clatter when she moved.
Riley didn’t look back as she heard the smash of the molotov as it crashed to the floor of the gas station, immediately lighting it up. She barrelled out the back door, grabbing as a last measure her own machete, a beautiful carbon-black, serrated monstrosity she had gotten off the corpse of a wilderness survival nut not so different from the old man she was now chasing down.
She took a hard right turn, hard enough to kick up dirt and dust, very nearly toppling over in the process. She sprinted with all her might, kicking up debris as her old-fashioned, but well kept combat boots pounded the dirt and pavement.
Knowing what was about to come next, she didn’t hold back. Any noise she made now would be drowned out in the resulting explosion. She put two fingers in her mouth and let out a loud, piercing whistle in an attempt to get the old man’s attention as she came up behind him. For good measure, she shouted too; ”Oy! Old man!! Comin’ at’cha bruv! GIT DOWN!!”In her thick London accent (A very rare thing, now that international travel did not exist).
If he turned to look, he would see a seventeen year old girl with bright red hair decked out in full army gear sprinting at him with a wide-eyed, wild look on her young face. Being so much younger she was a great deal faster, and gaining with disturbing rapidity, arms pumping.
And then, suddenly she was on him - crashing into him with the force of a kid-sized freight train, knocking him to the ground in a bodyslam that was betrayed by her small size.
The pair went tumbling down a small hillock, just in time for the gas station behind them to detonate in what was the equivalent of a small arms depot. The Earth shook. Debris went flying out in all directions - huge chunks of metal, cars, everything - and the initial explosion was only the beginning, followed up by a rapid series of popping firecrackers, and several other, smaller detonations. Something - probably the hood of the old man’s car - went soaring just over their heads, and would have decapitated both of them if it hadn’t been for her tackle.
How could he have known that what he was lighting up was not merely an abandoned gas station? How could he have known that enough explosives to load a truck had been stashed away in there, collected over months of systematic murder?
But she didn’t stay on top of him for more than a second - already she was scrambling to her feet, still moving, even going so far as to grab the old man’s hand and yank him to his feet in the process of getting a hot running start.
While running at the moment, he suddenly got an idea, what if someone was inside of the building and now he is going to die by his move?
When all of these started phill started his own way to stay alive, in many groups and camps he saw people dying and couldn't decide to kill them while they were turnning to a zombie, untill he saw his wife turnning in front of his face, he killed her himself. After that he walked away and survived alone.
his beret hat fell down from his head when he got hit by her and kneeled down.
When all of these started phill started his own way to stay alive, in many groups and camps he saw people dying and couldn't decide to kill them while they were turnning to a zombie, untill he saw his wife turnning in front of his face, he killed her himself. After that he walked away and survived alone.
his beret hat fell down from his head when he got hit by her and kneeled down.
For an indeterminate period of time, Riley ran through the forest, bounding over rocks and fallen trees, kicking up dirt, and all the while yanking the increasingly exhausted old man stumbling along behind her by the wrist. She wasn’t actually sure why she was doing this, given that hardly thirty seconds before she had been planning to kill him, then herself without remorse. Not that he needed to know that. Her little secret.
Regardless of her reasoning, the girl persisted until the forest broke, the pair stumbling into a grassy clearing. At the middle of it sat an old power substation, with rusty chain-link fence sagging around the perimeter of conduit equipment and a small, concrete maintenance structure. It was the kind of place that was not likely to be dangerous, given that few people had reason to go there now and climbing over the spot of fence that sagged almost to the ground was too much effort for the average shuffler. Riley did just that, bouncing over the rusty mesh with old man in tow and coming to a skidding halt just before the little concrete building.
Without losing her momentum she swung the door rapidly open and spun in, prepared to decapitate any undead lurking within. Luckily there were none - and so it as the perfect place to take a break.
With a heaving sigh, the young redhead sagged against a wall and slid down into a sitting position, resting arms on knees and trying to catch her breath.
The interior of the substation’s maintenance shack was musty and dank. The walls were covered in control boxes and switches and gauges, all rusted or coated in a thick layer of dust and grime. A single shaft of dirty light beamed in through the door’s little window.
”Well. Look what you done.” She said once she had managed to cease panting, in a tone that was falsely reproachful. ”Gone an’ blowed up me pad, y’did.” The little lopsided grin she harbored on her dirty, freckled face suggested she was either not upset over it, or she was upset over it but hiding it very well. But probably the former. ”Bit rude, ain't it~?”
