Your character steps into one of the hospital rooms accidentally and blacks out. When they wake up, they realize everyone around them is an Infected (terminal virus stage). The hallucinations have gone to their head, making them believe they are all Infected, including themselves. React accordingly. PVP is turned on, but if your character takes more than -10 damage, they snap back to the reality of the situation.
If more than one character, all characters believe the same. Instead of hitting themselves/each other for -10 damage they can also choose to write an "identity crisis" solo or 250 words about what they plan to do knowing they are Infected. After they do so they snap back to awareness and realize that they are still okay for now.
When the event is over, add +10 infection to your character's infection meter.
Posted: Sun Sep 27, 2015 5:49 pm
Mr. Nordskov was tired and grouchy. He had lost track of Fantasia, and was not sure whether he should be searching outside, or inside, or in the damn fog... Or maybe another dog-thing had gotten her while he wasn't looking. Either way, he was restless, tired, eternally grouchy as he wandered through the deserted hospital hallways. The catastrophe a month ago was bizarre enough, but searching an old hospital in the dark bordered on surreal. It was like some damn cheap horror movie.
The old man never watched those movies, he preferred action. Perhaps he would have been more pleased if the place started blowing up.
He paused, hearing the shuffling of something moving down the next hallway. Something definitely smaller than himself, but also definitely larger than a raccoon... Bracing himself for action, he leapt out around the corner, shining his flashlight and holding his knife at ready.
[ Infection Rate ]: 40 /100
OOC
Character's name: Johnathan Nordskov Character's faction: Apartments Character's journal link:Journal Character's survival stats: Stats BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER: Mr. Nordskov is always gruff and straight to the point, in a constant state of disgruntled disapproval. Despite this solitary attitude he has little desire to see anyone hurt. Seriously at least. Physically, the 60 year old is tall, well muscled with arms like tree trunks, sporting a bristly woodsman beard and piercing blue eyes glaring out from under bushy eyebrows.
Grey Dragon
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The Semblance of Unity
Predestined Victim
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Posted: Sun Sep 27, 2015 8:12 pm
"Who's there?" Harvard narrowed his eyes and pulled out his knife. He'd heard something, in the dark, seen something a little too large. He needed to find Caroline, but this, whatever whoever it was, was not her. That, of course, did not mean it was friendly. But neither friend nor foe would stop him. This was important. He owed her; he had promised her, and Harvard was not a man who broke his promises.
Harvard walked forward, rounding a corner, and wished he had a flashlight. The hallways were darker than satan's a*****e and he felt as thought it could swallow him whole. He stepped into a room, following the sound of movement and, suddenly, blacked out.
grey dragon
Infection: 5/100 HP: 26/50
OOC
Character's name: Dr. Harvard Falls Character's faction: University Character's journal link:Here Character's survival stats: #80 Jersey Number: 15 BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER 35 year old linguistic anthropology professor. Dark hair and beard. Smokes. [x]
Posted: Sun Sep 27, 2015 8:45 pm
Mr. Nordskov wasn't sure what happened. He groggily sat up, propping himself up on his arms until he could figure out how he ended up on the floor of the hospital room. Although that answer was elusive, he came to another startling realization. Not only was he not alone... but they were both infected.
This was bad.
"You alive?" He grunted, rising carefully to his feet. Both of them were clearly goners, what could an extra couple seconds cost him to check on how far gone the other man might be?
[ Infection Rate ]: 35 /100
OOC
Character's name: Johnathan Nordskov Character's faction: Apartments Character's journal link:Journal Character's survival stats: Stats BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER: Mr. Nordskov is always gruff and straight to the point, in a constant state of disgruntled disapproval. Despite this solitary attitude he has little desire to see anyone hurt. Seriously at least. Physically, the 60 year old is tall, well muscled with arms like tree trunks, sporting a bristly woodsman beard and piercing blue eyes glaring out from under bushy eyebrows.
The Semblance of Unity
Grey Dragon
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The Semblance of Unity
Predestined Victim
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Posted: Mon Sep 28, 2015 1:12 am
Alive? Harvard was alive, if Nordskov could call it that. It was clear, just from looking, that they were both infected. Beyond infected, they were terminal. Mr. Nordskov only received a grunt in response. Soon, Harvard thought, he'd die, they both would die, and then they'd hurt people. It was unacceptable. For Harvard to hurt students... Now, Harvard was alright hurting some people, in controlled instances; their small gasps and grimaces could be the most wonderful of artworks painted across their faces... but this. This would be unacceptable. Harvard never thought he'd get this way.
