WhiteRobber
Twinkle twinkle Wunderbar
Dropping cuz mod is tearing my sanity into pieces and pissing on it's charred remains.
The Stand
- Thread starter Sonereal
- Start date
Omega124
Challenging Fate
Sergei had no idea where he was, or how he got there. The ruins of a de facto ancient city that defined his life for the past few weeks have seemingly melted into a pleasant, pastoral hillside. The light green grass pleasantly blew under the gentle summer breeze, and fluffy white clouds punctuated the verdant countryside. This would almost be a paradise to the Russian, if there wasn't a dead woman's stomach cut open right in front of him, with him holding a knife still dropping with blood.
"Helpmelpmehelpmehelpme", Zubkov constantly whimpered in fear.
Help was certainly the one thing on his mind. Around a nearby cliff face, a message was etched out in blood; the words "Help me" were neatly scrawled out in perfect Latin and Cyrillic letters, with a handwriting that looked suspiciously like his own. Quickly piecing the clues together, Sergei screamed in anguish.
"I... I didn't do this....," his mind weakly attempted to rationalize, "I don't remember any of this.... the voices".
Haunting the Russian's mind was a constant torment of cries that Sergei only had to do exactly what they demanded earlier; go east and never look back. He was a constant failure who let this happen to himself by attempting to resist his own primal urges, and we would end up like the people down below the valley if he doesn't set an eastern course.
The People down below?
Sergei took a few steps forward, walking over the bloody message on the celadon grass. The ex-Red Wings player veered down to the valley, and saw the emaciated bodies of hundreds of people writhing in pain. Their disfigured, repulsive bodies only added to the sheer desperation of their cries for help, which somehow was ignored by anyone within this hillside.
A chorus of sinister laughter echoed in Zubkov's ears as bile was forcefully excreted from his mouth, eventually landing on a paper-thin woman with no arms. Sergei immediately started to run away, not able to comprehend the scene he just was witnessed. However, his body didn't go very far before he was compelled to simply drop down onto the ground, landing in a fetal position and crying. Some things were simply not meant for man to see...
...What seemed like only a moment later, the ex-hockey player opened his eyes, and the familiar Hartford backdrop came with it. His eyes were moist, and Zubkov could feel the incessant tapping on his shoulders. Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, the Russian lifted his head towards the sky. Although his tired, watery eyes could not see perfectly, Sergei was certain he saw a humanoid figure towering over him.
"I," a female voice pleasantly teased, "Don't usually see corpses crying".
A hand was outstretched towards Sergei, which he wasted no time grasping. A few seconds later, Sergei could feel his body being pulled back to his feet. Upright, Seregi cleared his eyes once again and saw a slightly shorter redheaded woman. Her dirty business suit was sharply contrasted with the lead pipe she carried and makeshift bandoliers holding various knicknacks and gizmos, wrapped along her chest. Whoever this mysterious woman was, she looked like a survivor far more than he did. Thankfully, Sergei couldn't remember if this particular woman was in that nightmare, and he didn't want to find out.
"Spasibo...," Sergei sheepishly trailed off, embarrassed by the whole ordeal.
The woman's face was contorted with confusion. "Spasi-what?," she asked with uncertainty.
"Oh," Zubkov stated with shock; his devolution back into Russian startling him as much as the woman, "I- I meant thank you. Sorry."
"I'm assuming you're not from America, uh..." the woman paused, waiting for the ex-hockey player to introduce himself.
"Sergei. Sergei Zubkov. And yes, I am from the Soviet Union-"
"All the way from Russia?," the woman interjected, "That's quite a far ways from home..." There was a quick pause, before the redhead continued, "Do you feel a sudden urge to disregard everything and go back?"
Seregi nodded with melancholy, "I get these weird dreams every day about going East. Always about women in red and white, too. I just had one the other moment, now that you mention it..."
"Oh god," the woman replied, "I've been having those same kind of dreams too. Filled with women in those colors, making me feel lost and scared... and always telling me to go east. Never had one vivid enough to make me crawl up like that, though".
Now, it was the Russian's turn to be curious. "Are you planning on going east, miss?"
"Miss Violet Smith," the redhead added, "And.... I don't know. I'm so conflicted. I can easily survive in this city, but... I don't think the nightmares are going to end unless we go to the Atlantic. I'd have to think about it, Sergei"
"I don't know either, Violet. I don't belong here at all, and these nightmares will constantly haunt me due to that. Besides, I couldn't possibly help you either way."
"That's nonsense!," Violet interjected. "You survived for almost a month now. Without even a weapon, I may add. You must be doing something right here."
