*sighs* this whole thing will be taking place over the course of one night and one day. it will start off as the sun is setting and go through to the next sunset. by then you guys will have either all died or escaped the city. but I need to go on the post-based time so that I can keep better track of how long someone's been infected so that I can put the transformation description after their fifth infected post.
second, I'm not telling, that's part of the fun, you don't know what places are zombie-proof and which ones aren't so you have to risk going into a building not knowing.
third, yeah, you can but it won't be as effective the more that you do it because my zombies learn as this goes on, it will wirk the first time really well, but as this thing progresses your zombie proofing methods will be less effective as my zombies get smarter. and really it's more like 220,000 zombies, because it's a good sized city but nothing on the same scale as NYC/LA/Chicago.
okay as for starting weapons, some will get a metal pipe and some will get a wooden bat but no one is starting off with a firearm. now I just need to figure out starting positins and we can begin.
Zombies! escape from the city!
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Inferno Dragon
- Member
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The Willful Wanderer
- Member
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- Joined: Fri Mar 05, 2004 2:00 am
- Location: Aisle 12, between the kumquats and the radicchio.
Well...
I'm not saying you can't make it post-based. But you really should give an 'actual time' estimate, just so we don't have one person convert in five minutes, and another one in two and a half hours, you know?
I'm not saying you can't make it post-based. But you really should give an 'actual time' estimate, just so we don't have one person convert in five minutes, and another one in two and a half hours, you know?
\"What if nothing means anything? What if nothing really matters?.....
...Or suppose <b><i>EVERYTHING</b></i> matters. Which would be worse?\"
-Calvin
\"Joke \'em if they can\'t take a f$%k.\"
...Or suppose <b><i>EVERYTHING</b></i> matters. Which would be worse?\"
-Calvin
\"Joke \'em if they can\'t take a f$%k.\"
-
Inferno Dragon
- Member
- Posts: 6097
- Joined: Mon Jul 30, 2001 1:00 am
- Location: Planet Draco
- Has thanked: 1 time
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Firestorm
- Member
- Posts: 2332
- Joined: Wed Jul 12, 2000 1:00 am
- Location: An asylum for the criminally stupid
TSO (Technical Suck Out)
^^You do realize, Selene, that being overly technical can theoretically suck all traces of fun out of a topic.
Not that you're doing that, of course.
As far as starting locations are concerned:
Are we just naming our characters and filling roles, or are we actually giving them personalities, professions, and backgrounds?
For instance, if I want my character to be a janitor employed by the local school district (just an example), would it not make more sense for him to start at the school?
Your call, either way; it's just that I immediately drafted a character with a background, profession, family, etc. when I signed up and I wanted to know if any of that would actually matter.
^^You do realize, Selene, that being overly technical can theoretically suck all traces of fun out of a topic.
Not that you're doing that, of course.
As far as starting locations are concerned:
Are we just naming our characters and filling roles, or are we actually giving them personalities, professions, and backgrounds?
For instance, if I want my character to be a janitor employed by the local school district (just an example), would it not make more sense for him to start at the school?
Your call, either way; it's just that I immediately drafted a character with a background, profession, family, etc. when I signed up and I wanted to know if any of that would actually matter.
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Inferno Dragon
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Firestorm
- Member
- Posts: 2332
- Joined: Wed Jul 12, 2000 1:00 am
- Location: An asylum for the criminally stupid
Short bio
Name: Ben Frizzer
Age: 42
Height: 6'4'
Weight: 340 lbs.
Ethnicity: Caucasian/Donut
Occupation: Locksmith/Lawn Service Technician
Family: Divorced, father of one.
Goals: Scrape together enough money to make the rent this month.
Likes: Eating, web-surfing, MMORPGS.
Dislikes: Confrontation, work, and being wrong.
Description:
An incredibly large and overweight man with very little head hair. Vast quantities of hair everywhere else, though. Dirty blonde hair, brown eyes, morbidly obese. Large and not in charge.
-----------------
I told you I was going to have fun with this.
