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                                      The sky was awful and grey, as it always was. Even the sunsets were just less saturated. In paintings and drawings, the sun's final goodbye kisses were always rich and lively. Mina didn't know who to believe.

                                      Perhaps the sky had been like this even before things had changed. Perhaps people had always carried guns on them no matter their age or affiliation. Once she'd found an old, old portable DVD player. Her father called it "ancient." On the inside was a circular, shiny thing with a hole in the middle. She'd supposed that was the DVD. Hitting the play button made the small screen light up with love confessions and star-crossed romance and kisses in the rain. She wondered if that kind of thing used to be customary.

                                      She didn't even know what was customary now, though. As often as she tried to figure out what it meant to love and what was the true nature of humanity, it just never worked. She always came up with more questions than answers.

                                      So Mina liked to stay with the here and the now; the tangible constants. She knew that her father knew, like, everything about before. And she knew that the ground she stood on, underneath the smooth mat, was significantly rougher than it had been a few months ago. The farmers' boy, and the Lee family gardener, had left. The grass had withered away to nothing, leaving Mina to dance and stretch and run around on a big tarp-looking thing placed down by the guards every morning and picked up every night.

                                      Dad had arranged for Mina to learn ballet as well as "typical school stuff" growing up; he wanted to preserve her normality for her as much as he physically could. He was a good man.

                                      There were probably more important things to do than to sugar coat his daughter's life, but his heart was probably in the right place.


                                      "I'm done today," she said to the nearest guard, stepping into a pair of slightly-ratty slippers. "You can head home, brother. I'll probably eat a can of soup. Or drink it, maybe." She chuckled, chortled, snorted loud and shuffled off into the house, emerging from the front door moments later with an open can of some kind of soup in hand, and real shoes on her feet. She went on a walk each evening, though she rarely had a destination. She vaguely scuffed along towards the boarding school; she spent lots of time volunteering there to take care of kids, or teach them whatever little chunks of life she'd picked up along the way.

                                      A sound stopped her on the way, of sick, wet coughing. The dragging of feet across pavement cut quickly and Mina "oomph"ed as she squatted down, pressing her barely-touched can into the woman's hand. The woman tried to push it back, spitting at Mina's feet and saying something about how she "didn't need her pity." Mina laughed loud, like a pig.

                                      "Oh no, don't worry, I was done anyway."

                                      She set the can down next to the coughing, hacking woman and continued on her way to the school. They served supper around this time normally, and then after that they had free time. No real need for Mina's presence, but she still wanted to go.
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                                            Scrub scrub scrub.

                                            The smell of urine and mold reached Luka’s nostrils. He scrubbed on his knees, scrubbed so
                                            hard the skin on his fingertips cracked and his hangnails peeled back, red and painful. Dirty cold
                                            water swished around the grime in between the bathroom tiles, soaking into the knees of his
                                            worn-out jeans.

                                            Third time they’d caught him sneaking out this month. Three smacks on each of his pale palms
                                            with a thick ruler, and bathroom duty for a week. Luka didn’t tell them that he’d been out almost
                                            every night, wondering if he could run away if he tried.

                                            He was sixteen. He didn’t have the wide eyes of a child anymore, not really. He was old enough.
                                            That scared him, because now he had things to do and choices to make. Luka reared back,
                                            scrunching up his features as a wet flick of grimy water splashed against his cheek. It painted a
                                            smear of dirty freckles. He let out a loud sigh, sitting back on his haunches and glancing over to
                                            the bright plastic pale. He ran his hands over his face, wet and cold and pink, and looked up at
                                            the small, blurred window.

                                            Mottled sunset streamed through, making the bathroom bleed orangey and dark with its dim
                                            lighting. Luka had been cleaning for upwards an hour, but nothing changed much. Still smelled
                                            the same. Gross.

                                            “Hey kid,” there was a thunk against the open bathroom door. Luka whipped his head around,
                                            accusatory glare plastered on his features. He sighed; it was just a guard. “Soup’s up,” the man
                                            said, jutting his chin out in a get motion. It wouldn’t be soup, though. Some kind of high protein
                                            vitamin slop, probably.

                                            Luka’s eyes narrowed obnoxiously. He stared for a while, until he didn’t, quickly looking down
                                            and fumbling to collect his supplies. He poured out the contents of the bucket in the sink,
                                            cringed when the grimy water splashed up and soaked his pant legs.

                                            “I-I need to change,” he choked out quietly, brushing past the guard and deliberately trying to
                                            rub as much grime off onto the man as possible. He narrowly missed the guard’s arm on his
                                            shoulder - ducked out of the way, kept his eyes on the ground, and darted to his dorm room after
                                            stuffing his cleaning supplies back from whence they came. He was not followed - he wasn't
                                            defiant enough.

                                            The dorm held a warm familiarity to it. There was a bunk, a desk, and a chipped blue dresser.
                                            The gray-white walls were plastered in old magazine clippings and postcards, bent at each edge
                                            and taped up tight.

                                            Luka stared at a white sand beach for a while, before quickly retrieving a pair of jeans. They were
                                            soft and worn from use, easily slipping up his damp legs. Luka hadn’t grown much in the past
                                            few years. He yanked the bent up postcard off the wall and sat on the bottom bunk - his bunk.
                                            His pillow was big and his blanket was checkered. The postcard shook between his hot red
                                            fingertips. He stared for a long time.

                                            Eventually Luka’s head found his pillow. He vaguely wondered if anyone would notice his
                                            absence at all. He wasn’t hungry and the thrum of activity outside his dusty window was a
                                            pleasant, drowsy hum. His mouth felt thick, his limbs felt heavy. Luka closed his eyes.

                                            xxxxxxxxxxxxx × DORM ROOM X × WITH NO ONE X × TIRED
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                                                                    The majority of the time, things were black and white. He had the strongest gut and the most driving instinct of anyone he'd ever met. It was either do or don't, yes or no, he loved someone or he didn't, he trusted someone or he didn't. He knew from the first moment, in most situations. And then one day he just started thinking, and he'd hated himself ever since.