Regardless of her reasoning, the girl persisted until the forest broke, the pair stumbling into a grassy clearing. At the middle of it sat an old power substation, with rusty chain-link fence sagging around the perimeter of conduit equipment and a small, concrete maintenance structure. It was the kind of place that was not likely to be dangerous, given that few people had reason to go there now and climbing over the spot of fence that sagged almost to the ground was too much effort for the average shuffler. Riley did just that, bouncing over the rusty mesh with old man in tow and coming to a skidding halt just before the little concrete building.
Without losing her momentum she swung the door rapidly open and spun in, prepared to decapitate any undead lurking within. Luckily there were none - and so it as the perfect place to take a break.
With a heaving sigh, the young redhead sagged against a wall and slid down into a sitting position, resting arms on knees and trying to catch her breath.
The interior of the substation’s maintenance shack was musty and dank. The walls were covered in control boxes and switches and gauges, all rusted or coated in a thick layer of dust and grime. A single shaft of dirty light beamed in through the door’s little window.
”Well. Look what you done.” She said once she had managed to cease panting, in a tone that was falsely reproachful. ”Gone an’ blowed up me pad, y’did.” The little lopsided grin she harbored on her dirty, freckled face suggested she was either not upset over it, or she was upset over it but hiding it very well. But probably the former. ”Bit rude, ain't it~?”
After taking a look at the environment and knowing about where he is exactly listens to her words but shows himself like he doesn't care really.
After her two senteces he finally opens his mouth, "I saved your life" said, a little hidden knife in his back pocket suddenly came into his mind, maybe sometimes it can save him in some dangerous situations like this, but for now he is want to know who is her.
After her two senteces he finally opens his mouth, "I saved your life" said, a little hidden knife in his back pocket suddenly came into his mind, maybe sometimes it can save him in some dangerous situations like this, but for now he is want to know who is her.
Despite herself, Riley found that she was a little bit irritated by the old codger's words. Her grin tightened, losing some of its suave warmth.
"Didja' now?" She asked rhetorically, her steely grey eyes focusing on him. "Cause uh, as I recall I's doin' jus' fine-like till you come up wit'ya screamin' auto an' dragged a few 'undred walkers b'hind."
Raising a brow, she leaned back and tightened her grip on the machete at her side. She did not raise it, nor give any indication that she was preparing for an attack - mainly because she wasn't. But she had the dark feeling that the old man was eyeing her impressive kit.
"If anythin' I'd say I saved your life, ol' man. Wit'out me you'da been cut down quick-like by that debris yeah?"
She wasn't even sure why she was arguing with the old coot on this. Probably because she was generally argumentative and obstinate. She had more to say, in fact - like the rant about how he would have just as soon burnt her up if she hadn't been quick, he hadn't known she was there - but she held her tongue for the moment, just watching him carefully with the cold, wary grin on her lips.
"Didja' now?" She asked rhetorically, her steely grey eyes focusing on him. "Cause uh, as I recall I's doin' jus' fine-like till you come up wit'ya screamin' auto an' dragged a few 'undred walkers b'hind."
Raising a brow, she leaned back and tightened her grip on the machete at her side. She did not raise it, nor give any indication that she was preparing for an attack - mainly because she wasn't. But she had the dark feeling that the old man was eyeing her impressive kit.
"If anythin' I'd say I saved your life, ol' man. Wit'out me you'da been cut down quick-like by that debris yeah?"
She wasn't even sure why she was arguing with the old coot on this. Probably because she was generally argumentative and obstinate. She had more to say, in fact - like the rant about how he would have just as soon burnt her up if she hadn't been quick, he hadn't known she was there - but she held her tongue for the moment, just watching him carefully with the cold, wary grin on her lips.
Sweat drops comes down from his forehead, he just ignored it till it fell down from his face on the ground, remains quiet after hearing her words.
he understands that she is trying to talk and starts a conversation but he doesn't have any idea about why she is doing that. Her red hair and outfits is kind of weird for him because it's a long time he hasn't seen a young girl like her in this world, he can guess that maybe she wants to kill him but he decided to not kill anyone even if they are so restive.
slacks his right hand that he is holding the machete with, rests his back against the wall and places his bag on his left leg.
after hearing her second sentence he tried to stay quiet because he feels that she is telling it because of her foolishness, which every person in youth carry it involuntary.
shows his eyes like he is a harmless person, he is not trying to act like that, and its really him.
her third sentence broke the peace and make him to cut her words and induce to talk: "Why?!"
...