Seregi shrugged, "I guess.-"
"I know, Seregi," Violet insisted, "I wouldn't have given you that can of tuna a week ago if I didn't".
"That was you!?"
"Do you see any other survivors around here?," Violet retorted, "We can't let go of our humanity, Sergei. We need each other, even if you can only talk to me and nothing else. We're losing our minds out here alone."
The Russian shook his head, asking, "Why did you run away from me at first, then?"
"I was... scared," Violet stammered out as she gazed at the ground, "I didn't know if you were a hostile or friendly... But now I see you couldn't hurt a fly".
"My old job had me hurting lots of people," the ex-hockey player smirked as he turned around, showing his new friend his name and number on the back of his jersey.
"Oh, wow, I thought you were just a fan," Violet admitted, "I never paid attention to sports, so... yeah..." The redheaded women turned around herself, reaching for a wooden 2x4 that conveniently fell off the window of a nearby store. She casually tossed it to the Russian"
"Just in case," Violet assured the Russian. "How about we head over to my place and discuss what to do there?"
Sergei nodded in agreement, and started to follow Violet....
"Helpmelpmehelpmehelpme", Zubkov constantly whimpered in fear.
Help was certainly the one thing on his mind. Around a nearby cliff face, a message was etched out in blood; the words "Help me" were neatly scrawled out in perfect Latin and Cyrillic letters, with a handwriting that looked suspiciously like his own. Quickly piecing the clues together, Sergei screamed in anguish.
"I... I didn't do this....," his mind weakly attempted to rationalize, "I don't remember any of this.... the voices".
Haunting the Russian's mind was a constant torment of cries that Sergei only had to do exactly what they demanded earlier; go east and never look back. He was a constant failure who let this happen to himself by attempting to resist his own primal urges, and we would end up like the people down below the valley if he doesn't set an eastern course.
The People down below?
Sergei took a few steps forward, walking over the bloody message on the celadon grass. The ex-Red Wings player veered down to the valley, and saw the emaciated bodies of hundreds of people writhing in pain. Their disfigured, repulsive bodies only added to the sheer desperation of their cries for help, which somehow was ignored by anyone within this hillside.
A chorus of sinister laughter echoed in Zubkov's ears as bile was forcefully excreted from his mouth, eventually landing on a paper-thin woman with no arms. Sergei immediately started to run away, not able to comprehend the scene he just was witnessed. However, his body didn't go very far before he was compelled to simply drop down onto the ground, landing in a fetal position and crying. Some things were simply not meant for man to see...
...What seemed like only a moment later, the ex-hockey player opened his eyes, and the familiar Hartford backdrop came with it. His eyes were moist, and Zubkov could feel the incessant tapping on his shoulders. Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, the Russian lifted his head towards the sky. Although his tired, watery eyes could not see perfectly, Sergei was certain he saw a humanoid figure towering over him.
"I," a female voice pleasantly teased, "Don't usually see corpses crying".
A hand was outstretched towards Sergei, which he wasted no time grasping. A few seconds later, Sergei could feel his body being pulled back to his feet. Upright, Seregi cleared his eyes once again and saw a slightly shorter redheaded woman. Her dirty business suit was sharply contrasted with the lead pipe she carried and makeshift bandoliers holding various knicknacks and gizmos, wrapped along her chest. Whoever this mysterious woman was, she looked like a survivor far more than he did. Thankfully, Sergei couldn't remember if this particular woman was in that nightmare, and he didn't want to find out.
"Spasibo...," Sergei sheepishly trailed off, embarrassed by the whole ordeal.
The woman's face was contorted with confusion. "Spasi-what?," she asked with uncertainty.
"Oh," Zubkov stated with shock; his devolution back into Russian startling him as much as the woman, "I- I meant thank you. Sorry."
"I'm assuming you're not from America, uh..." the woman paused, waiting for the ex-hockey player to introduce himself.
"Sergei. Sergei Zubkov. And yes, I am from the Soviet Union-"
"All the way from Russia?," the woman interjected, "That's quite a far ways from home..." There was a quick pause, before the redhead continued, "Do you feel a sudden urge to disregard everything and go back?"
Seregi nodded with melancholy, "I get these weird dreams every day about going East. Always about women in red and white, too. I just had one the other moment, now that you mention it..."
"Oh god," the woman replied, "I've been having those same kind of dreams too. Filled with women in those colors, making me feel lost and scared... and always telling me to go east. Never had one vivid enough to make me crawl up like that, though".