                                                                    For the most part he still jumped to whatever decision his stomach made for him, but now he actually thought about the decisions as well, and it was a horrid problem because there were sides to every story and he just didn't know which to pick. It made him nervous, and he wasn't used to that. Before all this Firefly business he'd gotten into, he wasn't sure he'd ever been nervous in his entire life. Not that he necessarily regretted joining the Fireflies, but... well. Probably, everyone wished for simpler times.

                                                                    The only sound in the room aside from his rushing thoughts were heavy breaths and occasional clanks of metal. He was sort of a meathead, wasn't he? Lifting to calm himself.

                                                                    It wasn't working today.

                                                                    "Kyaaaaaagh!" He dropped the bar with a mighty thud and lifted the collar of his filthy t-shirt to wipe sweat away. What if they messed up? What if the Fireflies somehow ******** it all up and somehow, the entire reason Booker had wanted to raid Atlanta got shot to s**t? He'd suggested it in the first place, and oh, he'd had his reasons. It was as simple as, "Hey guys, we need to take another QZ to scare the government." And then, "Atlanta?" And lastly, "Sure."

                                                                    But what if Sweetlips got killed? Then what would the point be? Or worse, what if Sweetlips got taken hostage and then hated Booker? So he might've met someone, and he maybe just desperately wanted to see them again... And he met Sweetlips in Atlanta, so...

                                                                    It only made sense.

                                                                    Sweetlips had a fine young body like a racehorse and an innocence in those precious eyes that couldn't be duplicated; Booker deduced that Sweetlips most likely attended the school in Atlanta. So he would slip away during the raid to find the Sweet and the Lips and, well... from there, he didn't know. But he wanted to see Sweetlips again, that was all.

                                                                    But still, what if something went wrong? What if the all-powerful leader reassigned Booker further from the school and he couldn't break away? Again, what if Sweetlips got martyred in the crossfire? He couldn't stand to wait that extra six hours, especially because he was 99% sure he was falling in love. So he picked himself up, wiping sweat from his body, and went for a "jog."

                                                                    Spraying himself with hissing cans of deodorant all over, Booker silently traversed to the QZ. He and his team, at least, were currently camping in the nearest Firefly base.

                                                                    He crawled through the hole in the fence onto Mom and Pop's old farm, both because it was safe and because it was easy. Plus, he'd left a bunch of things at home, like disguises and s**t.

                                                                    Most notably, a soldier's uniform he may have taken off of a fallen infantryman's body.

                                                                    It was foolproof, and he walked into the school without a single question asked of him. "Have you seen someone about yay high, real pretty-lookin'?" His methods probably weren't very effective, but they got him there eventually, anyway.

                                                                    "Thanks, kid." He pressed a measly, crushed chocolate bar into the waiting, grabby hands of the child who'd helped him locate Sweetlips. The kid scampered off, and Booker knocked softly.

Mega Loiterer

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                                          As Natalie put foot in front of foot, the flat greenery she preferred - for aesthetic and tactical reasons - started to
                                          fade and climbing buildings began to loom over. What sunlight she'd seen earlier had been swallowed by clouds,
                                          sealing off all the depravity left over under a gray dome and shadowed giants. The swollen foliage had started to
                                          burst from the ruin's wounds and cracks, the QZ's walls looked like scar tissue in comparison. Natalie let out a
                                          snort at the thought. Figures she would dress up the nature and make civilization an ugly metaphor.


                                          When she could see the scarring walls in the distance, she made a beeline for the side roads and alleys. The last
                                          thing Natalie wanted to see were the unfriendly uniforms with their automatic weapons and loud vehicles. She'd
                                          rather take her chances with the infected than a bad attitude holding a gun.

                                          She started to pick her way in a circle around the zone. By the time she'd found houses that didn't show signs of
                                          anything living, the sun had started to make its sickly, molten attempt to break through the clouds. A frown
                                          crossed her face at how low it was; she hadn't wanted to spend the night in the city, but stumbling around in near
                                          darkness was less ideal. Her attention turned away from the distressing sky and turned to her house of choice,
                                          comfortable enough to put weight on her heels at the peaceful, quiet that greeted her.

                                          The house had white siding and two front facing windows, both dusty enough that she couldn't see the specifics
                                          of the rooms they led to from her current position. A small, overgrown yard surrounded the path leading up to
                                          the door; a broken tricycle lay on its side under the windows, limp grass growing through its wheels. The entire
                                          house seemed lonely and desolate; she wondered if it would weep for the family that had abandoned it. It looked
                                          the same as its neighbor and for a brief second she could see new families living on the row, where kids could play
                                          on the street and the doors were never locked. But she blinked and the image vanished, leaving her facing a
                                          chipping green painted door.

                                          Natalie put her gasmask around her neck and pulled her hood farther over her head before she wrenched the
                                          door open. Her muscles tensed and she paused on the balls of her feet as she waited for a reaction to the noise.
                                          None came, but she slammed her hand several times against the frame to make sure. She scuffed her shoes
                                          against the cement to clean the bottoms while she waited, half wasting time and half paying tribute to the family
                                          and their house.

                                          A minute more and her sleek form was shadowed as she stepped through the threshold.

                                          A short hallway greeted her, branching off into two rooms before the end met a staircase. She took the closer,
                                          right doorway. Her feet met a rug spread across the dark wood floor. A floral couch, a simple bookcase and an
                                          overturned chair were the only furnishings left. She could see the kitchen over a small half-wall; it looked as if
                                          most of the cabinets had already been emptied.

                                          Her lips parted as a puff of annoyance left her. Great, good thing she left her nice shed for absolutely
                                          nothing. Another glance around the room allowed her to notice a few books and knickknacks left on the
                                          bookcase. Rolling her shoulders, she crossed the room in a few long strides. If the books weren't bad it wouldn't
                                          be a completely useless house - though, she supposed there was still the upstairs. Maybe she'd find new socks.