"Why did you do that?"
he understands that she is trying to talk and starts a conversation but he doesn't have any idea about why she is doing that. Her red hair and outfits is kind of weird for him because it's a long time he hasn't seen a young girl like her in this world, he can guess that maybe she wants to kill him but he decided to not kill anyone even if they are so restive.
slacks his right hand that he is holding the machete with, rests his back against the wall and places his bag on his left leg.
after hearing her second sentence he tried to stay quiet because he feels that she is telling it because of her foolishness, which every person in youth carry it involuntary.
shows his eyes like he is a harmless person, he is not trying to act like that, and its really him.
her third sentence broke the peace and make him to cut her words and induce to talk: "Why?!"
...
"Why did you do that?"
The old guy had kind eyes.
Not that it meant much. Riley had seen guys with kind eyes do some pretty horrible things, even before the apocalypse. Before man turned against man and the whole world, infected or otherwise, went feral.
She wanted to trust him. That didn't mean she could - but she wanted to.
He slackened his grip on his blade, and Riley, in good faith - a rare thing indeed, rarer even than herself - stuck her machete into the floor. Having forgotten that it was concrete and not wood however, it merely made a tiny chink sound and chipped away a bit of the surface. Frowning, she instead let the blade rest against her knee.
"Why what, ah? Why'd I save y'hide?" It was a good question in general - and he could not have known how much more important a question it was for her in particuar.
Riley's expression warmed up again, and a dash of melancholy fell across her face. She looked to the floor for a moment, then without raising her eyes said softly "Honestly? Don't know." And gave a little shrug.
When she looked back up at him again, the lopsided grin was back. It was bemused and deeply pessimistics, finding some terribly dark humor in something.
"Guess I didn't want all my stuff'a go t'waste when I offed m'self later t'night." She said with a flat, brutal honesty that was chilling in the casual nature in which she spoke. As she said it, the girl made a 'finger gun' with one hand, aimed at it her own temple, and made a little 'pop' sound.
The sad thing was that she seemed quite serious.
Lowering her hand again, she hefted the bulky backpack that now served as a cushion between her and the wall. "So, if yis' gon' kill me f'my @#$%, alls I'll ask's 'at y'do it real quick-like, yeah?" And again, the sad, brutal acceptance, the sheer indifference - was chilling.
But then, such conversations were not so uncommon, these days...
Not that it meant much. Riley had seen guys with kind eyes do some pretty horrible things, even before the apocalypse. Before man turned against man and the whole world, infected or otherwise, went feral.
She wanted to trust him. That didn't mean she could - but she wanted to.
He slackened his grip on his blade, and Riley, in good faith - a rare thing indeed, rarer even than herself - stuck her machete into the floor. Having forgotten that it was concrete and not wood however, it merely made a tiny chink sound and chipped away a bit of the surface. Frowning, she instead let the blade rest against her knee.
"Why what, ah? Why'd I save y'hide?" It was a good question in general - and he could not have known how much more important a question it was for her in particuar.
Riley's expression warmed up again, and a dash of melancholy fell across her face. She looked to the floor for a moment, then without raising her eyes said softly "Honestly? Don't know." And gave a little shrug.
When she looked back up at him again, the lopsided grin was back. It was bemused and deeply pessimistics, finding some terribly dark humor in something.
"Guess I didn't want all my stuff'a go t'waste when I offed m'self later t'night." She said with a flat, brutal honesty that was chilling in the casual nature in which she spoke. As she said it, the girl made a 'finger gun' with one hand, aimed at it her own temple, and made a little 'pop' sound.
The sad thing was that she seemed quite serious.
Lowering her hand again, she hefted the bulky backpack that now served as a cushion between her and the wall. "So, if yis' gon' kill me f'my @#$%, alls I'll ask's 'at y'do it real quick-like, yeah?" And again, the sad, brutal acceptance, the sheer indifference - was chilling.
But then, such conversations were not so uncommon, these days...
Phill's face was full of peace but it's not noticable by anyone under those long and bemused beard untill he heard the final sentence of her, he asks himself in his mind why this young girl has to die and give up when she doesn't have even half of his age. It shows the dark side of this world.
Phill wasn't a quiet person before apocalypse but the things he saw and the things he did made him to be.
Waits for some few seconds after hearing her words. The taciturnity is the thing that leading the pleace.
While taking a deep breath he grabs his bag that was placed on his left leg, zips it down and takes out a dirty old brochure from it, covered with a thin layer of dust. Clears it by rubbing it on his coat and says "No one is going to die today...".
pleces the brochure on the ground, pushes it towards her on the ground, before she take a look at it he said "Let's go".
On the first page of brochure, image of luxury houses, people, foods and guns can be seen and a text on it "Community for survivors, foods, protection, safety, walls, and anything you want to stay alive!". some of words and part of pictures are covered by small drops of dirt, it was a long time this was in his bag.
