pheliskougra (
pheliskougra) wrote2011-09-29 05:57 pm
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The Last Stand
It's a dark stormy night might be a cliché in story-telling, but it's also stark reality now: the patter of heavy rain and the crack of thunder rousing you to conscience.
You are inside your sedan, face-first into the deployed airbag. Your chest hurts a little from the yanking of the seatbelt, but besides that minimal discomfort you seem uninjured.
The car is halfway into a ditch beside the road, the left-side light still on. The engine is stopped, and the whole of the car is askew, stuck in an odd angle. There's a crack on the windshield, passenger side, and the rain is washing off what seems to be blood.
You remember... a person, running into the road right in front of you. No time to stop, and you only had a glimpse before hitting the person, losing control of the car and crashing.
Probably you should do something about your current situation.
Who are you?
Why were you going to Union City?
You are inside your sedan, face-first into the deployed airbag. Your chest hurts a little from the yanking of the seatbelt, but besides that minimal discomfort you seem uninjured.
The car is halfway into a ditch beside the road, the left-side light still on. The engine is stopped, and the whole of the car is askew, stuck in an odd angle. There's a crack on the windshield, passenger side, and the rain is washing off what seems to be blood.
You remember... a person, running into the road right in front of you. No time to stop, and you only had a glimpse before hitting the person, losing control of the car and crashing.
Probably you should do something about your current situation.
Who are you?
Why were you going to Union City?
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"We need to find a safe spot for the night, I don't want to be out here with those things in the dark."
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A few more zombies, of the common shambler type, show up attracted by the gunshot sounds, but are easily to dispatch or avoid. The sun's starting to disappear under the horizon already when they reach the building and come across a (demolished) barricade. Dead-dead corpses are scattered around, shot, hacked, gnawed on.
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The symbol to 'safehouse' is spraypainted on it.
Good sign?
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Interesting, it's all locked up safe but the secured area looks empty.
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Only silence.
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Kelly stays by the door.
Monica comes out of the bedroom with a sheet of paper on hands, frowning.
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"What is it, Monica?"
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She pauses, skipping over another personal part, likely. "...we blocked the rear and side stairwells, and formed a bottleneck we could defend. Overnight, the attacks trickled off, and in the morning an HERC chopper landed on the roof. After they secured floors 5 to 12, they started evacuating people to the Stadium, which is their main base now. I overheard some of them talking about more outbreaks happening up north..."
"More?" Not good news.
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Right, she'll do just that.
Not.
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No, she's not kidding.
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Not far from truth.
Monica opens mouth to argue, but then closes it. "I guess. And if everybody left, we could look for clothes for you." She glances at Annabelle. "You too. We're both the same size or close."
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Having real dishes to eat on helps.
And a bottle of wine is hopefully not unwelcome.
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The MRE....appears to be a standard MRE. Although Annabelle isn't sure how you'd be able to TELL if one had been drugged or poisoned.
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