                                          Natalie crouched in front of the shelving, her thing fingers brushing over the spines as she slowly mouthed the
                                          words. At the sight of an Atlanta guidebook, her hand stopped and she tapped a broken nail against the spine as
                                          her mind wandered. She couldn't remember if she had any maps of the city and it'd make scavenging easier if she
                                          could mark off the areas she'd already visited. Natalie picked it up, feeling the weight in her hands before flipping
                                          it open to a random page. Her brows scrunched and her lips pursed as she skimmed, her concentrated expression
                                          morphed into a scowl as she flipped through the pages before throwing it to the top of the shelf in frustration.
                                          The book teetered on the edge of the shelf as Natalie dug her nails into her palms.

                                          Letting her gaze roam around the room, she huffed again. It was probably a waste to search the rest; these rooms
                                          were cleared out too well, she'd bet her socks that the others were in the same state. She dropped off her
                                          haunches to sit completely, uncaring of the grime coating the wooden floor. Her neck bent until her head
                                          bounced lightly off the wallpaper. It was always frustrating to start off the day on an empty house.

                                          ahhkkk kk

                                          Before the end of the distinct sound, Natalie had already pulled her legs up and under her. Cursing herself
                                          ([******** s**t, I'm so stupid ******** -), her breath stalled as she scurried quietly to beautiful corner created
                                          by that lovely bookshelf and wall. Her eyes flickered around the room before focusing on the edge of the clicker's
                                          mutated head she could see through the open doorway. Eyes unmoving, she slowly bent her arm up until her
                                          fingers slipped on to the cool metal head of her axe. Hopefully unneeded, she pulled it from its place in her pack
                                          and the weight became a small comfort in her hands.

                                          With thoughts stuttering and infected still heard, but mostly unseen, Natalie allowed her eyes to stray from the
                                          doorway as she looked at the room in a new light. The sparse furnishing that made it so easy to quickly check over
                                          the room became sparse cover and made her hands clench around the hatchet's handle to keep them from
                                          shaking. She glanced towards the window across the dangerously empty expanse and it might be enough.
                                          She just needed to get to the window, it would open. That's all she needed to do. Natalie edged forward, one step
                                          before two and then she was moving as swiftly as her bent legs would let because she just needed to get to the
                                          window. Five feet - get to the window - four - just smash it open, the noise won't matter if it's stuck - three feet -
                                          just get to the ******** window -

                                          kk k ... uruahkikk kakk ka urahkk

                                          thunk

                                          ur ak uraaaakkkkk kk uk krrarkkk

                                          And in her focus, Natalie forgot to check the door.


                                              tl;dr natalie walks a lonely road. laughs at herself for being poetic. shows a few quirks and traits as she's walking around. finds a house that she romanticizes before going to loot. house is already cleared and as she's just stewing in frustration when mr clicker shows up. natalie gets her axe out and makes for the window - cliff hanger.

Ruthless Lunatic

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                                      Adam pressed a forefinger against his temples in an attempt to try and decipher the handwriting of the note left by the soldier who had just delivered a box of supplies.

                                      "Denim... Chicken?"

                                      It was supposed to be a list of the medical supplies that had been gathered over the past week but what was written on the small scrap of paper was sheer nonsense. He sighed, throwing the paper aside. More work for him. Easier than working out what the hell was written on that note, at least. Illiteracy was a surprisingly common problem in the military; no one bothers with penmanship when they can go shoot weird creatures outside the walls.

                                      Pulling the box closer towards him Adam rifled through the top later of items before emptying it across the table. Small bottles of pills, boxes of bandages, and the odd syringe rolled out. This was a normal selection, nothing new, nothing special. In all honesty, they were well stocked on these. They had enough plasters, bandages, paracetamol. It wasn't often that someone complained of a paper cut or a headache, something that would necessitate such a small remedy. They all had bigger problems, meaning that these small medicines were of little use. Regardless of their value, they still amassed them. They rarely ever came across the things he really needed; the strong antibiotics, the rustless surgery tools, the anaesthesias. Not that he operated that often any more. Those who get wounded in the field are often left there due to the effort it takes to bring them back, as well as the fact that trying to save an injured soldier could get others hurt or killed. Camaraderie wasn't that strong in the military.

                                      Leaving the mess of supplies on the desk, Adam rose to his feet and exited the room, calling out to one of the assistants to sort out the supplies as he was leaving. The assistant nodded, before returning to their conversation with the other person in the hallway. He fully expected the supplies to still be in the same state tomorrow, but at least now he could say he asked for them to be sorted. Adam made his way towards the mess hall, where most of the soldiers ate. Still in his white coat, he was quickly ushered towards the front of the queue, where he was handed a tray, a small note with his name on attached. Taking it to an empty table, he looked across the hall. A squadron of guards who had just been on watch came in, making noise as they did so. One looked over at Adam, nudged the person next to them and a hush fell over the group. Adam stared at them for a few moments more before he looked back down at his food. It was... passable. It was nothing compared to what he used to eat at the restaurants he frequented before the outbreak, ut it was at least better than what everyone else got.

                                      A few minutes later Adam was joined by some of the recently relieved guards. They nodded at him as they sat down, Adam grunting in reply as he pushed his food around on his plate. "So Doc, they find anything good for you?" Adam shook his head.
                                      "Nah, just a bunch of old pills."
                                      "Oh... That's a shame. I was hoping to ask you for something."Adam's eyebrow raised.
                                      "Oh really? What would that be?" It didn't take more than the first three syllables for Adam to regret asking.
                                      "I was wondering if you could hook us up with y'know... Rubbers." Adam glared at the soldier.
                                      "Nope, there hasn't been anything like that for a while." The soldier's mouth down turned.
                                      "Awww, don't hold out on us. We all know you have a stash somewhere... Otherwise you wouldn't be able to keep doing what you, uh, do." Adam's other eyebrow raised.
                                      "Well," Adam started, looking the soldier straight in the eyes, "I don't know what you've heard but there aren't any. And if there were, they'd be useless. And even if they weren't, do you really think I'd be handing them out to rank and file soldiers? Focus on your god damn job. Good lord, it's not as if it's difficult." He waited for the soldier to look away before returning to his food.
                                      This was the 3rd time this week he'd been asked that question.
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                  xxxxxxx HEAVEN AND EARTH WILL PASS AWAY
                  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxBUT YOUR WORDS REMAIN
                  xxxxxxx AND MY HANDS ARE GROWING OLD
                  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxAND WEARY WITH PAIN

                  xxxxTO THE ONE U - UNCHANGED
                  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxy e s t e r d a y x a n dx t o d a y x o h x Y H W H

