He had made it out of the Casino in once piece, and his whole nervous feeling had been validated. They were indeed cannibalistic. He had gotten that feeling the moment they had mentioned their dinner and having the people being auctioned. The thought of those poor people that had come before made him feel terrible. Not that he had done anything, but that there was nothing that could have been done to help them.
Trying hard to shake the thoughts away, Vayne raced out into the cool.. fog. Fog, that had come seemingly from no where. The young blond looked back at the Casino a moment, wondering if he could have taken something from there to beef the security of their own shelter in the prison. They had that much electricity, surely there was something he could loot....
No, probably not good to risk being captured.
OOC
[ Infection Rate ]: NUMBER HERE /100 Current coins: 29 HP: 50/50 Character's name: William Vayne Character's faction: Prison Character's journal link:http://www.gaiaonline.com/guilds/viewtopic.php?t=24795187 (desc here) Character's survival stats: William VayneView (based on_)
Despite what the voice had said to him, Aaron still wants to make sure that Kaethus is okay. He has to do that. He was running in the fog wherever it leads him. "Kaethus?" He can hear his voice again, but what he said he's unsure for it's just mutter words to him. "He's far away . . ." The chilling words wreck his mind, and so distracting that he trip over something.
"Omph!!"
He came down hard right in the face. Aaron push himself up, groaning in pain, and rubbing his face to get the dirt and stuff off his face. "Ugh, what the hell was that?" Slowly he sat up and looks to see what it was. When he was close enough, the look of horror took over his face. He was face to face of what appears to be Kaethus . . . dead. "N-No . . . it can't be! He . . . I just heard his voice!!" And he pick himself up, walking away from the sight. When he turns around to look back, the body was gone. He was then running away from the sight with tears in his eyes.
OOC
Infection rate: 15/100
Character's name: Aaron Lazaris Character's faction: Prison Character's journal link:Link Character's survival stats: Stats BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Giant muscle man at 6'5", dirty blond hair, one blue eye with a black eye patch over his right eye and burn marks on his face. Wearing an orange jumpsuit with the sleeves ripped off. He's a scary man, strong, but overprotective of his family and friends.
Aaron was running hard. All he wants to do is to get out of here and not run into anything bad. Narrowing his blue eye, he believes that he finally reach to the end of the fog. There was a light up ahead and he hopes it's really the end and not that he died somewhere.
He ran as he head straight to it, but he notice that something was wrong. No matter how long he was running there was no difference in distance. "What?!" Already he is pissed off. He close his eye and really pumping the energy and the strength in his legs to carry him out of the fog. It's by far, the hardest workout of his life.
Soon, he open his eye, and he was already running straight through to the end that he practically crash and burn. Aaron fell and roll on the ground. He pants heavily and feel so exhausted, and so out of breath, but he is happy to be out of that hell.
OOC
Infection rate: 20/100
Character's name: Aaron Lazaris Character's faction: Prison Character's journal link:Link Character's survival stats: Stats BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Giant muscle man at 6'5", dirty blond hair, one blue eye with a black eye patch over his right eye and burn marks on his face. Wearing an orange jumpsuit with the sleeves ripped off. He's a scary man, strong, but overprotective of his family and friends.
1: You walk around in the fog, entirely lost. You begin to hear someone talking to you, and it sounds like yourself. They mock you for being such a failure in the trials so far with clear examples of when. The fact that they know scares you.
2: You walk around the fog and trip over something. As you involuntarily look at it, you see the rotting face of someone familiar to you. Shaken, you backtrack. The body and obstacle are gone.
3: You wander aimlessly at the fog until you reach a clearing. Instead of fog, there is just a circle of people, around eight of them. They stand there wordlessly, not even registering you. They do not move from that circle despite any communication you may attempt to them, and you are eventually forced to move away.
Not only did Oscar feel thankful that even if he hadn't managed to pay himself off he would've been able to escape anyways-- He was also thankful for having seen at least two of his "team" before he bolted the ******** away from the casino and into the endless fog. While he'd reached to try and grab Lenny or see any of his comrades during the battle, Oscar only managed to get out of the way... alone. Again. He bit his bottom lip, breathing heavily.
There was quite literally nothing there. Not buildings, no structures-- Not even undying.