Images of survivors and steel walls, big houses and population, security guards with guns is on the next page. wirrten on it "Hit the road now and join us to start a new world with us, and make this world great again!"
something wirrten on the next page of brochure by a blue pen , "Father, see you there! love you, Damian"
He last page is the address of this place, its in the canada, wich is very far from there.
His words and strong form of saying, this can shows that he decided to do it really.
Phill wasn't a quiet person before apocalypse but the things he saw and the things he did made him to be.
Waits for some few seconds after hearing her words. The taciturnity is the thing that leading the pleace.
While taking a deep breath he grabs his bag that was placed on his left leg, zips it down and takes out a dirty old brochure from it, covered with a thin layer of dust. Clears it by rubbing it on his coat and says "No one is going to die today...".
pleces the brochure on the ground, pushes it towards her on the ground, before she take a look at it he said "Let's go".
On the first page of brochure, image of luxury houses, people, foods and guns can be seen and a text on it "Community for survivors, foods, protection, safety, walls, and anything you want to stay alive!". some of words and part of pictures are covered by small drops of dirt, it was a long time this was in his bag.
Images of survivors and steel walls, big houses and population, security guards with guns is on the next page. wirrten on it "Hit the road now and join us to start a new world with us, and make this world great again!"
something wirrten on the next page of brochure by a blue pen , "Father, see you there! love you, Damian"
He last page is the address of this place, its in the canada, wich is very far from there.
His words and strong form of saying, this can shows that he decided to do it really.
Riley shrugged. Nobody was going to die today? That was okay. Maybe tomorrow. Every day is a new day, full of opportunity~
He slid a brochure toward her - and his two words made the girl's steely eyes light up, just for a moment - at the idea of teaming up.
Sure, hardly ten minutes ago she was planning on shooting him in the head and taking his stuff but he didn't need to know that, right~?
She had forgotten what it felt like to be able to just sit with someone, reasonably certain that they weren't going to try for rape or murder. The feeling of helping, as opposed to hurting. It was euphoric.
But the sudden spark was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with cautious distrust.
Brow furrowed, Riley lened forward and slid the paper toward her, picking it up and reading over it. With every word, every sentence, every page and every picture she began to look more and more incredulous, and by the end she was looking up at the old man as if he were absolutely out of his mind.
"You're kiddin', right?" She said, tentatively. "This's a trap. It's got 'trap' written all over it. Y'ain't seriously thinkin' 'bout goin', are ya'?" By the end, she was actually starting to look a little bit concerned for the man's sanity.
He slid a brochure toward her - and his two words made the girl's steely eyes light up, just for a moment - at the idea of teaming up.
Sure, hardly ten minutes ago she was planning on shooting him in the head and taking his stuff but he didn't need to know that, right~?
She had forgotten what it felt like to be able to just sit with someone, reasonably certain that they weren't going to try for rape or murder. The feeling of helping, as opposed to hurting. It was euphoric.
But the sudden spark was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with cautious distrust.
Brow furrowed, Riley lened forward and slid the paper toward her, picking it up and reading over it. With every word, every sentence, every page and every picture she began to look more and more incredulous, and by the end she was looking up at the old man as if he were absolutely out of his mind.
"You're kiddin', right?" She said, tentatively. "This's a trap. It's got 'trap' written all over it. Y'ain't seriously thinkin' 'bout goin', are ya'?" By the end, she was actually starting to look a little bit concerned for the man's sanity.
Kibaro woke up in the middle of a forest with a headache,his head was injured so bad and he could't remember a thing. He stod up and start walking toward the street but he confront the large number of zombies so he frooz where he was and suddenly he felt some sounds behind him so he turnd back and saw three zombies,then he put out his machete from his belt and starts cutting their head of their body and after it he stated running back.
Kibaro was running and hes running hard to escape from zombies and suddenly he notice a building with fences around it, so he decide to reach it and climb over it.
But zombies wont stop fallowing him so he tries to find a way inside the building and he run as fast as he can and finally he found a way inside from the back door of the building and he tries to open it but the door wont open so he kicks it with his right leg and the door will be open but his right leg will get damaged from the kick.
He gets inside the building.
He's breathing hard so he sits down and take a rest.
Kibaro wears a green jacket and a black shirt under it. He have brown leather belt and boots with a black pans and a boxing bandage on his left arm and a biker glove on his right hand.
He also have hes machete hold hard in hes right hand and hes right hand is injured and bleeding.hes head is injured bad by a hit but unfortunatly he cant remember a thing about it, actully he remembers nothing about him self in the past.
He was resting but suddenly he notice that hes not alone in the building. He hears sound of a girl and an old man talking to each other so he gets closer and show him self.