                  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxI WILL TRY TO STAY AWAKE I WILL TRY TO STAY AWAKE I WILL TRY TO STAY AWAKE
                  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxI WILL TRY TO STAY AWAKE I WILL TRY TO STAY AWAKE I WILL TRY TO STAY AWAKE
                  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxI WILL TRY TO STAY AWAKE I WILL TRY TO STAY AWAKE I WILL TRY TO STAY AWAKE



                                                                      Yoona didn’t know which woke her up first: the light filtering in through the speckled curtains of her office window and the sheer stink of her ground coffee, still clinging to the cracked porcelain cup in front of her. Either way, she’d slept. That was more than she could say for the rest of the week, so she’d figure she’d call this a good day. Lifting her head made her realize she was still at her desk, hunched over and curled, her feet tucked into the folds of her dilapidated chair and then left dangling as if she was a child. Her cheek was stuck to a piece of paper, scribbled across almost illegibly with her own hand, likely late into the night considering she didn’t remember writing it at all. Her eyes pass over it quickly; best to transcribe before she manages to forget how to read her own hand-writing altogether.

                                                                      By the time she’s finished, she’s starving. Yoona couldn't quite remember the last time she ate but she does know they were some kind of beans, stewed once or twice in some murky water before sloshed into a can and deposited on her doorstep. She tried to recall maybe where she was sitting when she’d eaten them, each bite a dull noise against her scrapping teeth, but could only remember the taste of them against her tongue, familiar and disgusting. Typical. Her memory on anything non-bacterial was starting to disappear, like a phantom limb she could do no more than poke and prod before realizing that it had never been there to begin with.

                                                                      She spent the next ten minutes simply rereading her notes and fixing her desk, adjusting the makeshift filing system she had arranged and rearranged a dozen times over. She used her microscope as a paperweight considering the draft before reaching into her closet to find something different to wear for the day. She wasn’t exactly fashionable in any way, not in this kind of environment, although she sometimes wondered if she would’ve been staying in Seoul if the outbreak hadn’t happened. She recycled the same two pairs of jeans consistently along with various pairs of tank tops, followed by a selection of lab coats that were starting to become stained with blood, chemicals, and the occasional claw mark from a time where things got too messy. Yoona didn’t like to dwell on that moment too much.

                                                                      She picked her cleanest one, only a acid hole in the front pocket, and slipped it on over her clothing, adjusting her hair into a bun and managing to wipe away the last vestiges of sleep with a quick thumb rub to her eyelids. She marvels at the clock, four hours of sleep on the dot, and takes a moment to pat herself on the back for the effort. Sometimes, as she peered into her microscope on late nights at the lab, she felt like her mind was warping in on itself, the very membranes that she had spent her life studying twisting against her in an effort to get her brain to shut the ******** up and just. Go to sleep. She was glad they succeeded, every once in a while. As long as other times, they simply let her work.

                                                                      Maybe I’ll be the only one in the lab today, if I’m lucky.” It was less that Yoona didn’t enjoy people and more that she didn’t enjoy the company of scientists such as herself, for obvious (at least to her) reasons. One, none of them seemed to take this as seriously as she did, nowadays. They’d resigned themselves to an eternity of this as long as they reaped the benefits of their military funding and higher-ups, a kind of fate Yoona was determined to avoid at all costs. Two, they always wanted to talk and Yoona found it more than impossible to talk when she had the cells of a flesh-eating creature in front of her eyes, eating away at her time and energy. She didn’t know how they could stand it, talking so casually in a room full of tissue samples, teeth fragments, of the very monsters that had eaten her parents and countless others. Maybe she could chalk it up to youth, she was still a child in her field, she could accept that. Or maybe it was that they had grown into their routine how some people adjust to the darkness, seeing fine enough to walk but never clear enough to find the light switch. She’d rather keep fumbling, at any rate.

                                                                      The walk to the school cafeteria was short and only prompted by the fact that her in-storage food was pitifully empty, like it had been for weeks. “For emergencies” seemed to translate into “binge eating” in her head, which seemed irrational and completely unlike her considering the circumstances they were in. However, she’d never been quite good at fixing her habits, shown as how her hands ached for the cool touch of a cigarette held between fingers and the hazy feeling of smoke building in her throat. She occupied herself instead with tapping her fingers against her hip in counts of three, enough to steady her into the moment and file into the line like the rest of the young kids who frequently the QZ. Although she considered herself older than this fray, she knew she blended in quite well with the teenagers considering her face and build.


                                                                      ooc: ahhhh i don't have a posting layout for this character yet but very soon!

        Dedicated Loiterer

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        she was an angel for halloween once, but never again ... and for christmas ever year she's haunted by demons ... she always starts with a smile
        she was an angel for halloween once, but never again ... and for christmas ever year she's haunted by demons ... she always starts with a smile
        she was an angel for halloween once, but never again ... and for christmas ever year she's haunted by demons ... she always starts with a smile
        she was an angel for halloween once, but never again ... and for christmas ever year she's haunted by demons ... she always starts with a smile
        she was an angel for halloween once, but never again ... and for christmas ever year she's haunted by demons ... she always starts with a smile
        she was an angel for halloween once, but never again ... and for christmas ever year she's haunted by demons ... she always starts with a smile





        ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴊᴏᴀɴ ᴊᴀᴍᴇsᴏɴ
        NATTIE
        w.w.w.wild child with a REBEL cause



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                                                                Pressing her forehead agains the cool glass, she let a shiver rush down her spine. September meant that it was getting colder. September meant it was almost fall, which meant it was almost winter. Nattie hated winter. It had only been a few days since she finally turned nine. Only one more year until she was into the double-degits and then perhaps she would finally stop receiving all the "just a kid" comments. "NATTIEEEEE! GET YOUR a** OUTSIDE AND DO SOME CHORES!" The shrieking call of the older woman placed in charge of the extraneous children in the camp nearly knocked Nattie over, causing her to fumble as she clumsily got off of the stool she stood on. God, Nattie hated the woman. It had only been one or two years since Nattie was placed under her watchful eye. "COOOOMMMMMINNNNNNNGGGGG," Nattie called back as she pulled the chair back into it's rightful place and grabbed her blue school-type backpack, slinging it over her frail shoulders. Sure, she'd go outside. However, the whole chore thing was another story.

