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☣ This is to be a literate role play and that is what I will expect. I will not tolerate text talk, one liners, and horrible grammar. Write well, it's more fun that way.
☣ I don't care if you're violent, have romance, and drama, I welcome it, no encourage it. Just be careful when it comes to any sex scenes; move that to PM or time skip and don't be too graphic if you can help it.
☣ Please respect your fellow Gaians and follow the golden rule, treat others how you want to be treated back!
☣ For Christ's sake, NO GODMODDING. I will eat you alive if I even see any godmodding whatsoever. No killing characters without the owner's consent and whatever. Just don't do it and we'll all be happy.
☣ I have the power to modify these rules
☣ Be creative, have fun, go wild!

'Pity the dead, atleast they don't feel pain any more...'

This was the one thing he kept repeating since his grand father's death. It seemed not a while ago that the scientists that were working on the same project were here with him. Abandoning for their families. Every last one of them left Ferril behind at the science lab. The safest place to be was actually at the epicenter of the event, if there ever was a safe place now.

Ferril stood in his lab, looking over his papers, he went wrong somewhere, this disease was supposed to boost the human power, not turn them into... Into beasts. He didn't understand what his grandfather was saying when he died. It was gibberish. Nothing a scientist would really take a look at, but here Ferril was, desperately trying to find the rest of his grandfather's notes. They had been scattered and he couldn't remember anything about them.

Not even what was on them, but the only thing he remembered was expirementing on test subjects with this disease for the past several years. No one knew the danger of the disease, only knowing that it would effect only humans. "Where... Where are those notes?" He dug through desk drawers. This was relevent to his work. Maybe his Grandfather's notes would tell him. Luckily the security measures were up on the lab so no one could get in, or out, unless they had control of the airducts or the key pad numbers.

After a few moments of searching, Ferril threw his hands in the air with disbelief... Nothing... They were stolen, or somewhere else. And with the virus spread to all of the other facilities, there was no way of finding the notes unless he traveled to each lab and collected them. He brought out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. With a huge inhale and a small exhale, he was able to relax for a moment, even though the carcinogens were speeding his body processes up.

"What had we been working with? The intent of that sample was to improve humans. Which we did, but was it about the notes that went wrong? Why did my grandfather refer to the disease category for the enhancer?" He rubbed his fingers through his greasy hair. "s**t... F*CK! Come on... Think." He looked over at the security screens and saw zombies stepping in the hallway right outside. If they got to him, he would be trapped inside a steel feeding cage. He pulled out his colt and proceeded to step into the hall way.

Firing off multiple slugs into the foreign carcasses. He wondered how this had started, and how the civilians with the infection got in the lab. A few rounds later and well placed head shots allowed him time to breathe and reload. He also wondered where his test subjects were. He needed to do something, but the only thing he could think of was looking for his grandfather's notes, and Ferril knew he couldn't do that alone...

If only one of his subjects stayed behind to fight with him...

Ferril had a moment to breathe, he was fine as long as he didn't sustain too many claws or grabs. He puffed a few more times before flicking his cigarette out the open air vent leading out into the main court yard. A science facility that looked more like a prison. What would you think of that? Well he was in a hell hole of a place. He took a few wandering steps back into his office and grabbed his back pack filled with ammo, some of his grandfather's papers, and a few other supplies he managed to scavenge, luckily he was able to steal from the food supply in the building.

He had a flask and a few water bottles to let him last if he used them sparingly. He grabbed an atlas and plotted his course, going by the hospital was a no go, but the mall seemed like it was pretty safe to enter through the back for supplies. Those few words haunted his mind as he began to set out. His cross bow dangled from his waiste and his arrows had been shoved into a quiver that could hold them even if he had been able to tumble or go upside down. Nothing was going to stop him from atleast getting to his first destination...

Heart selt funeral home was about ten miles out of the city. And the lab was at the other end. A vehicle would get un wanted attention from both survivors and zombies. "I have to travel on foot." Ferril hid a scalpel in his pocket, an obsidion one from a set in his back pack. That small baby only need to be placed on skin and it would slice enough for a steak. That's why he kept it in a holster on a pencil pocket, or in a glass jar in his bag. He had a medkit packed for himself, but it would be hard to find some one who knew how to use it right.

He found the access control panel in the lobby of the main building. Zombies had not followed him, so he imagined that he had time to pull off one last trick. A timed allarm would help his escape. He set the time for forty minutes and began to walk out of the building, every gate to the place unlocked. He was in the open now, but the whole place was too silent. He began to murmur to himself. "Pity the dead... Pity the dead..."

He held his colt ready as he half jogged half walked through the street, remaining silent. Far off he heard clatter, but bothered not to check it out. Who ever they were couldn't be important to his mission. A survivor was either doomed of natural cause, or cursed to become animate again in if they failed to keep running. They only needed to jog and they could out run one of them. Ferril kept a good pace until he came to a crowd. He acted quick, grabbing his scalpel and began to cut the bastards in two, chopping limes and stabbing heads with ease. Amazing how technology on primitive stones can improve the slicing abilities for hand to hand combat. He dashed past the group, allowing limbs to fall and heads to role.

He continued his run, until he came upon another survivor, slicing up zombies with a sword. Ferril could recognise her, but he never actually worked with her so he didn't know her personaly. He stayed back long enough to see the guts and blood pour on the ground. He hid behind a car, holding his scalpel out. Then there was a moan from underneath the car that made him jump and stab the hand reaching for his leg. "HIYA! Die you rotten, no good, maggot filled, meat sack, son of a b***h..." He cursed out killing the thing. "Oops..." He muttered keeping his position behind the car.

Sasha Nikolaivich

The lifeless body of a zombie fell before the young, white haired man. A bored expression was plastered on his face as he examined the blood on his claw-like nails, before sticking a finger in his ear. Looking the other way, he completely ignored the fact that more zombies were lunging at him now. But after a few moments longer, he flashed a sinister grin just as the creatures were merely inches away from him.

Quickly pulling out his handy-dandy switchblade, he threw it right at their little 'leader's' head. Now that he was out of commision, Sasha went in for the kill. With just his bare hands, he swiftly ripped the rest of the zombies' heads off and hearts out, laughing as he did so. Then finally, his work was done. Surrounded by blood and guts, the young man looked up at the sky, letting his arms fall back down to his sides, with his bangs covering his eyes and blood spattered on his face.