The more he walked, the more he realized how ******** lost he was, and it wasn't exactly like he could go back-- What even was back? What was forward? All he knew was up and down in that moment, and that was simply because his feet were on the floor themselves. He kept walking forward, bringing his hands up into a makeshift speaker. "Hellooo!! Lenny?" Oscar stopped, then looked around before "Renitaaaa!" He didn't think she'd want to be anywhere near him after their fight, but at the moment, he was alone and she was possibly alone. She'd probably want someone nearby too. "Watarruuu, Sawyerrr!" He called out for the last two people in his team before stopping and hearing a voice whisper into his ear, sounding strangely similar to his own. It was more like a whisper, but it made Oscar stop walking, a sudden shiver sliding down his back. He gulped. Was that an echo? It-- It sounded like an echo.
Do you remember that time your arm was broken? His own voice whispered-- You didn't do anything to help the others, who were hurt.
Remember the casino? You ruined the lives of two people last night. He heard, making his teeth clench, body stiffen. His hand tightened into a fist. How about Renita? Do you remember her? What you said to her? What she said to you? His own voice was like a nightmare, and Oscar instantly put two hands over his ears, trying to block out his own voice-- But the sound, it was still going. He ran, yelling "LA LA LA"'s into the air so he didn't think about it-- Until he tripped over something, falling right on his face.
He fell to the ground hard, voices assaulting him all at once while his eyes darted around, searching for it-- What about your parents? They thought you'd become something greater, but instead, you decided to play video games for a living. They're probably dead, you know. Dead, and you're thinking this is all a game. You're living in your own delusions. His own voice was seeping into his own skin, ripping him apart with every statement. He clenched his fist and forced himself to stand up, turning around to look at what tripped him before recoiling immediately. A choked gag slid out of his mouth, slapping a hand on his own mouth and gagging as the body disappeared. Mom. The thing he tripped over, it-- it was the mangled body of his mother. Rotten and old, as if left for a month.
The vision of the body was still imprinted in his mind, digging into his thoughts like a shovel. Each comment made him want to shrivel up and stop.
You're pathetic.
Oscar squeezed his eyes shut, but the voice would just go faster, several at a time now, outlining every single fault he'd made. He stumbled, standing and rubbing his face, snarling at the area around him before letting out a loud scream of anger and fear. The last words he heard made his body tremble.
Are you proud of yourself, now?
Deciding not to respond, Oscar ran again, squeezing his eyes and ears shut, the sound of his feet being the only thing he could hear. All of a sudden, Oscar collided with something-- No. Someone. He pulled away, eyes going wide as he saw a circle of people, a stab of fear coursing through his insides while he looked at the bodies. They were simply there, in the cold fog air, a circle of people un-moving, seemingly unresponsive. Oscar winced. Nope. He wasn't even going to let himself think about it. He quietly stood up from his spot, and promptly ran the ******** away. No way was he going to become the victim of some crazy voodoo s**t. No more. He felt like he'd go crazy if he saw anything else...
OOC
Character's name: Oscar Owens Character's faction: Apartments Character's journal link:JOURNAL Character's survival stats: STATS BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Standing at a tall 6'0ft, Oscar is olive skinned with golden-brown hair and grey eyes. He's physically large and looks like he has some muscle. [ Infection Rate ]: 25/100
Stumbling through the fog, fighting a strange itch forming inside of him, Vayne finally found his way to a clearing. It seemed okay, there were a group sitting there, facing a fire, but something seemed off about them. He opened his mouth to speak to them, but noted they seemed almost like statues.
While he was watching them, he thought about all that had been said in the casino, his mind closing in on one phrase that had brought chills to him. All already infected He was already sick but not showing signs. Did that mean no matter what he was going to be one of THEM?
The idea of it made him feel queasy, which in turn made him more nervous. No, he was not going to wait around here with the statue people... he best move on.
OOC
[ Infection Rate ]: 10/100 Current coins: 29 HP: 50/50 Character's name: William Vayne Character's faction: Prison Character's journal link:http://www.gaiaonline.com/guilds/viewtopic.php?t=24795187 (desc here) Character's survival stats: William VayneView (based on_)
Steal rolled 1 6-sided dice:
2Total: 2 (1-6)
Posted: Sun Sep 27, 2015 2:03 pm
A bit glad to be rid of the weird camp, Vayne walked on, he found that the fog, or something was making him feel sick, he was dizzy and felt like vomiting, but he didn't want to stop moving. He had to keep going on. The more he moved the more sick he felt. It was a strange struggle. Onward he walked until he finally felt he could move no more. Reaching this point he stopped, bent over and looked at the ground. Maybe a stationary object would make him feel better. The ground was the only thing around that was clear.