Name: Ben Frizzer
Age: 42
Height: 6'4'
Weight: 340 lbs.
Ethnicity: Caucasian/Donut
Occupation: Locksmith/Lawn Service Technician
Family: Divorced, father of one.
Goals: Scrape together enough money to make the rent this month.
Likes: Eating, web-surfing, MMORPGS.
Dislikes: Confrontation, work, and being wrong.
Description:
An incredibly large and overweight man with very little head hair. Vast quantities of hair everywhere else, though. Dirty blonde hair, brown eyes, morbidly obese. Large and not in charge.
-----------------
I told you I was going to have fun with this.
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::Abbadon::
- Member
- Posts: 37
- Joined: Sat Jun 23, 2007 8:04 pm
- Location: Vegas
Santino Cardinelli
Name: Santino Cardinelli
Age: 34
Height: 6'2
Weight: 195
Ethnicity: Italian American
Occupation: Former Mob Hitman
Family: None
Birthplace: Brooklyn, New York
Current Goals: Santino is looking for redemtion and is currently trying to find a way to leave "The Family" to start a new, more peaceful life.
Description: Santino has a long history of bloodshed behind him. He was first a loan collector, at the age of 19, for the Gambino Family then turned mob captain at age 20. three months after his promotion, the Luciano Family de-throned the Gambino family and took controll of the Brooklyn territory. The Luciano family took interest in Santino's "no regret" attitude and trained him for eight years to become a top rated hitman. He is the best hitman organized crime has ever seen since the 1930's. He worked for the Luciano family for 11 years until the Godfather died suddenly from a stroke. Santino did not like the new Godfather so he transfered to an ally family called the Salvetorries. He worked for them for 3 years until the death of his own uncle from a gunman from the Luciano family took place. Since then he has been a loner and mercinary. Seeking revenge for his uncle, and at the same time, seeking redemtion from his past.
Body Type- Muscle
Clothing type- Suit
Weapon stuck with- Baseball bat
Primary Weapon's of choice
Long range- S-21X compact Sniper Rifle
Short Range- Duel compact OO-ZIE's
Hand 2 Hand- Switch Blade or Choking String
Skilled in- Baton fighting and staff fighting
Name: Santino Cardinelli
Age: 34
Height: 6'2
Weight: 195
Ethnicity: Italian American
Occupation: Former Mob Hitman
Family: None
Birthplace: Brooklyn, New York
Current Goals: Santino is looking for redemtion and is currently trying to find a way to leave "The Family" to start a new, more peaceful life.
Description: Santino has a long history of bloodshed behind him. He was first a loan collector, at the age of 19, for the Gambino Family then turned mob captain at age 20. three months after his promotion, the Luciano Family de-throned the Gambino family and took controll of the Brooklyn territory. The Luciano family took interest in Santino's "no regret" attitude and trained him for eight years to become a top rated hitman. He is the best hitman organized crime has ever seen since the 1930's. He worked for the Luciano family for 11 years until the Godfather died suddenly from a stroke. Santino did not like the new Godfather so he transfered to an ally family called the Salvetorries. He worked for them for 3 years until the death of his own uncle from a gunman from the Luciano family took place. Since then he has been a loner and mercinary. Seeking revenge for his uncle, and at the same time, seeking redemtion from his past.
Body Type- Muscle
Clothing type- Suit
Weapon stuck with- Baseball bat
Primary Weapon's of choice
Long range- S-21X compact Sniper Rifle
Short Range- Duel compact OO-ZIE's
Hand 2 Hand- Switch Blade or Choking String
Skilled in- Baton fighting and staff fighting
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Mushi
- Member
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- Location: In a van down by the river.