Now, it was the Russian's turn to be curious. "Are you planning on going east, miss?"
"Miss Violet Smith," the redhead added, "And.... I don't know. I'm so conflicted. I can easily survive in this city, but... I don't think the nightmares are going to end unless we go to the Atlantic. I'd have to think about it, Sergei"
"I don't know either, Violet. I don't belong here at all, and these nightmares will constantly haunt me due to that. Besides, I couldn't possibly help you either way."
"That's nonsense!," Violet interjected. "You survived for almost a month now. Without even a weapon, I may add. You must be doing something right here."
Seregi shrugged, "I guess.-"
"I know, Seregi," Violet insisted, "I wouldn't have given you that can of tuna a week ago if I didn't".
"That was you!?"
"Do you see any other survivors around here?," Violet retorted, "We can't let go of our humanity, Sergei. We need each other, even if you can only talk to me and nothing else. We're losing our minds out here alone."
The Russian shook his head, asking, "Why did you run away from me at first, then?"
"I was... scared," Violet stammered out as she gazed at the ground, "I didn't know if you were a hostile or friendly... But now I see you couldn't hurt a fly".
"My old job had me hurting lots of people," the ex-hockey player smirked as he turned around, showing his new friend his name and number on the back of his jersey.
"Oh, wow, I thought you were just a fan," Violet admitted, "I never paid attention to sports, so... yeah..." The redheaded women turned around herself, reaching for a wooden 2x4 that conveniently fell off the window of a nearby store. She casually tossed it to the Russian"
"Just in case," Violet assured the Russian. "How about we head over to my place and discuss what to do there?"
Sergei nodded in agreement, and started to follow Violet....
Civ'ed
I ain't gotta explain a thing
dragonprobably
The Poster Formerly Known as MartinLuther
Dora awoke, eyes wide open. Same dream as always. Yesterday, she raided the closest grocery and found absolutely nothing. The only thing she could find were magzines all of them saying "East" on the cover in big letters. East. EAST. That word keep echoing in her head. Pounding and Pounding on the walls of her mind. East. East. East.
"ENOUGH!" she yelled. She packed her things, got dressed, and ran out of her condo, Toot in hot pursuit. She looked along her street. Cars lined up in some sort of mechanical conga. She never needed a car, sure she could drive, but she carpooled to work, the only place she needed to drive, so it was quite useless. She looked around the street for a suitable ride. She found a old VW van, with enough room for her, Toot, supplies, and maybe some extra people, or at least she estimated. Break into the car and jump start it.
"ENOUGH!" she yelled. She packed her things, got dressed, and ran out of her condo, Toot in hot pursuit. She looked along her street. Cars lined up in some sort of mechanical conga. She never needed a car, sure she could drive, but she carpooled to work, the only place she needed to drive, so it was quite useless. She looked around the street for a suitable ride. She found a old VW van, with enough room for her, Toot, supplies, and maybe some extra people, or at least she estimated. Break into the car and jump start it.
arya126
Squad Leader
The Band
May 28th
I escaped that city and fled west. I finally resolved to take up the mantle of leadership again. But this presented a dilemma, as I had not seen another living soul in more than a week now.
By May 28th I had almost reached the west coast, and I stopped in a small town named Corvallis. It was here that The Band began to form. As I entered the outskirts of the town I witnessed a pair of figures getting beat up by a handful of large people. I immediately nock a pair of arrows and fire them; one of them pierces the throat of an attacker, and the other hits the thigh of another. With the victims on the ground more or less subdued the other three attackers turn around to face me. I am forced to duck into a building as guns are drawn, managing to fire another arrow and finish off the one I wounded a moment before.
I retreat into an inner room and listen for my pursuers. They split up and I allow a pair of them to pass me before jumping up and slitting the throat of a rather short fellow. With a shout I tackle the other one who is also stocky. I push him out a window and we both fall into the alley I had just escaped from. Somehow, my knife landed in his gut, and I get up and leave him be, taking his ammunition for my pistol. I retrieve my arrows, then throw the two people I saved over my shoulder and begin running back to my truck.
It isn't long before I realize I am out of soldiering shape. But I make it back to my truck by dusk, and begin to administer to their injuries.
I pass the night on watch, not daring to sleep. In my brief conversations with my two newest companions in their brief bouts of alertness I get the information that the attackers are from a gang in portland that is 'enlisting' survivors in the area into a slave army to do the work needed so that the gang can live as overlords. I also learn their names; one is a boy not much older than 16 named Mike, and the other is his sister of 14 named Egwene. My rescue appears to have gained their loyalty as I had hoped.