That was the bad part. The ground was too clear. He could see the bodies. Infected, bloated... grisly smiles.... and the chest... what had happened? It looked like someone had mutilated them on purpose, but for what? That didn't bear thinking.. he wanted to be out of there, and so he ran.
Running would have been a good idea if he hadn't been doing so blindly. Running and running until he hit what felt like a wall, though he was sure it was more like the wall of his own stamina. He groaned and bent at the waist again, choking and gasping for air. It was then that he noticed, that on the ground before him was.....
He knew the person. They had once been friends. The dark red hair.. the muscles.. They had played basketball. "Kagami...." He whispered the name, as if saying it aloud would make him vanish.
He didn't. Unable to take the horror he raced off, running backwards, until there was no where else. When he headed back toward where he had left the body, it was gone. What was with this place? The only good thing was now the fog was lifting...
OOC
[ Infection Rate ]: 30/100 Current coins: 29 HP: 50/50 Character's name: William Vayne Character's faction: Prison Character's journal link:http://www.gaiaonline.com/guilds/viewtopic.php?t=24795187 (desc here) Character's survival stats: William VayneView (based on_)
Ves rolled 3 6-sided dice:
4, 4, 5Total: 13 (3-18)
Ves
Garbage Animal
Offline
Posted: Sun Sep 27, 2015 2:52 pm
Fog. Nothing but endless, swirling fog, as far as the eye can see. Separated from his group, Voss stumbles blindly through the mist, his mind racing with dizzying, paranoid thoughts. 'You're becoming one of them,' his mind chides him. 'It won't be much longer now.'
Roll 1
[ Rolling a 4:] You feel something following you from behind the fog, and hear it breathing. It doesn't sound human, and if you dare chance to look back, you see several pairs of eyes blinking at you all at different times. The sounds continue to follow you, but the eyes are nowhere to be seen. [ +5 infection, ADD THIS TO YOUR OOC INFECTION RATE TALLY ].
Heavy breathing is heard from behind him, rasping, loud. It doesn't sound like any earthly creature the professor has known of before (not that he was ever an expert on animals). Frederich relies on his cane to lengthen his steps, at first refusing to look back, but he can't seem to lose the thing.
Roll 2
[ Rolling a 4:] You feel something following you from behind the fog, and hear it breathing. It doesn't sound human, and if you dare chance to look back, you see several pairs of eyes blinking at you all at different times. The sounds continue to follow you, but the eyes are nowhere to be seen. [ +5 infection, ADD THIS TO YOUR OOC INFECTION RATE TALLY ].
Voss finally looks over his shoulder to an assortment of eyes staring back at him -- was that a flash of teeth he just saw? -- and quickly turns back around, hastening his pace. He tucks his cane under his arm and breaks into a run until he's sure he's made distance from the creatures. He takes one more peek at the source of the breathing.
The eyes are gone.
Roll 3
[ Rolling a 5 ] Your begin to feel dizzy and nauseous as a strange sleepiness comes over you. Your limbs began to drag on and on. Eventually, you are forced to look down - to see hundreds of bodies around you, all sleeping. If you flip one over, you will notice that their faces have been forcefully stitched into smiles, and their entire chest cavity has been crudely stitched and removed, their skin bloated. You run. [ +10 infection, ADD THIS TO YOUR OOC INFECTION RATE TALLY ].
This little patch of the fog, however, is much less pleasant. Voss's head is spinning, and the ground beneath him feels oddly... moist. His entire body feels like lead, his forehead sweaty and feverish, and as he walks, he feels his cane prod into something... squishy.
Voss tenses up, holding his free hand to his face and covering his eyes as his fingers part to see just what he'd struck with his cane. He really, really wishes he hadn't looked, now, face-to-face with a putrid, grinning corpse staring lifelessly up at him from the ground. He recoils, springing back into another corpse in similar condition, its belly bloated like the world's worst ******** hell," snarls the professor, covering his mouth and gagging. The entire ground is carpeted in bodies -- all grinning, all in varying states of decay, and most disturbingly, all breathing as though they were merely asleep.
