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| Favourite Zombie weapon? |
| Something long and hard... like some lead piping |
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33% |
[ 2 ] |
| An R-type weapon, like a pistol or machine gun |
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33% |
[ 2 ] |
| An S-type weapon, like a shotgun or missile launcher |
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16% |
[ 1 ] |
| A car |
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16% |
[ 1 ] |
| Something for show-purposes, like a katana or lanp-post |
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0% |
[ 0 ] |
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| Total Votes : 6 |
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 Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 11:55 am
Charging Guild Pumps to 800Watts! Clear!
This is my attempt to resurrect the Guild I see as my second internet-based home, a brand-new RP. Participation is purely optional, and to do so simply post as soon as you want to. No introduction necessary.
Anyway, on with the story. Our tale begins on a dark November night in suburban England.
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Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 12:02 pm
FeaRFUllY aNd WonDErFuLLy - a modern-day zombie RP
Good intentions are wonderful things, they get you out of anything. Such was the case for the scientists at Chrono Corp., the creators of a revolutionary medicine that was said to bring souls back from the brink of death. After a few less-than-positive tests (ie. the patients died anyway) the product was scrapped and the thirty-strong ex-patients were sent swiftly to the morgue.
On November 17th, just three days later, the authorities lost contact with the London Heart General Hospital. Words from escaped patients told of a hostage situation, of shadowy figures in hospital garments walking the corridors and setting themselves upon any who ventured into their path. The first patient out confirmed thirty assailants, the next thirty five, the next fifty, and so on.
Things went downhill from there. The inner-city was claimed by the horde overnight, owing to superior numbers and population density, and soon started to move out into the suburbs. At about the same time, all electrics in the country went down, leaving the populace of Little Halton completely unaware of the approaching army.
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Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 12:13 pm
My name is Alexander Starling, and this is my journal of the event the Little Halton Paladins have dubbed Z-Day. Within these pages, I have documented everything: how I found out, what I did, even what I can remember about my experience as one of them. My hope is that, in the event of my death (which seems agonisingly close) whoever reads this will become more learned in the ways of our foe. It saddens me beyond belief that I shall not live to see the day our island nation reclaims the streets, and I wish you, my beloved reader, the best of luck in accomplishing this. Think of it as a last request, if you will.
As this is getting us nowhere, I shall begin my story...
The sun shining through the curtains hits my eyelids with devastating force, and I recoil sharply, rolling onto my other side and groaning from the depths of my sleep. Some animal instinct from deep within my mind tells me that it's early yet, and that I have no need to awake just yet. Nonetheless, my eyes open slowly, brown irises catching sight of the LCD clock by my bedside. 12:14, it reads. Groaning again, yet this time fully conscious, I push myself up into a sitting position and brush the loose strands of hair from my red-rimmed eyes. I peer around groggily before rising to my feet and stumbling to the shower on auto-pilot, following the pre-set guidlines for my morning (or in this case afternoon) arrangements. Last night had been a killer...
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Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 12:41 pm
Now fully dressed and about ninty-percent awake I sat down at the table in my mate's two-bedroom semi with my toast in front of me, slowly and meticulously buttering it. I nearly smiled just then, safe in the knowledge that I could take as long as I bloody well wanted with my breakfast this morning. No work today. No waiting for hours in mile-long pile-ups. No typing at computers for so long it feels as though your eyes are melting. No going hungry in the interest of saving money. Today, none of it mattered. But for some reason my melancholy remained, like a stubborn stain in a white shirt. I was simply unable to smile, unable even to will the light in my eyes into existance. I sighed, and yet I didn't know why.
My attention was drawn briefly to a note on the opposite end of the table. Written in red ink, it read simply:
"Yo, Al!
Good catch tonight, back midday tomorrow.
Matt."
There was also a crude drawing, but I didn't bother trying to figure out what it meant. It was probably something phallic. Rolling my eyes, I finished off my toast and placed my plate by the sink. I'd wash it later. Then, in my faded jeans and a baggy brown t-shirt that apparently set off my eyes (not that I cared) I sat down in front of the television and pressed the standby button on the remote.