May 30th
Mike and Egwene are better rested now, and we have been well on our way to Portland. They are rightfully scared of the place but I have convinced them it is necessary as part of my plan. In the day in between as they rested, I scavenged a crude bow from a hunting shop on the way, as well as a long knife that may have been called a short sword in another age. I can use a sword rather crudely thanks to a chance training session in Nam that one of my buddies had dragged me to, but I am far from a master. I make sure Mike has a pair of my knives and doesn't stab himself with them, and set about training his sister with the bow as Mike himself proves useless.
The airport of Portland is to the north, so we skirt the city then hide the truck outside the fence. I lead them around the buildings and into the airport proper. On the way in I didn't see any airplanes, but there could be some hiding on the other side.
Luckily as we infiltrate the place we see no signs of gang activity; that is until I reach a security room. The cameras there are surprisingly still operational on battery power, and I see that a pair of gang members has a trio of hostages in Terminal C. They appear to want something from one of the hostages, and I know my plan is possible. That man is a pilot; he has to be.
With Mike on my right and Egwene to my left, we race down the hallway, slowing when Terminal C nears. Mike then of course breaks his ankle on a piece of rubble. I leave Egwene to guard him as I proceed. His scream was surely noted.
I hear footsteps and I duck into a nearby auntie anne's pretzels. I put an arrow on the ground in front of me, then nock and draw a second. A man passes me. Loose. He goes down from an arrow in the throat. I pick up the second arrow, nock, draw......I loose as soon as the other man comes into view. He goes down as well, rather more noisily than the other because he was hit in the chest.
I hurry to the area where the hostages were and see one of them was killed. I cut the pilot loose first, then a grizzled man about my age in combat fatigues next to him.
"Never thought I would be saved by an archer. Thank you." The grizzled man said. He offers his hand. "Gunnery Sergeant Lan Eagelst, 2nd US Air Cavalry at your service."
"Colonel Mat Shepard, US Marines." I respond. I turn to the other man. "Are you a pilot?"
The good news is that he IS a pilot, Dave Wingate. The bad news is that his plane was the last operational aircraft at the airport, and it was burned when the gang captured him.
"However Seattle was where all our planes evacuated to weeks ago. They may still be there."
To Seattle it is.
June 2nd
The Band has grown. Mike and Egwene were joined by Lan and Dave in Portland, and on the way to Seattle, we found a holdout of refugees. A vietnam vet from the air force who saw Kin in Land and I immediately. And a pair of college students from Washington University that the man was protecting. The college students, who were female and in their late twenties, I was reluctant to take on, but the Vet, named Garrett, convinced me to take them on. Their names are Sasha and Sarah. They were fit enough.
It was then that I realized I had 7 people following me. 7 people to feed, 7 people to train in weaponry, 7 people I was responsible for. I was overwhelmed.
We gathered weapons and armor. The armor consisted of a bulletproof vest for everyone from a supply of 20 we found in an abandoned military compound. We also began traveling in a pair of Semi Trucks and a Military Patton Tank, since spare gas is plentiful with so few people. Lan drives the tank. In that same compound we found quite a bit of spare non perishable food and ammo that we piled up in those trucks, and everyone ended up armed to the teeth with guns, even though only the vets know how to use them. I still instruct everyone in the use of a bow since it is quieter, yet our confidence grows everyday now that we are armed so well.
Talk begins of settling down a little north of Seattle where few people live. I concede there is merit to that idea, and maybe we shouldn't fly east. Maybe we do deserve some stability. Settle down, create a haven for survivors.
We will see.
May 28th
I escaped that city and fled west. I finally resolved to take up the mantle of leadership again. But this presented a dilemma, as I had not seen another living soul in more than a week now.
By May 28th I had almost reached the west coast, and I stopped in a small town named Corvallis. It was here that The Band began to form. As I entered the outskirts of the town I witnessed a pair of figures getting beat up by a handful of large people. I immediately nock a pair of arrows and fire them; one of them pierces the throat of an attacker, and the other hits the thigh of another. With the victims on the ground more or less subdued the other three attackers turn around to face me. I am forced to duck into a building as guns are drawn, managing to fire another arrow and finish off the one I wounded a moment before.
I retreat into an inner room and listen for my pursuers. They split up and I allow a pair of them to pass me before jumping up and slitting the throat of a rather short fellow. With a shout I tackle the other one who is also stocky. I push him out a window and we both fall into the alley I had just escaped from. Somehow, my knife landed in his gut, and I get up and leave him be, taking his ammunition for my pistol. I retrieve my arrows, then throw the two people I saved over my shoulder and begin running back to my truck.