He picks a random direction and starts to run until the ground stops smacking under his feet, until he finds himself standing at the gates of a hospital.
OOC
[ Infection Rate ]: 20/100
Character's name: Frederich Voss Character's faction: University Character's journal link:Yo Character's survival stats: Frederich VossView BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Frederich is a grim-faced old man with a wiry build, sunken eyes, and bony hands. He walks with a cane and carries himself with much importance, as he places a lot of stock in being seen as intimidating by others. Grey hair tied back in a short ponytail, ghostly pale skin, almost anachronistic way of dress. His coat is padded to make himself look bigger than he actually is.
Ves rolled 3 6-sided dice:
1, 5, 1Total: 7 (3-18)
Posted: Sun Sep 27, 2015 2:54 pm
Quote:
[ Rolling 1 ] You walk around in the fog, entirely lost. You begin to hear someone talking to you, and it sounds like yourself. They mock you for being such a failure in the trials so far with clear examples of when. The fact that they know scares you. [ +5 infection, ADD THIS TO YOUR OOC INFECTION RATE TALLY ].
"Dave, you really ******** the goose on this one," a voice says. It sounds like his own. The hair on the back of Grant's neck sticks up, and his entire body feels prickly. "Why didn't ya just go back to the apartments with everyone else? Now you're lost out here and you're gonna die. You really ******** up."
"That's enough," Grant says, palming his face and waving the voice away. "Stop."
"What are ya gonna do, run? Of course you are. You're a piece of s**t, Dave. You couldn't even bring yourself to find out if Fred's still alive. He might still be here if it weren't for you."
"If you were actually corporeal I'd ********' throw you," growls the former wrestler as he stalks off to a different part of the fog. "Shut up!"
Quote:
[ Rolling a 5 ] Your begin to feel dizzy and nauseous as a strange sleepiness comes over you. Your limbs began to drag on and on. Eventually, you are forced to look down - to see hundreds of bodies around you, all sleeping. If you flip one over, you will notice that their faces have been forcefully stitched into smiles, and their entire chest cavity has been crudely stitched and removed, their skin bloated. You run. [ +10 infection, ADD THIS TO YOUR OOC INFECTION RATE TALLY ].
It's like walking through a nightmare. First the intrusive and accusatory thoughts (that he swore sounded like real voices outside his head), now the air hangs with a stillness and a stench so powerful it almost makes Grant throw up. The sensation is reeling, and he feels like he's going to fall over like he's caught a bad flu. There's no way he isn't infected now if he wasn't earlier.
His foot catches in the crook of something -- something a bit too soft to be a root, but there was an underlying hardness, like bone-- and as the old man looks down, he realizes that the toe of his shoe is under an elbow of someone that looks like they've been long dead, but oddly pulsating as though breathing.
"Y-You okay, bud?" He asks the corpse, but it predictably doesn't react. The fog seems to draw back like a putrid comforter, revealing hundreds more just like it -- bloated, ghastly carcasses as far as the eye can see.
"Oh my God," he gasps, sweat running down his brow. "******** this place. ******** this place, ******** this place, ******** this place!"
He's not going to stay here. He turns and runs back into the fog from whence he came.
Quote:
[ Rolling 1 ] You walk around in the fog, entirely lost. You begin to hear someone talking to you, and it sounds like yourself. They mock you for being such a failure in the trials so far with clear examples of when. The fact that they know scares you. [ +5 infection, ADD THIS TO YOUR OOC INFECTION RATE TALLY ].
"Always running away from things, aren't you, Dave? Didn't you learn your lesson?"
Once he's sure he's away from that clearing with the corpses, that voice is back. Grant claps his hand over his ears. "Didn't I tell you to shut the ******** up?!" He yells out in desperation, feeling like a teenage boy.
"Just keep running, Dave, it'll all catch up to you sooner or later. You couldn't even suplex a zombie. What sort of wrestler are you? You're a has-been. Your glory days are long over, and even if Fred was still alive, he clearly didn't care enough about you to try and come for you."
"You're lying," Grant retorts, feeling smaller. It was like talking to his dad. "******** off." "And all you're going to find from now on are moldy potatoes... Moldy potatoes... Moldy ******** OFF!" Grant kicks and punches at the air in frustration and panic before running off in a random direction again, until the fog finally recedes and he's just as lost as before, but at least he can see.