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Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 12:53 pm
They say TV's getting more boring with each successive year, but this was just ridiulous. I spent a good few minutes inspecting the box from several angles, hoping to find a clue to the mystery of the missing image, yet came up without a trace. Scratching my head, more for my own amusement than for visual effect, I headed back upstairs and into my room again. The clock, also powered electrically, seemed fine. 12:32, the time. Then I noticed that the digits were flashing, something they did seldomly if at all, and hung my head in shame. I could have kicked something, I really could.
Descending the steps once again, I re-took my seat on the sofa, watching the blank screen of the TV in the naive hope that my willpower might cause it to spring back to life. No such luck. Instead, I turned my head to the newspaper, open at my feet. The headline, big and bold despite a large beer stain (he hoped), read 'London Heart Standoff Continues'. An odd business, that.
There was a sudden slam at his window, accompanied by a silhouette.
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Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 1:06 pm
This time, I took each step softly and quietly, though I was shaking the whole time. As I neared the bottom, I looked hesitantly into the sitting room. That... thing, was still there! Practically pressing itself up against the glass, it continued its relentless hammering with a slow and sinister tenacity, visible only as a silhouette through the blinds. Tightening my grip on my weapon, Matt's electric guitar, I slowly reached the bottom. There was no way it could have spotted me, so why was it there at all? Could it smell me, I wondered, or maybe just sense mewith its zombie-sense? Either way, remaining out of sight was only a temporary measure, I figured I would be better off getting somewhere safer. But where? Where could I possibly go?
The thing let out a mournful groan, easily audible through the glass, and I stifled a yelp. But then I realised something, something distinctive in the tone of the zombie's voice. It was a risk, don't think I wasn't well aware of that, but I slowly approached the blinds and, with a shaking hand, pushed them aside.
Matt stared back at me with dim, vacant eyes. Which wouldn't normally have been any different, but the streams of blood gave the zombie away, running down from a vicious cut in its head and across its mouth, which remained fixed open. By rigour mortis, no doubt. Stepping backwards, I watched Matt the zombie carefully, weighing up my options. Then, wiping the sweat from my brow, I turned and fled upstairs again.
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Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 1:15 pm
They were everywhere. Literally everywhere. As I looked out of Matt's bedroom window, which looked out on the street, I could feel my face losing its colour as I watched the hordes at work. Matt was alone in his assault on his home, but there were others doing likewise on some of the neighbours. About five on number 54, two more on 58. I counted myself lucky for only drawing one.
As I watched, the door on number 52 suddenly burst open, and old Mr. Finnigan stepped valiantly out into the street, wearing nothing but a dressing gown and with a golf club in his hand. A 9-iron, no less. Had the circumstances been drastically different, I no doubt would have smiled. But as his attackers made their way towards him I shut the curtains hurredly. Mr. Finnigan, in his heroism, hadn't spotted the one approaching him from behind. I hadn't always been a defeatist, but that morning in my best friend's room I found that I had become one. But my transformation hadn't ended there, and little did I know that before the sun had set I would find that I was much more than I had given myself credit for. My watch, now firmly strapped to my wrist, read the real time as 3:51. I must have been sleeping like the dead.
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Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 1:29 pm
Giggling softly to himself, 1st-year History student Thomas Goddard stood in the furthest corner of the supermarket and watched the figures approach him slowly. Eight in total. To think that so few thought they could defeat him in combat. He laughed louder this time, staring the creatures down with his wild, dark eyes. His shirt and formal trousers were now stained with blood, but not his own, oh no! Not his! And even they paled in comparison, as far as blood-stained-ness was concerned, to the chainsaw in his hands. It had taken a while to get to where he wanted, but he was now ready to start his second stage. First had been planning, now he needed food. And all that stood between him and completion were these jokers, staring at him with blank eyes, and he wasn't having any of it.
"Come ON!!!" he cried out maniacally, "Who wants some first?!!"
The chorus of groans was almost comical, and in his current state promted his to laugh long and hard, for a short while forgetting where he was. But then he opened his eyes, pupils ablaze with excitement, and pulled the drawstring. The roar was glorious in his ears, like the lion in his heart wailing to get out. And let it out he would. He lunged forwards.
"Kyaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!"
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Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 1:42 pm
I paced back and forth, eyes closed and mind racing. What should I do? Should I stand and fight, or run and seek shelter? Looking back on it, I think I made the right decision. After all, this was my chance to make a name for myself, to seek out and hold onto the true meaning for my existance. I could find out why I was placed on this earth at all. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the ordeal ahead, and when I opened my eyes I could feel the fire building. For fire was what I needed now.