He needed to find some way to restrain himself before he turned, Mr Nordskov, too. "What are you waiting for - do something!" He pulled sheets off of beds, hoping to find restraints, something, anything to hold himself in one spot so that he wouldn't hurt anyone. Maybe Caroline would visit him until she got better, he thought fatalistically, the thought somehow hilarious. A laugh bubbled out of him, but it was humourless and sounded more like a gasping breath. They were doomed, utterly, explicitly.
And there were no restraints.
Harvard remembered the shed, wondering if he could somehow wedge himself inside it, too. Company for a monster. But, he mused, there was another way. If he was strong enough, could bear the pain just a little longer... Harvard knew enough about anatomy - he was sure he could bleed out, pile his body onto a pool of blood and that blood would be tacky, almost dry, before he changed. He sat heavily on the edge of a bed and opened his pack. Out came the knife, the blade stained black in places, but still sharp, still good, still sharp enough. His hands shook. Harvard pressed the cold blade against his throat, fancying he could feel the thud thud thud of his pulse. With a trembling sigh, he brought the knife down, against his wrists. 'Down the highway, not across the road,' he thought. The knife drew a thin line. No, deeper. No, no, no, something was wrong.
"Wait," he called out, his hands shaking. This was all wrong - he wasn't.. He wasn't.
grey dragon
Posted: Mon Sep 28, 2015 7:22 am
He wanted to deny it, believe he was still just fine, but he couldn't account for that missing time between leaping out and winding up on the floor. Whatever it was it had gotten him had gotten him good, along with the dark haired man in the room with him. Also infected. Already leaping into action, apparently having similar, all too coherent thoughts.
The longing for denial didn't last long. John switched over to what possible solution they had, what they could do in their remaining time spent sane. It wouldn't be much longer, so they had to act fast. Hearing the frantic rustling and searching behind him, the old man understood what that 'do something' meant. They had to seal themselves in, so no matter what happened they would stay contained. And then... if they could... finish themselves off.
In a show of brute force, the old man dragged one of the beds towards the door, tipped it over, jammed against the frame. Then the other bed, forcefully upended onto the first, railings creaking, wheels spinning in the air. If they wanted out they would have to beat down the door, or the wall itself, perhaps if nobody walked through that hallway they would even stay in there on their own, mindless and inhuman. The room was windowless, they were trapped. His attempt at containment might have been more successful, but already the other man was considering their next step.
John turned in time to see the other man with the knife held over his wrist. He pulled out his own knife, watching, waiting. He knew this was the only option. But would that last self-destructive action actually keep them from endangering others? They were already infected, already in the terminal stage of the disease...
No, all of a sudden it no longer made sense. What had been clear a moment ago now seemed absurd, all hinging on that one assumption, they were both dead already. His own thoughts were echoed by the hesitation in the other man's voice. Mr. Nordskov turned to look at the barricade he threw up with the grim remorse of a teen who ran the family car into a ditch while joyriding.
Damn, if they weren't going to die, they would have to get back out that door.
[ Infection Rate ]: 35 /100
OOC
Character's name: Johnathan Nordskov Character's faction: Apartments Character's journal link:Journal Character's survival stats: Stats BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF MY CHARACTER: Mr. Nordskov is always gruff and straight to the point, in a constant state of disgruntled disapproval. Despite this solitary attitude he has little desire to see anyone hurt. Seriously at least. Physically, the 60 year old is tall, well muscled with arms like tree trunks, sporting a bristly woodsman beard and piercing blue eyes glaring out from under bushy eyebrows.
Grey Dragon
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The Semblance of Unity
Predestined Victim
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Posted: Mon Sep 28, 2015 10:14 am
Wordlessly, Harvard ran and hand over his face and through his already messy hair. As thought his bones ached, as though he were a hundred years, he slowly got up and moved to the door. With a horrible shriek of protesting metal, he began to try and pull the beds away from the door.
Posted: Mon Sep 28, 2015 10:21 am
Mr. Nordskov was perfectly okay not speaking of what had just happened. Maybe if neither of them said anything out loud, they could go on like they hadn't temporarily lost their minds. That would be just fine with him.
He grabbed hold of the makeshift barricade as well and gave it a firm pull, making the metal screeching worse until finally the door was clear. The old man nodded his head towards the entrance, still looking grim, stoic even, over his own embarrassing part in their shenanigans. After you.