                                                                With a hop and a skip, Nattie made her way through the dingy, run-down house that had been integrated into the Firefly base. Without pausing, blonde hair flew past the matronly woman as Nattie burst outside, not caring to listen to what the woman was going to yell at her to do. She walked for a while, humming to herself and minding her own business, only greeting others when they smiled at her first (which was often, who wouldn't smile at a small, blonde girl humming to herself). As she wandered through the camp, Nattie wondered what kind of adventure she'd get into today. Maybe she'd spend the day sneaking around leadership or strategy meetings. It had been a while since she had seen the top dog of her Firefly faction and bugged him about sending her on more missions. In fact, she hadn't seen much of the "powerful commanders", most of whom she looked up to. Pressing her lips together, she turned abruptly on her heel and started towards the training grounds, close to where many meetings were held and various teams set up camp.

                                                                HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

                                                                Nattie's ears perked up as she heard the strange sound. If she remembered correctly, that was the sound of an aerosol can. "Hello?" she said in a small voice, sneaking around the building from which the sound came, not really wanted to be heard. Without much grace, a body came charging out of the room, obviously on a mission. With the tiniest yelp, Nattie jumped back and pushed herself into the shadows. Peering around the corner, she eyed the being that surprised her. Even from his back, she could tell it was the second in command, a man named Booker. Almost instinctively, a frown pulled down the corners of her mouth as she watched him disappear into the distance, definitely way across the line that was deemed "untouchable" to Nattie. "Hey," she pouted to herself, "How come he gets to leave?" Nattie knew exactly the reason why he could leave, and that was because he was an "adult", however, that didn't mean she thought it was fair. She couldn't count the number of times she had been told to say on this side of the line if she wanted to survive. Hrmph. Like she needed help to survive. Gripping tightly on the straps of her too-big backpack, Nattie picked up her pace, quickly following after the familiar man towards the QZ she was so forbidden to get close to.

                                                                However, Nattie didn't get too far until she lost all sense of direction and sight of her superior. Her short, thin legs were simply no match for his long, muscular ones. She knew that if she just turned directly around and walked pretty much straight back, she'd safely return to the Firefly base. But she wasn't about to take the easy way out. No siree! Padding along the tall, grass, Nattie was sure to keep as straight as she could, so it would be easy to run her way back if need be. And eventually, she made her way to just off the QZ. When she first caught glimpse of the walls, she scuttled back, in fear of being seen, but as she crept along, she noticed that there didn't seem to be much human protection on the wall at the moment. In fact, she was so engrossed in keeping her eyes on the wall, Nattie hardly noticed that she had wandered into a spattering of homes.

                                                                Homes were dangerous (not like everything in the world was dangerous), because they were ideal hiding places for the Creepers and it was so easy for you to get cornered in one. kkkkk... Nattie heard something. It was faint, but it was something and it was recognizable. Stopping in her tracks, like a scared deer, Nattie whipped her head around, wide eyes looking in all directions. She didn't even have to think about pulling her small dagger from her backpack. But as she scanned the open area, there was nothing. So it wasn't her that was the cause for the clicking. The Creeper was obviously looking for or hearing something else. Now, it could have just been an animal or something menial. Nattie really should have turned and ran, as was her plan. But curiosity got the best of the girl. It had been so long since she had seen any Creepers in real life. Too long. Soft footsteps crept in the direction of the noise, and soon Nattie determined it was coming from a pretty desolate looking house. The front door was wide open. It was certainly no invitation for Nattie to walk inside, but as she grew closer, she remained hidden in the overgrowth, standing next to the porch and angling herself so she could see more clearly inside. There was a staircase and then two entryways off the front hallway. The clicking sound grew strong as Nattie strained to see into one of the rooms from her distant place, half-hiding behind the cement porch.

                                                                Then the exploded head of the clicker came into view. The first thing Nattie noticed was what he was wearing: tattered remains of what her father had called business clothes. And in that moment, she was stuck. She just stood, watching the thing click and move about the dark room, clutching the dagger in her hand so hard that her palms started to sweat. It only took a second for Nattie to catch a glimpse of an intelligent (human) figure moving ever-so-slowly. But in that same second, a loud thunk was heard. Someone was about to die. "HEY!" A high pitched yell left her mouth without hesitation, causing her to scare herself and fall backwards into the grass. What had she done? Clambering onto her feet Nattie ripped her sling shot from her pack and felt to make sure there were a few stones in the pockets of her tattered dress. The Creeper's head immediately turned towards her and Nattie saw the full extent that the virus had junked up the businessman's head. "Holy crap!" Nattie breathed, shaking. She knew she had to get out of there, but she knew the Creeper would be too good at following her if she made too much noise. In it's excitement, the beast started to lumber a bit quicker than before, recklessly trying to get to Nattie. Oh how she wished she had stolen a bow or maybe a bigger knife before she left on her adventure today, because everything was about to go horribly wrong.





                                                                            who i'm with: someone's inside! (natalie) and a clicker creeper
                                                                            where am i?: at this house. i dont know
                                                                            i feel this way: i'm n-not scared! i'm not!
                                                                            not myself (ooc): nattie causing trouble already. = u = let me know if i need to change anything!
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                                                  Luka dozed, dreaming about sunshine and crispy fresh sheets. He wondered what the ocean smelled like, he wondered if raspberries really looked
                                                  like fat red jewels in real life, and not just on close up postcard pictures. He thought about the taste of ice cream, hot fudge, and cinnamon buns, and
                                                  all about what other sweets had slipped his mind and tongue. Vaguely, he thought about movies, magazines, and video games. Luka thought about
                                                  a lot of things - he proclaimed his imagination better than any past reality and was content with that.