For the third time that day, I went downstairs. Matt's silhouette wtill stood at the window, now visible around the blinds, and he'd recruited some friends. I knew neither of them. I made immediately for the kitchen and opened the fridge, dead like the rest of this house. Like the rest of this world. There was little inside, but I helped myself to a bruised apple and a block of cheese wrapped in cling-film. Moving throughout the rest of the kitchen, I happened upon a packet of Bourbons, three bottles of water and a pack of six cobs. Reclaiming a backpack from the cupboard by the stairs I filled it with these rations, adding to it one can of beer from Matt's emergency six-pack. He no longer had a use for it, I felt it would come in handy. A bit of Dutch courage. Slinging the pack on my back, I took the guitar by the shaft in both hands and made for the door. The zombies at the window groaned expectantly, following me with their eyes so that they, too, came to the door. I half expected them to ring the doorbell.
With one last look around the front room, I slipped on my trainers and clasped the door-handle in my hand.
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Posted: Mon May 28, 2007 5:17 am
I can't describe to you just what I felt that afternoon as I stood, weary and haggard, amongst the broken corpses of my foes. My clothes were soaked in the blood of my enemies, my hair a jumbled mess that covered my eyes and ran down my face. I swear, with this bloody visage combined with the dark vacancy I could feel in my eyes, anyone would have thought I was one of them. The guitar in my hands had fared well, considering it wasn't in the best of conditions when I had borrowed it. It was lightly cracked in several places where the wood had hit the base of the skull, where I had focussed my attacks. It had been black to begin with. You couldn't tell now.
I reached a bloody hand up to my bloody face and wiped bloody strands of bloody hair from my vision. I left Matt in pieces in front of his own house and, pushing back the tears, I made my way down Straight Avenue, towards the local Asda. I needed food, and what was in my backpack wouldn't last long. The battle had sharpened my mind somehow, made me some kind of cold, calculating strategist, and I tell you now it took a long time for me to truly feel like myself again.
The zombies were strong in close-range combat, but their flesh had been weakened by decay, and now they would topple like puppets with their strings cut if hit hard enough in the right place. The head seemed the best target. I was still not sure how they sensed humans, but I was sure I'd be able to figure that out later. The idea of meeting more of them didn't unnerve me, which in turn terrified me. Maybe I had been bitten after all, and this was what it was like... No. I shook my head, sprinkling a light rain of blood onto the already soaked street, and set off down the road, dragging the guitar along behind me.
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Posted: Mon May 28, 2007 6:01 am
Standing , emerald green eyes wide in the open door way of her house, Jenny began to laugh. The creature told her this day would come, she had dreamed about it. Sam, the woman she’d been living with was dead and now the creature, this holiest of creatures, told her it was time to move on. All ties were severed and she had free rein over the city at last. It didn’t occur to her that there might have been other survivors, she alone had been chosen.
These mindless drones in life had become so much more fun in death, they had become these zombie beings for her destructive enjoyment. She stared at the blood on her hands, unaware of the blood on face and covering her raven black hair, her knife was embedded in the skull of the being formerly known as Sam. She almost lost control of her hysterical laughter but the voice told her to move on from this place onto the next.
She went to the kitchen, thinking of the tragedies of her young life, she was only 15 and everyone she’d ever known had died violently. Well, it was the same for everyone now, wasn’t it! Pulling an apple out of the fruit bowl on the work surface she began to plan what would happen now, she didn’t need food anymore, the voice told her but she’d need to find some place to sleep. No sleep would drive her mad in a couple of days, she was so glad the Goddess had granted her the ability to go without sustenance.
-Somewhere safe to sleep.- came the Goddess’s soothing voice. Jenny put the apple down, even if she had to eat she wouldn’t have eaten that one, it was covered in blood now. Zombie blood.
She grabbed another knife and headed for the street with a grin.