It isn't long before I realize I am out of soldiering shape. But I make it back to my truck by dusk, and begin to administer to their injuries.
I pass the night on watch, not daring to sleep. In my brief conversations with my two newest companions in their brief bouts of alertness I get the information that the attackers are from a gang in portland that is 'enlisting' survivors in the area into a slave army to do the work needed so that the gang can live as overlords. I also learn their names; one is a boy not much older than 16 named Mike, and the other is his sister of 14 named Egwene. My rescue appears to have gained their loyalty as I had hoped.
May 30th
Mike and Egwene are better rested now, and we have been well on our way to Portland. They are rightfully scared of the place but I have convinced them it is necessary as part of my plan. In the day in between as they rested, I scavenged a crude bow from a hunting shop on the way, as well as a long knife that may have been called a short sword in another age. I can use a sword rather crudely thanks to a chance training session in Nam that one of my buddies had dragged me to, but I am far from a master. I make sure Mike has a pair of my knives and doesn't stab himself with them, and set about training his sister with the bow as Mike himself proves useless.
The airport of Portland is to the north, so we skirt the city then hide the truck outside the fence. I lead them around the buildings and into the airport proper. On the way in I didn't see any airplanes, but there could be some hiding on the other side.
Luckily as we infiltrate the place we see no signs of gang activity; that is until I reach a security room. The cameras there are surprisingly still operational on battery power, and I see that a pair of gang members has a trio of hostages in Terminal C. They appear to want something from one of the hostages, and I know my plan is possible. That man is a pilot; he has to be.
With Mike on my right and Egwene to my left, we race down the hallway, slowing when Terminal C nears. Mike then of course breaks his ankle on a piece of rubble. I leave Egwene to guard him as I proceed. His scream was surely noted.
I hear footsteps and I duck into a nearby auntie anne's pretzels. I put an arrow on the ground in front of me, then nock and draw a second. A man passes me. Loose. He goes down from an arrow in the throat. I pick up the second arrow, nock, draw......I loose as soon as the other man comes into view. He goes down as well, rather more noisily than the other because he was hit in the chest.
I hurry to the area where the hostages were and see one of them was killed. I cut the pilot loose first, then a grizzled man about my age in combat fatigues next to him.
"Never thought I would be saved by an archer. Thank you." The grizzled man said. He offers his hand. "Gunnery Sergeant Lan Eagelst, 2nd US Air Cavalry at your service."
"Colonel Mat Shepard, US Marines." I respond. I turn to the other man. "Are you a pilot?"
The good news is that he IS a pilot, Dave Wingate. The bad news is that his plane was the last operational aircraft at the airport, and it was burned when the gang captured him.
"However Seattle was where all our planes evacuated to weeks ago. They may still be there."
To Seattle it is.
June 2nd
The Band has grown. Mike and Egwene were joined by Lan and Dave in Portland, and on the way to Seattle, we found a holdout of refugees. A vietnam vet from the air force who saw Kin in Land and I immediately. And a pair of college students from Washington University that the man was protecting. The college students, who were female and in their late twenties, I was reluctant to take on, but the Vet, named Garrett, convinced me to take them on. Their names are Sasha and Sarah. They were fit enough.
It was then that I realized I had 7 people following me. 7 people to feed, 7 people to train in weaponry, 7 people I was responsible for. I was overwhelmed.
We gathered weapons and armor. The armor consisted of a bulletproof vest for everyone from a supply of 20 we found in an abandoned military compound. We also began traveling in a pair of Semi Trucks and a Military Patton Tank, since spare gas is plentiful with so few people. Lan drives the tank. In that same compound we found quite a bit of spare non perishable food and ammo that we piled up in those trucks, and everyone ended up armed to the teeth with guns, even though only the vets know how to use them. I still instruct everyone in the use of a bow since it is quieter, yet our confidence grows everyday now that we are armed so well.
Talk begins of settling down a little north of Seattle where few people live. I concede there is merit to that idea, and maybe we shouldn't fly east. Maybe we do deserve some stability. Settle down, create a haven for survivors.
We will see.
Arrow Gamer
America's Dictator
His butt hurt. Sitting in a car for hours did that.
The signs said he was in Ohio.
Further east we go.
The signs said he was in Ohio.
Further east we go.
KaiserElectric
Total Freakin Besties
- Joined
- Dec 2, 2007
- Messages
- 3,461
Dropping for now, might come back later.
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