- Has thanked: 2 times
- Been thanked: 11 times
Name: Martin Churchill
Age: 27
Height: 6' 3"
Weight: 198 lbs
Ethnicity: Caucasian/Latino (Mexican, to be exact)
Occupation: None
Family: His older brother, Christopher Churchill
Birthplace: Boulder City, Nevada
Current Goals: Find his brother
Description: Tall, lean, and muscular. His combat skills have been honed from years of training and warfare in the US Marines. Both Martin and his brother, Christopher, were less-than-honorably discharged from the Marines after an incident in which their platoon leader was suspected of using chemicals to aid in fighting against the terrorists in Iraq. These chemicals would cause the enemy to suddenly turn cannibalistic, infesting entire cities with flesh-eating monsters. However, he was discovered, and his entire platoon was expelled from the Marine Corp. for his crimes. When Martin and Chris returned to the States, Chris began acting strangely, leaving for weeks at a time and not leaving any sort of note or sign. Then, on that lonely fall day in 2009, he did leave an indicator. A small, hastily written letter explaining his whereabouts, and an ultimatum:
"I'm leaving. Stay where you are and you will be killed. Follow me, and your life will be ruined. I'm sorry this has to happen, but this is my last chance." - Chris.
On the back was information on his brother's destination, and so, headed out to find him. He is currently staying in a motel, gearing up for his search.
*Note to Inferno: The destination described above, is the city. THE city where this story will be taking place, alright?*
Body from head to toe: His dark brown hair is short and kept spiked up, his face is full, with brown eyes, light skin, and no blemishes aside from a small burn scar on his left cheek left by a piece of grenade shrapnel. His shoulders are wide and strong; his arms not overly muscled, but obviously kept strong with a very small amount of hair growing on them. His chest is wide and muscular, his abs kept firm from hours upon hours of training and combat. His legs are shorter then average, but are make for it with strength and above average speed. His size 13 feet are usually covered with a pair of shoes.
Clothing: White T-shirt, and a pair of camo pants. Has also made a habit of wearing his combat boots. The only thing close to jewelry he wears is a battered silver dog-tag with his initials and birth date on it.
Is skilled in hand-to-hand combat and can use just about any kind of fire-arm(in a realistic sense. If he was handed a plasma laser he wouldn't now how in the hell to fire it.)
Also, my character being an Ex-Marine, I think it wouldn't be too much in asking that he carry around at least a SMALL Swiss Army knife?
Age: 27
Height: 6' 3"
Weight: 198 lbs
Ethnicity: Caucasian/Latino (Mexican, to be exact)
Occupation: None
Family: His older brother, Christopher Churchill
Birthplace: Boulder City, Nevada
Current Goals: Find his brother
Description: Tall, lean, and muscular. His combat skills have been honed from years of training and warfare in the US Marines. Both Martin and his brother, Christopher, were less-than-honorably discharged from the Marines after an incident in which their platoon leader was suspected of using chemicals to aid in fighting against the terrorists in Iraq. These chemicals would cause the enemy to suddenly turn cannibalistic, infesting entire cities with flesh-eating monsters. However, he was discovered, and his entire platoon was expelled from the Marine Corp. for his crimes. When Martin and Chris returned to the States, Chris began acting strangely, leaving for weeks at a time and not leaving any sort of note or sign. Then, on that lonely fall day in 2009, he did leave an indicator. A small, hastily written letter explaining his whereabouts, and an ultimatum:
"I'm leaving. Stay where you are and you will be killed. Follow me, and your life will be ruined. I'm sorry this has to happen, but this is my last chance." - Chris.
On the back was information on his brother's destination, and so, headed out to find him. He is currently staying in a motel, gearing up for his search.
*Note to Inferno: The destination described above, is the city. THE city where this story will be taking place, alright?*
Body from head to toe: His dark brown hair is short and kept spiked up, his face is full, with brown eyes, light skin, and no blemishes aside from a small burn scar on his left cheek left by a piece of grenade shrapnel. His shoulders are wide and strong; his arms not overly muscled, but obviously kept strong with a very small amount of hair growing on them. His chest is wide and muscular, his abs kept firm from hours upon hours of training and combat. His legs are shorter then average, but are make for it with strength and above average speed. His size 13 feet are usually covered with a pair of shoes.
Clothing: White T-shirt, and a pair of camo pants. Has also made a habit of wearing his combat boots. The only thing close to jewelry he wears is a battered silver dog-tag with his initials and birth date on it.