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Posted: Mon May 28, 2007 7:34 am
Mary awoke in London heart General Hospital with tears running down her face, she highly doubted anyone else had survived, she had spent the last few nights praying that she’d wake in the morning. Mary was terminally ill, she had cancer of the most malevolent kind, it was in her brain, the doctors had said and her parents had cried. Mary had never seen her Daddy cry before, it was then she realised that something might be wrong. She’d been having really painful headaches for months and no-one had believed her at school so she just didn’t think to tell her Mummy and Daddy. She thought, they’d believe the school, that she was lazy and argumentative.
Mary was nine and had been in the hospital on and off for the first two years but now she was in here all the time. She didn’t mind it really, the people had all been friendly and there were lots of other children too in the Children’s Ward. She’d made lots of friends, all of them were bold like she was, that’s what the treatment did to you, the doctors say. But if you get better, and some of her friends had, your hair grows back thicker and prettier than before. Mary knew she wouldn’t get better now, the doctors had tried everything but she was alright with that now, she might even get to see her Grandma again; her Grandma had been nice to her and brought her sweets and chocolate.
What wasn’t alright was the last treatment they tried, her Mummy and Daddy had said that they would try anything and then some new doctors came and took some blood and measured silly things like the size of her feet and they’d made her giggle. She was taken away from her little group of bold friends with Cancer and taken to her own room which was quite nice for a while but she didn’t have anyone to talk to. Her Mummy and Daddy weren’t allowed to see her and now it was only the doctors. They carried on measuring and muttering to each other and she wasn’t allowed to see anyone, she got very lonely very quickly.
One day the doctors stopped coming, she had nothing to eat and there was no noise from outside. She didn’t know that she’d been chosen for the second round of testing for the drug that had killed those people and made the curse that was now infiltrating the suburbs of London. No-one could get in without a key but she could get out if she wanted, in-case of a fire, they’d said.
Now she was sitting in a ventilation shaft, off of the ground where all the dead and not-dead people were, she’d seen her Mummy wandering around and her Daddy was on the floor below her secret hiding place. She was small enough to fit into the placed that the zombies couldn’t reach. Mary may only be nine, but she knew she had to get out.
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Posted: Mon May 28, 2007 9:53 am
The Little Halton Asda branch loomed ominously up ahead as I walked the streets, coming closer with every step. On either side, houses lay open and empty, walls frequently painted with a fresh coat of blood. Burnt-out cars lay abandonned in driveways or crashed against walls, every so often I spotted a headless corpse lying in the road or half inside a window. At least they wouldn't be getting up again in a hurry. The going was tough for that first afternoon, and after my recent battle my limbs had become fatigued. I needed a place to sleep, but nowhere seemed safe. Having said that, Straight Avenue was somewhat zombie-free, and as I stepped out onto the B1362 I found it likewise. So much blood, so much destruction, but the cause was nowhere in sight.
No matter, I remember thinking to myself as I continued up through the car park towards the main doors, they would show themselves when they got hungry. But right now he was hungry himself, and he didn't exactly feel like stale bread and cheese. He rather fancied the idea of getting roaring, screaming drunk and forgetting everything, but what would be the use in that? At least this way, I could leave my boring, useless life behind and become something so much more. Without looking back, I stepped towards the broken automatic doors.
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Posted: Mon May 28, 2007 10:00 am
"STOP...right...there!" Tom shouted out from his encampment on the rooftop. Now he stared down at the guy who had tried to enroach on his territory, that scruffy dude with the... was that a guitar?! Wierd. Well, Tom was one to talk.
"Dunno who you are, or what you want, but you're gonna just hafta turn around an go 'ome. This is my watch, right?"
As if to make his point extra-clear, Tom reached down and grabbed the Winchester, propping it against his shoulder as he had been taught and cocking it.
"Now, off you run."
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Posted: Mon May 28, 2007 10:06 am
I leapt back in alarm, instinctively stepping behind the nearest car for cover. It occured to me it wasn't the best of cover, what with this other guy's height advantage, but I figured it was better than nothing.
"H-hey!" I called up, watching my assailant through the misty windows of the car, "What's wrong with me stocking up on supplies? I'm a human too, you know!"
A feeble argument, I was forced to admit, but I was getting kinda desperate. I needed food, after all, and each second outside was wasted time. Closing my eyes for a brief second, I thought up images of those cheesy films Matt made me watch, ones with lots of guns and interrogators, and for the first time in my life tried my hand at negotiation.
"Wh-what's your name?" I asked.
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