                                                  There was a knock on the door. Luka clutched his fleecy checkered blanket in surprise, peering up from his roost owlishly.

                                                  “Comin'!” he called out, voice sleep-thick and heavy. Usually the guards didn’t care much about missed meals or vacant seats. Luka approached
                                                  suspiciously, touched two fingers to his bronze doorknob and narrowed his eyes. Something felt off. He grasped the handle firmly. He ignored the
                                                  sick-quick thrum of his nervous heart and wrenched it open, shallow glare a smear across his puffy lips.

                                                  Memories hit him like a freight train.

                                                  First, “y-you,” in a terrified, conspiratorial hiss. Luka thrust his head out the doorway and looked both ways down the hall, until he promptly
                                                  noticed the uniform. His features went from terrified anger to terrified terror in roughly three seconds. Face pale, mouth open, eyes wild and wide.
                                                  The window was five large strides back and stuck shut with years of grime and dust and dirt. Luka wondered if he could pry it open and run away.
                                                  His knees ached under his weight, foot soles tingling with heady anticipation.

                                                  Would he be arrested? Would he be shot? Did the military really send out undercover dogs to snuff out stupid, stupid, - Luka you are so ********
                                                  dumb
                                                  - kids who made stupid, stupid mistakes?

                                                  Luka wheezed loudly, knuckles white ghosts against the rich brown doorframe.

                                                  In a flight or fight situation, Luka would always pick the former. His lackluster frame and fragile bone were not at all formidable, but he could
                                                  climb away from brutes and bullies who wanted to hurt him. Luka stood straight and tall as he could, jutting out his quivering chin and gripping the
                                                  doorframe tighter to halt his trembling fingers. He wondered if he could bluff his age - how young he could go? He wondered if it would even
                                                  matter when it came to leniency. Luka had actively helped someone he knew was participating in illegal activity, and kids these days weren’t naïve
                                                  sweethearts who didn’t know what they were doing, after all.

                                                  “What . . . w-,” stutter quiet, his voice fell lower than a whisper. He cleared his bone dry throat, swallowing like a knife. “What do you . . . want?”
                                                  his face was unwelcoming, feigning unfriendly innocence like that would help.

                                                  He let go of the doorframe and backed up into his room. The window was a long shot, but . . .

                                                  Luka turned like a whip. He tore through the short space, scrambled up his desk and smashed his knobby knees along the way. Like a caged animal
                                                  he grasped his window frame, straining with some pathetic effort to wrench it open. Splinters and dirt dug deep and bloody into his fingertips -
                                                  Luka didn’t care, Luka didn’t want to be made an example of.

                                                  xxxxxxxxxxxxx × DORM ROOM X × WITH BOOKER X × TERRIFIED
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                                                                          You, said the boy in an angry hiss. Booker shrunk back. So Sweetlips hadn't been half as eager as Booker had expected. That... was a definite problem. No matter, though, Booker would gain Sweetlips' love yet. Probably. Maybe.

                                                                          He wondered if he was suddenly developing feelings for a male because of desperation or just because that male was so pretty.

                                                                          The latter, probably, Booker supposed.

                                                                          But it wasn't the time to dwell on that! Sweetlips was freaking out, knuckles white and words halted and face drained. Booker offered a weak smile. "Hey again, doll," he said, sounding far more confident than he felt. Sweetlips asked what Booker wanted, and he took the opportunity to step inside, turning and locking the door shut behind him. He took off the soldier's helmet, setting it down on a desk. "Listen, we need to talk, because tonight..."

                                                                          The sound of scrambling hit him hard and when Booker turned again, Sweetlips was clawing wildly at the window, trying to escape him. Was he smelly today or something? Either way, Sweetlips was causing one hell of a ruckus, and Booker scrambled after him, grabbing at his wrists and pulling them away from the window. "Shhh, they'll hear you! They'll kill the both of us if we're found, doll." He had to pry Sweetlips from where he was trying to pry the window open; not that the guy didn't put up a fight. But Booker was unquestionably bigger, and he dragged Sweetlips to the bed, pushing him down. And then he realized why this was happening; the ******** uniform.

                                                                          Booker was softly trying to soothe the boy and pushing him to lay on the bed all the while, wrists pinned onto the mattress by Booker's oversized palms. "No, honey, I'm not a soldier! It's a disguise, it's a disguise. I'm not one of them. Please, I promise I'm not here to hurt you."

                                                                          He didn't know what to do. One of Sweetlips' hands got free and hot fingernails hit Booker in the eye. He gasped and in his panic, he swept Sweetlips up into his arms, gripping him tight in a hug. It was a tactic he used to calm kids at the Fireflies' unofficial daycare center. It was why he was so popular there; affection was a pretty god way to calm people down, right? It worked on past girlfriends and stuff like that, so. He planted kisses all over Sweetlips' face, avoiding the lips, funny enough. He kissed forehead, cheeks, temples, eyelids, the nose, everywhere. Lots of kisses on the chin.

                                                                          "I'm a Firefly," he said softly, his voice hushed because they'd probably already attracted a lot of attention with the scuffle. "We're gonna... try and take over Atlanta tonight, and I don't want you to get mixed up in it... Can you meet me tonight? So I can keep you safe."

                                                                          The room smelled desolate, but most rooms did ever since the infection started. Sweetlips had a lot of postcards and photos, though. One of them, laying on the bed, said Florida across it in bright, happy font. There was a white, crystal beach. Booker let go of Sweetlips, retracting his arms slowly to pick the postcard up and show it to him. "I was at a place like this a little while ago, you know. In Florida. Looked pretty similar. There are still places that look like this." He set the card down and in a moment where he forgot he still didn't even know the doll's name, he said, "I could take you all sorts of pretty places like that, if you want."