OOC
[ Infection Rate ]: 20/100 Character's name: David Grant Character's faction: Apartments Character's journal link:woop Character's survival stats: David GrantView BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER David is massive. You could even call him a big buff spicy grandpa, a 6'5" wall of muscle wrapped in tacky Hawaiian print fabric. His favorite color is orange. He wears square-rimmed glasses and has a neatly trimmed beard. Everything about him is an affront to human decency. He is the walking definition of loud and obnoxious. sketch
Where even was he, now? He'd followed his group out into a dense fog, despite his gut telling him this was absolutely the most wrong thing he could do at this point. He had to keep going, for his faction. They had to last, they had to make this work. He was ready to get out of here, get all of this done and over with, but what could he do? The rescue people were on the way. Until then, he had to just wait it out. Hope he was doing right for his community.
[ Rolling a 2 ] You walk around the fog and trip over something. As you involuntarily look at it, you see the rotting face of someone familiar to you. Shaken, you backtrack. The body and obstacle are gone. [ +10 infection, ADD THIS TO YOUR OOC INFECTION RATE TALLY ].
The fog was so thick, he couldn't even manage to keep his glasses cleared. Not that they helped anything. Lifting a hand, he found he could barely see it inches away from his face.
With a heavy sigh, he let his hand fall and stuffed them into his pockets, walking slowly, feet shuffling slightly to avoid hitting anything. Of course, that did no good at all. Boots hit something solid, making him stumble forward, catching himself on his palms.
As he pushed himself up, palms stinging, straightening his glasses, he glanced down at the whatever it was he'd tripped over. Blinking, eyes adjusting to the thickness, he caught a glimpse of his senior officer, back at the precinct.
"Augh!" He let out an involuntary yell, stumbling back. Hurriedly, he forced himself back on his feet, rubbing slightly-bloodied palms against his eyes, trying to get the image out of his head.
[ Rolling a 3 ] You wander aimlessly at the fog until you reach a clearing. Instead of fog, there is just a circle of people, around eight of them. They stand there wordlessly, not even registering you. They do not move from that circle despite any communication you may attempt to them, and you are eventually forced to move away. [ +10 infection, ADD THIS TO YOUR OOC INFECTION RATE TALLY ].
You're lost, Cadet. The stern voice of his commanding officer echoed in his head as he strode through the fog. He wasn't lost. He could make his way out. Keep his head clear. Just follow through, straight line. Daryn had to hit an edge somewhere, didn't he? Damn useless, Cadet. What a worthless attempt.
Pressing hands against his head, he continued to walk, heel-to-toe, heel-to-toe. Straight line. Straight line. Keep moving and he knew he'd get out of there. Should've stayed back in your cozy little bunk, Cadet. You don't have what it takes out in the field. Never did.
Shaking his head, he kept walking, the fog thinning out a bit as he continued forward. No. He'd make it out of this. If the fog was thinning, it meant he'd manage to reach the edge, soon. Surely it wasn't as thick at the edges.
He managed to reach a group of people at the center of the thinned out fog, seeing them stare at... what were they staring at? Was it him? Daryn probably looked like a total mess with the fall he'd just taken. "H-hey."
The young man offered a wave to them, trying to get their attention. But all they did was stare."Hey! What's going on?"
So worthless, not even these people care what you do. Shaking the words from his head, he found that they'd do nothing. It wasn't worth staying there. Not if they wouldn't even acknowledge his presence. Turning on heel, he started walking again. Which way had he even come from?
[ Rolling a 4:] You feel something following you from behind the fog, and hear it breathing. It doesn't sound human, and if you dare chance to look back, you see several pairs of eyes blinking at you all at different times. The sounds continue to follow you, but the eyes are nowhere to be seen. [ +5 infection, ADD THIS TO YOUR OOC INFECTION RATE TALLY ].
Absently scratching at his palms, he picked a direction and started, bracing himself for the sightlessness of the fog. Setting his path, he continued forward, the itching moving to a place on his shoulder. That bunk's lookin' nice and cozy, ain't it, Cadet? Gonna crawl back on home?
"Shut up!" Digging nails into the place on his shoulder, he continued walking. This was getting so damn ridiculous! He should've been out by now! Or at least he should have met up with another member of his faction.
Breathing behind him caught his attention. Turning quickly, he went to tell them just how annoying that sound was, only to find people staring at him. Taking a step toward them, fists balled and ready to swing, he caught a glimpse of his officer out of the corner of his eye. What the hell was the old man doing here, anyway?