"YO" he says and he notice that they have some weapons so he starts to talk to them peacfully
"There is no time to waste so lets get it to gather and run." he said and waited for their answer.
Kibaro was running and hes running hard to escape from zombies and suddenly he notice a building with fences around it, so he decide to reach it and climb over it.
But zombies wont stop fallowing him so he tries to find a way inside the building and he run as fast as he can and finally he found a way inside from the back door of the building and he tries to open it but the door wont open so he kicks it with his right leg and the door will be open but his right leg will get damaged from the kick.
He gets inside the building.
He's breathing hard so he sits down and take a rest.
Kibaro wears a green jacket and a black shirt under it. He have brown leather belt and boots with a black pans and a boxing bandage on his left arm and a biker glove on his right hand.
He also have hes machete hold hard in hes right hand and hes right hand is injured and bleeding.hes head is injured bad by a hit but unfortunatly he cant remember a thing about it, actully he remembers nothing about him self in the past.
He was resting but suddenly he notice that hes not alone in the building. He hears sound of a girl and an old man talking to each other so he gets closer and show him self.
"YO" he says and he notice that they have some weapons so he starts to talk to them peacfully
"There is no time to waste so lets get it to gather and run." he said and waited for their answer.
Doesn't get shocked because of her question, he knew maybe she think like that, when he decide to explain it to her he notice a guy inside the room, he said "Yo".
At the moment phill holds his machete with his left hand to feel safer with it because he doesn't know who the hell is he, maybe another bandit, cause only people he met in this week, all were bandits and other bad guys like that, "W-who you are?" said with his tired voice.
He examines him from toe to head and sees a young boy with an injured head bleeding, he doesn't have any idea and he waits for his answer and maybe a word from that girl.
At the moment phill holds his machete with his left hand to feel safer with it because he doesn't know who the hell is he, maybe another bandit, cause only people he met in this week, all were bandits and other bad guys like that, "W-who you are?" said with his tired voice.
He examines him from toe to head and sees a young boy with an injured head bleeding, he doesn't have any idea and he waits for his answer and maybe a word from that girl.
Before the old man could reply to her incredulity over the supposed 'safe place' pamphlet, there was a sound from the rear of the maintenance shack and she was on her feet in an instant, hefting her own machete almost perfectly synchronized with the old guy.
It was funny how the sudden appearance of someone new could change the dynamic. She didn't trust the old man as far as she could throw him, even though she wanted to. She'd known him for less than ten minutes. She'd literally been ready to murder him before that. And yet now that this new guy was getting up in her face it was like the two of them were absolute comrades. Likely that would not last much longer than the encounter itself.
What she saw was a man looking to be about ten years older than herself. He was Asian, though he did not strike her as an immigrant. (Not that she actually cared.)
"@#$% off, mate." She spat at him, on her feet and ready to strike should he make the slightest hostile gesture. Her almost feral ferocity toward him was a stark contrast to the old man's more tempered reaction. "Why the @#$%'s we gonna' go anywhere wit' you, ah? Gimme one good reason." She growled, through clenched teeth. It seemed her adrenaline from earlier had not worn off, and on some level she must have been itching for a fight...
It was funny how the sudden appearance of someone new could change the dynamic. She didn't trust the old man as far as she could throw him, even though she wanted to. She'd known him for less than ten minutes. She'd literally been ready to murder him before that. And yet now that this new guy was getting up in her face it was like the two of them were absolute comrades. Likely that would not last much longer than the encounter itself.
What she saw was a man looking to be about ten years older than herself. He was Asian, though he did not strike her as an immigrant. (Not that she actually cared.)
"@#$% off, mate." She spat at him, on her feet and ready to strike should he make the slightest hostile gesture. Her almost feral ferocity toward him was a stark contrast to the old man's more tempered reaction. "Why the @#$%'s we gonna' go anywhere wit' you, ah? Gimme one good reason." She growled, through clenched teeth. It seemed her adrenaline from earlier had not worn off, and on some level she must have been itching for a fight...
Phill didn't change his facial expression after her dialog, he suddenly notices a sound and without grabbing the brochure from her hands, he stands up carefully and reaches the nearest window with machete on his hand, he tries to see the outside, suddenly door got knocked by something unknown, two times, and for the third time, it won't stop.
The back door is knocking by zombies and there is nothing noticable from the window.
took his bag from the ground, reaches for the girl,
"You wanna come?"
While saying it the door still knocking by them hardly.
The back door is knocking by zombies and there is nothing noticable from the window.
took his bag from the ground, reaches for the girl,
"You wanna come?"
While saying it the door still knocking by them hardly.
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