                                                                          He stood from the bed, squatting down in front of Sweetlips where Sweetlips sat. "Will you come with me tonight? I just... don't want you to get hurt, you know? Sorry for kissing you, by the way, I... that's my only tactic to calm people down and I didn't know what else to do. Also, I think you scratched my cornea."
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                                                  A knife-sharp splinter sliced into Luka’s thumb. He cringed. Footsteps thumped loud and heavy behind him - hands
                                                  were on him! Luka clawed, gripping onto the windowsill for dear life. When his torn fingers slipped with a slither
                                                  outraged grunts spilled forth. Bloody hands tried, desperately, to smack up this military soldier. His thoughts raced like
                                                  quicksilver, eyes darting around the room viciously. Immediately, Luka stopped struggling in hopes of catching the
                                                  meathead off guard and escaping his weighty grasp.

                                                  Instead he was deposited on the bed. Luka’s eyes narrowed something brutal, and he prepared a hefty wad of spit in
                                                  one cheek.

                                                  “My dad’s a politician!” he lied, then spat directly into the man’s face.

                                                  The man said something Luka didn’t care to hear. Luka’s wrist was freed. He made use of it, scratching at anything
                                                  fleshy and soft. Quickly, he was swept up into a bone crushing hug and covered in kisses. Luka’s features crumpled in
                                                  acute surprise - “wh-what!?” - but he stilled. Affection felt like a slug wriggling through his gut. It was foreign and
                                                  wrong, at least on him.

                                                  Words like firefly and take over Atlanta sifted up past his blind rage, cutting clarity deep to Luka’s bone. Something
                                                  seized him - a grand anticipation that made his joints tingle. Something different. Something new. Luka was naïve, or
                                                  stupid. Had he grown up with those light bugs, he’d probably hate them too.

                                                  Luka thought they were better, because they weren’t here.

                                                  The man released him and said, “I was at a place like this a little while ago, you know. In Florida. Looked
                                                  pretty similar. There are still places that look like this,”
                                                  showing him the flashy postcard. Luka stared at it like
                                                  a caught doe, then looked at the man. “I could take you all sorts of pretty places like that, if you want,” the
                                                  man said.

                                                  Summer sunshine felt like molten lava on his eyelids - selfish dreams and wants. Luka was programmed to pursue his
                                                  selfish dreams and wants, no post-apocalyptic upbringing required. He just wasn’t a very good person at the end of the
                                                  day. So he swallowed his steadfast pride and cut his thorns, smiling like sugar. “Okay,” he said, voice rehearsed. Luka
                                                  took a deep breath to stall his stuttering, swallowing down his nerves. “I’ll come with you.”

                                                  “Sorry . . . a-about your eye,” uncharacteristically apologetic, Luka somehow felt sorry for this intimidating hulk in
                                                  front of him. He was promising Luka freedom, after all. Maybe for some seedy price, Luka didn’t really care. It was
                                                  exciting.

                                                  “I’m . . .” ten fake names ran through his head. He breathed, “Luka.” He brought his thumb to his mouth and nibbled
                                                  at the offending splinter, thick and gory. “W-what’s your name?” his voice was muffled by gnashing teeth, trying to
                                                  wrench out the fragment.

                                                  Luka had a lot of questions on his lips. One was blaringly obvious in his mind, though; a price. Things didn’t come for
                                                  free in this world. He frowned sourly, continuing to gnaw. Bait, scout, something he had, a friend, sex, supplies, a fresh
                                                  face to use for missions. The possibilities were endless, so Luka asked for the second time that day, “what do you
                                                  want?”
                                                  after a moment, he added, “for . . . helping me?”

                                                  xxxxxxxxxxxxx × DORM ROOM X × WITH BOOKER X × CURIOUS
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                                                                          He had to wipe spit from his face, but... well. He couldn't say that was a new experience, really.
                                                                          At least he wasn't being scratched to hell any more, right?

                                                                          "You put up one hell of a fight," Booker laughed, dropping to sit on the floor, his legs
                                                                          crossed. But Sweetlips agreed to come along, either way. Booker smiled, though he expected
                                                                          that Sweetlips was just being sly. He probably just wanted out of here; Booker imagined he
                                                                          would want out, too. "Don't worry about the eye, she'll be fine." He pulled himself up to sit
                                                                          on the bed, too, grabbing Luka's hand for a quick shake before releasing it as slowly as he
                                                                          possibly could. "I'm Booker."

                                                                          He leaned back, putting his weight on his hands and watching Luka pick splinters away. "Sorry
                                                                          I scared ya."


                                                                          Luka asked what Booker wanted and he tilted his head curiously before understanding what the
                                                                          boy meant. He shook his head quickly. "Nothin' at all, doll. You helped me before, plus you're
                                                                          mighty cute, so... I just wanted to get you outta here, that's it. Passed the same message to my
                                                                          parents, ha."
                                                                          He went to the window; it would be good for Luka to sneak out through there if it wasn't
                                                                          stuck, but Booker kept a knife on him just for situations like this. He jammed it in between the
                                                                          window and the sill, slowly working around and prying through the muck and grime sealing the
                                                                          window shut.

                                                                          "Can you sneak out through here? Tonight? Like, half past three? I can meet you right in this alley
                                                                          down here, probably."
                                                                          He gestured right beneath the window and started grabbing at it, wiggling it in
                                                                          place to loosen it. With one hefty shove upwards, the window popped open.

                                                                          Crossing back towards Luka, he pulled a gun from a holster on his hip. He'd borrowed it from
                                                                          base, and now he offered it to Luka, holding the grip out to him. "If you get caught, just shoot.
                                                                          After we're done, there won't be anyone to get you in trouble for it."


                                                                          His eyes caught the postcards again and he playfully toed at Luka's foot. "So, where you wanna
                                                                          visit first? I'll add it to the itinerary."
                                                                          His grin was lazy and lopsided. "You ever seen
                                                                          the ocean? I can take you if you want."