He turned to confront the man, finding him not even there. Dammit! This all wasn't even worth his time. Daryn had to get himself out of this hell hole of a place.
OOC
[ Infection Rate ]: 25 /100
Character's name: Daryn Skylar Character's faction: Prison Character's journal link:Daryn Character's survival stats: View BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Avatar representation
Posted: Sun Sep 27, 2015 5:24 pm
Micah had escaped the casino, and hell if he was ever investigating any suspicious building again, not after he'd gotten uncomfortably close to becoming dinner. It didn't really matter what direction he was going, as long as it was away. The sound of gunfire and screaming receded behind him, and he eventually slowed to a walk, breathing hard.
The fog circled around him. When had it gotten so foggy? He'd rarely seen fog this thick, fog that hid every landmark until he was nearly on top of it, broken buildings and walls and signposts looming suddenly up out of the hazy whiteness. He tripped over something, recovered, looked down at his feet, and realized with a sudden start that he couldn't actually see his own feet. The fog had gotten so thick that he couldn't see more than a foot or so, and he seemed to fade out like a ghost past the knees.
Something growled in the fog behind him. He startled and ran, thinking that it would be almost impossible to fight in this. He'd fought blind before, but he'd had Mr. Nordskov's voice and sounds to help him locate the enemy and aim at it, and he'd still missed a lot more than he liked. He had a knife now, swiped blindly from a casino table as he fled, but even a knife wasn't real helpful if you couldn't see what you were trying to stab.
"Yeah, good job, loser," a voice drifted out of the fog, and Micah startled again and swung around, pulling the knife out of his jacket pocket. He couldn't see the source of the voice, but it couldn't be an infected, because they didn't talk once they'd succumbed. It sounded familiar, anyway. "Good job breaking it," the voice taunted, and he realized with a start that it was one of the assholes who'd bugged him in middle school, who he'd been in shop class with and had seized on any little opportunity to needle him while in the classroom, where he couldn't retaliate in front of the ******** off," he yelled back, and gritted his teeth with fury as laughter echoed back, cruel and mocking. Then, "Micah," came his father's voice. "Micah, would you like to explain this note?"
"Dad?" Micah turned, trying to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. "Dad? Where are you?" He shuffled toward the direction he thought he'd heard his father. "Dad, I'm sorry - are you okay, Dad, did you make it to a safe place -- "
His father's voice was silent. Other voices came out of the fog. His mother's voice, his friends' voices, the voices of his coworkers and his enemies, and slowly the few good voices faded away, leaving only the cruel and mocking ones, and Micah lost his temper and slashed blindly at the fog, hitting nothing.
"Everyone is infected," whispered a voice. A too-familiar voice, a voice he'd heard over the speakers of the casino. "Shut up!" he yelled back at it, an edge of panic worming its way into his voice.
"Everyone is infected," it repeated. "Everyone is infected."
Micah took two steps forward and stabbed at the fog again, his chest and gut clenching with cold fear. "Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
The voice repeated itself, smoothly, calmly, over and over again, and Micah shook his head and clutched at his knife and wondered hysterically if there were really any voices at all, or if it was all in his head. Was this how it started? If he was infected, was this how it felt to start to die?
OOC
Character's name: Micah Lambert Character's faction: Apartments Character's journal link:Journal Character's survival stats: Micah BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Squarish, short, and irritable. He has short, sandy brown hair in a slightly spiky style, brown eyes, and glasses with a coppery wire frame. Wears practical, tough clothes, jeans or work pants with steel-toed or hiking boots, and a flannel or jacket over a t-shirt. He has a small gold wire earring in his left ear and a star tattooed on the back of his right wrist.
The voice stopped eventually. Its absence spooked Micah a little, but he didn't want it back, either. He wondered if he was already dead, if maybe he'd been shot running from the casino. Maybe he'd been hallucinating all of this. Maybe he was tripping balls as he lay on the smoky carpet bleeding out. He couldn't tell if that thought was better or worse than the thought that he was lost in a fog so thick he could barely see his hands, being taunted by voices that were probably out of his own head, going crazy.
He stumbled over something he couldn't see, caught himself, realized that he could see his feet again. He looked up. He was in a strange, clear circle in the fog, like the eye of a storm, though overhead was only more vague whiteness. Eight people stood in a circle around the misty edges of the clear space, completely still, strangely blank-eyed. "s**t," he said, then, embarrassed, "'scuse me." There was no response.
"Hello?" Micah moved closer to the nearest figure, a woman in a suit, and waved his hand in front of her eyes. She didn't move or answer. He walked around the circle, passing in front of each of the people who stood there. After the third one, he stopped trying to speak to them. They didn't answer or move, and he wondered with an uncomfortable chill if they were real. He didn't want to touch them to find out. Either his hand would go right through, or it wouldn't, and if it didn't, they'd notice him, or they wouldn't, and none of those possibilities sounded real good to him.
He looked to the point in the middle of the circle at which all of them were staring, and was only a little reassured to find that he still couldn't see anything there to look at. There was no point staying here. He might eventually see it. And then maybe he'd be stuck here staring too. He walked between two of the frozen figures and back into the white wall of fog.
OOC
[ Infection Rate ]: 10/100
Character's name: Micah Lambert Character's faction: Apartments Character's journal link:Journal Character's survival stats: Micah BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Squarish, short, and irritable. He has short, sandy brown hair in a slightly spiky style, brown eyes, and glasses with a coppery wire frame. Wears practical, tough clothes, jeans or work pants with steel-toed or hiking boots, and a flannel or jacket over a t-shirt. He has a small gold wire earring in his left ear and a star tattooed on the back of his right wrist.
prolixity rolled 1 6-sided dice:
4Total: 4 (1-6)
Posted: Sun Sep 27, 2015 5:27 pm
Micah picked his way slowly through the fog. His spine prickled with an uncomfortable sensation, like someone was watching him. That's not possible, he thought, not in this fog, unless something was out there that didn't see the fog, or maybe the fog was all in his head and he was really stumbling blindly around the ruins of the city in broad daylight like a crazy person. "Like" a crazy person. He laughed, a short sharp bark of a sound with no real humor in it.
If he listened, he could hear something. Not a voice this time, but a slow and bubbly kind of breathing. It sounded like it was following him. He kept going, his own breathing speeding up, heart hammering. An infected? Something else? When he couldn't stand the not knowing any longer, he whirled, holding his knife out in empty threat.
Several pairs of eyes blinked unevenly at him through the fog, farther away than arm's length, farther than he should be able to see. He stumbled back, turned and ran a few steps, turned to point the knife shakily at the eyes again. They were gone.
The sound of breathing followed him for a long time, but each time he turned, there was nothing visible behind him.
OOC
[ Infection Rate ]: 15/100
Character's name: Micah Lambert Character's faction: Apartments Character's journal link:Journal Character's survival stats: Micah BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Squarish, short, and irritable. He has short, sandy brown hair in a slightly spiky style, brown eyes, and glasses with a coppery wire frame. Wears practical, tough clothes, jeans or work pants with steel-toed or hiking boots, and a flannel or jacket over a t-shirt. He has a small gold wire earring in his left ear and a star tattooed on the back of his right wrist.
The bubbling breathing had faded. Micah walked onward through the fog, feeling cold and numb and trying not to think too hard about how real this was, or where he really was, or if he was alive. It was hard not to, when you couldn't see or hear anything, and all you had was white swirling fog and your own footsteps and the uneven surface you walked on.
He tripped over something, something strangely soft, and landed on his hands and knees. The ground below him was cracked pavement. His palms stung as he picked himself up, and he'd have bruises on his kneecaps. He turned to see if he could find what he'd tripped over, intending to kick it.
It was the body of one of Micah's cousins, staring up into the fog, one eye gone, the flesh of his face sloughing off in decay. Micah yelled and scrambled backward, shuddering with disgust and shock and fear. Had he really seen that? Was it really James? It took him a minute to get his head together again, and when he shuffled cautiously forward to look again, to hope he'd made a mistake in recognizing the corpse, he couldn't find it. He was sure it had been only a short distance away, that he'd only fallen back a few feet. It was no longer there.
He wasn't sure it had ever really been there in the first place. But his scraped hands stung, and his kneecaps ached.