        Mega Loiterer

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                                                Natalie didn't freeze like a deer in a gun's sight, she let the fear hit and then she let it go in single
                                                thoughtless breath. Clickers were bad, but not unbeatable and the fallen book had only made it frenzy. It
                                                wasn't like a runner that could have seen her as soon as the sound made its head turn. The plan of
                                                action didn't change, though she adjusted her grip on her axe and moved her feet a bit faster. She would
                                                have made it, she could have made it but -

                                                HEY

                                                With that one human word, Natalie did freeze. Her muscles tensed and her head turned from the
                                                window so quickly it was mildly surprising she hadn't gotten whiplash. She couldn't see who had yelled,
                                                but it was high and sweet and most importantly the clicker had heard it. Her head turned just
                                                slightly towards the window once more before the familiar, bitter emptiness welled in throat. She
                                                turned her face away from the fading light and scrambled to get up. Her legs ached from crouching
                                                so long and her vision blurred from the vertigo, but she didn't pause in her dash to the doorway.

                                                The silhouette of the malformed human was expected, but the small, fallen figure on the grass made her
                                                thankful for her haste. A minute more and the she wouldn't be able to do anything, but now. She
                                                hefted her axe and ran at the infected, hoping that she'd be able to cut its neck deep enough despite the
                                                hardened fungus that grew. It turned at her feet pounding on the wooden floor and flailed as it
                                                shambled closer to her, the little girl forgotten at the louder and closer prey.

                                                She swung and it failed - her axe sunk deeply in to the flowered wall and Natalie was only able to try
                                                once to pull it free before she a thrashing hand crashed into her head. The force caused her to stumble
                                                slightly, but the wall catching her weight kept her from falling. Her shoulder throbbed and her head was
                                                spinning while a dark, heavy epiphany settled across her mind.

                                                Her neck twisted, hoping to catch sight of the little thing she'd distracted the infected from. Brown eyes
                                                caught sight of blonde hair shining in the dying sun before teeth and pain and oh god settled across
                                                her neck.

                                                Natalie reached and pushed weakly against the thing's face but god had her arms always been so
                                                heavy? She caught sight of gold shimmering orange and bronze around a round face and as she
                                                collapsed Natalie used her awkward and clumsy hand - they'd been long and graceful once, right? - to
                                                push the door shut.
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                                        tab tab tab CURRENT TIME: SEPTEMBER 22, 2025
                                        3:17 AM


                                        "DO YOU SEE ANY OF THEM OUT THERE?"

                                        "THE PATROLS ARE JUST PLAYING POKER AT THE FOOT OF THE GATE."

                                        "TAKE THEM OUT, QUIETLY."


                                        The Fireflies want Atlanta, and tonight, they believe, is the night to take them. They're being as
                                        sneaky as they can, implementing all their stealth knowledge because they're far outnumbered
                                        by the US Military's soldiers. Sneaking in through various hidden trade tunnels all around the
                                        city, the Fireflies intend to assassinate the current governor overseeing Atlanta and take the city
                                        for themselves.

                                        tab tab tab SEPTEMBER 22, 2025
                                        3:42 AM


                                        "HONEY, ARE YOU OKAY?"

                                        "LOOK, THEY'RE COMING IN FROM EVERY DIRECTION!"

                                        "GET THE KIDS. WE'RE GOING."


                                        Something somewhere went wrong. One person slipped, let their guard down. The important part
                                        is that the gates to the city were left open and the infected are flooding in. The city is aflame, and
                                        all the citizens can do at this point is get out. To where? Well, who knows? Perhaps a Firefly can
                                        take them in, or they can find a new home. Or even be found by hunters. Who knows?

                                        In your post, you should start with your character either invading the QZ or hearing about the
                                        invasion, then cover the city being overrun by the end of it. Posts are due by this time on
                                        Thursday, April 3. Talk to me if you need an extension.
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                                                                    As a soldier, things were simple and easy. Shoot to kill, know when to run, know when to push forward. It was a lifestyle that called to someone like Stephan, who was otherwise sporadic and flippant. It gave the man structure, and gave him opportunity to hurt for the hell of it. He had a fire in his gut, hot and angry, that forced him forward into the Atlanta QZ with a blaze on his heels.

                                                                    Stephan didn’t hesitate; he just pretended these people were the ones who tore his family apart.

                                                                    He was nestled between two beefy arms, breathing deep and heavy behind a couple of storage crates. No firefly champion or hero looking for glory - his duty was to subdue citizens and pop soldiers. The group weaved in and out of wicker basket shadow, dragging geared up QZ dogs into dark alleys. If a citizen to subdue got in the way, well - the fireflies weren’t champions or heroes. They ran quick and giddy. Stephan laughed and made stupid, boisterous quips with each squishy curb stomp.

                                                                    Stephan was knee-deep in the dredges of a cop-drama-style standoff when he heard the screams. A bullet whizzed past forehead; he fell from the force of the molten metal hot gash and narrowly avoided his comrade’s brain-matter splattering against his face.

                                                                    He realized the bullet hadn’t been meant for either of them when he heard the sharp low-grunt screech of a stalker. He turned, slammed back into the rusty car he was using for cover - [********] - and unloaded one too many shots into the creature’s pungent flesh.

                                                                    No one ever talked about the [******** smell.

                                                                    Stephan didn’t have time to feel ashamed of his shoddy work, he could hear them. The steady thrum of a click click click matched with delirious screeches. s**t.

                                                                    Things were dark - his assailants were running, but Stephan ran faster. He forced his legs forward with a shout of excitement, rejoicing in the knife-sharp pain in his lungs. He shouldered through the utter chaos, smashed his rifle head into someone’s face - had they been alive? - and baseball skidded into a grimy alley. Asphalt stuck to the shredded skin and ripped fabric on his arm; Stephan threw down his pack in a quick rush. He removed a blade from his boot; he ripped his shirt sleeve and wrapped a portion around his bleeding forehead, and a portion around his scraped arm. There was a muddled ringing in his ears, the panic sounding faraway.

                                                                    Collecting his kit, Stephan ambled forward in a crouched position, eyebrows stitched together in a wrinkled frown. There was a pride to his hidden state - if he was gonna go out gun’s blazing, he at least wanted someone to see it. Stephan peeked up over a ruined tin sheet, and contemplated the trip to the QZ gates and back to the makeshift firefly camp.

                                                                    xxxxxxxxxxxxx × QZ, HIDING X × WITH NO ONE X × SCRAPED UP

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