OOC
[ Infection Rate ]: 25/100
Character's name: Micah Lambert Character's faction: Apartments Character's journal link:Journal Character's survival stats: Micah BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Squarish, short, and irritable. He has short, sandy brown hair in a slightly spiky style, brown eyes, and glasses with a coppery wire frame. Wears practical, tough clothes, jeans or work pants with steel-toed or hiking boots, and a flannel or jacket over a t-shirt. He has a small gold wire earring in his left ear and a star tattooed on the back of his right wrist.
As soon as the lights were out Calab was on the move. He'd been waiting, unsure if he'd get this chance, he wasn't loosing a moment. He had gotten this far, he would keep going. He didn't know what was pushing him forward anymore.
Around him it was foggy, he'd not known until he's made a break for it, and now it was to late to point himself back to The Mall. He'd have to find a marker, a sign, something to show his location. He dodged an infected, rubbing at the old scratches o his arms, he was sure they had healed. He'd been healing fast during this, too fast a part of his mind told him.
He could feel himself slipping, sometimes it came with no notice, other times it was like he was loosing himself. He glanced to the side, now was not the time to have an episode...
"Please, baby, keep your meds on you."
"Mum?" Calab called out, the sudden voice of his mother startlingly clear in the fog, nothing else was.
Quiet. Then they started, quiet at first. Hissing voices of anger, things he thought didn't bother him any more, fears. They grew and Calabs steps sped up, trying to outrun the voices. "Everyone is infected." He couldn't get away from those words.
He wandered, looking for something. Finally he found a clearing, maybe here he'd find a street- Calab stumbled. He'd gone from being so blind, so pushed in upon, and now... there were people ahead. He didn't know if they escaped from the Casino too, but perhaps...
"Hey!"
He paused, not a one had twitched. Calab slowed his steps. Could they be infected... or people from the Casino ready to drag him back. Still he tried. He never got a response. Unnerved, Calab turned and ran, he didn't know why it was so disturbing but he couldn't take it.
OOC
[ Infection Rate ]: 10 /100
Character's name: Calab Character's faction: Mall Character's journal link:HERE Character's survival stats: #63 BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Brown hair, green eyes. He stands at 5'7. *He is off his meds, and suffers from MPDD (multiple personality dissociative disorder) - intense mood swings, impulsive behaviors, and severe problems with self-worth. Characterized by the presence of two or more distinct or split identities, an inability to recall key personal information, memory variations, headache, amnesia, time loss. *Rank Costume - Skunk - all the fake fur and none of the boobs, A very well made skunk costume, with a hood, tail, hip wrap, leg wraps and arm wraps.
Demoonica Darkmoon
Inquisitive Cat
Offline
Grifferie rolled 1 6-sided dice:
2Total: 2 (1-6)
Grifferie
Crew
Deus Sherry
Offline
Posted: Sun Sep 27, 2015 6:49 pm
Autumn wanted to cry. She couldn't see, and she hated that, especially because she almost could see. Everything was gray and close...she almost felt like she couldn't breathe. Was it fog? Was it smoke? Furthermore where was everyone? Was she alone out here?
No, she couldn't be alone. She could hear others. She could hear them whispering, hear them moving.
A footstep sounded behind and Autumn whirled, huffing and puffing and expecting to see some cannibal with a saw there. They are all infected. The voice came from nowhere, and she wasn't even sure she'd heard it.
"I just have," she said to herself, in order to have some kind of noise, "keep going. The others got out. I know they did. I saw them." Well, she'd seen some of them. She knew she was not alone out here... Honestly that made it worse. What if they were out here. And the zombies. "No," she said, beginning to walk, "I won't run into them. I just need to get to someplace safe and everything will be fine."
One step, two steps, a pause as she hears a whisper. Was it her own ragged breathing? Was she being followed? "No." Another step. A stumble. Autumn looked down to see a face. A rotting, oozing face, that looked far too much like Joy Ann's to be of any comfort. "No!" She stumbled back, and found herself alone in the fog again.
Alone with the whispers and their quiet sounds.
Quote:
[ Rolling a 2 ] You walk around the fog and trip over something. As you involuntarily look at it, you see the rotting face of someone familiar to you. Shaken, you backtrack. The body and obstacle are gone. [ +10 infection, ADD THIS TO YOUR OOC INFECTION RATE TALLY ].
1/3 [ Infection Rate ]:10 /100
OOC
Character's name: Autumn Flint Character's faction: Prison Character's journal link:Here Character's survival stats: Here BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER Female, 5'8", Dark brown hair and hazel eyes.