Is skilled in hand-to-hand combat and can use just about any kind of fire-arm(in a realistic sense. If he was handed a plasma laser he wouldn't now how in the hell to fire it.)
Also, my character being an Ex-Marine, I think it wouldn't be too much in asking that he carry around at least a SMALL Swiss Army knife?
-
Inferno Dragon
- Member
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- Joined: Mon Jul 30, 2001 1:00 am
- Location: Planet Draco
- Has thanked: 1 time
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The Willful Wanderer
- Member
- Posts: 2221
- Joined: Fri Mar 05, 2004 2:00 am
- Location: Aisle 12, between the kumquats and the radicchio.
Canned spa- er, profile.
Name: Sarah Smythe
Age: 21
Physical description: Small. Tiny, even. At a scant 4'10", Sarah does everything she's willing to to make her height more even- which, given her preference not to draw attention, isn't much. With a clearly pilipino skin tone that she hides rather expertly, she's generally nonremembered- people notice what she wears and occasionally what she does, and her hair- and that's about it.
Her hair, a deep indigo, nearly black, takes a lot of her time. Keeping it at ankle-length, she brushes it daily, washes and dyes it carefully, and goes to a lot of trouble to keep it clean. Almost as much as she does to stay out of other peoples' way.
Usually carrying a backpack full of books, art supplies, a few small games, notebooks, and the odd trinket, Sarah frequently gives the impression of some small, colorful ghost. Ankle-length skirts and slightly oversized sweaters and sweatshirts are her usual, making it hard to notice the curiously well-matched midnight-indigo boots she's so fond of wearing (she owns three pairs). Sarah's a bit over on the 'plush' side, but fit enough thanks to her penchant for lugging things around.
Her eyes, on the rare occasions they're actually seen, seem to vary from a slate-gray color to a very deep green. She frequently smells of vanilla, thanks to her penchant for keeping a vanilla-scented candle in one pocket. When in public, she is often listening to music on earphones, or playing a handheld video game with earphones, or listening to music with earphones and reading a book or manga. Tests positive for anime addiction and chronic forgetfulness
Personality: You remember that kid in the back of the class who nobody know and barely anyone ever noticed was there? He was an amateur.
Sarah is a pro.
Her voice is small, she rarely speaks or does anything remarkable. She really enjoys books and video games (more the former than the latter, since it's hard to worry about failing at a book). She's not very impactful, while her opinions are strong, they're generally of the sort that involve not interfering with others, and she would much rather let other people do what they want.
Other people want very much to succeed- Sarah's ambitions are more along the lines of helping other people succeed. She's extremely unused to praise or affirmation, takes any criticism very harshly (and without any ill will towards the critic in question), and if she realized she was out-humbling someone, she'd apologize for that too and then meekly go away.
Somehow, in spite of all that, she has an extreme determination (While she considers her own successes not worth commenting on, she practically wallows in ennui when she fails) and a very, very independent bent.
You just won't realize when she's gone off in her own direction until she's been away for a good long while. Assuming you knew she was there in the first place.
Please note, however, that despite this shyness and reluctance to express confidence, she always pulls through in pinches, and is almost impossible to put off from something she's determined to do. Particularly when it involves helping others.
Sarah is a very bright, if reclusive, young woman. Just ask the people at the medical center where she works as a filing clerk. While she may not be up to lugging huge stacks of documents, she can organize and space-economize with a vengeance. She also has some interest in magic, though she's quite completely unsure of herself- to the point of not wanting to risk investing effort in it in the event that she winds up failing. Still, the thought never quite leaves her mind- which is why one of the books on her shelf at home is A Beginner's Guide to Abjuration. She's read it, but actually trying anything in it is thoroughly beyond her self-confidence for now.
Likes: Calamari, vanilla, sweets (maybe a bit too much), fresh fruit, animals, fog, swimming, reading, drawing, horror, music.
Dislikes: Failing, hot weather, embarrassment, public notice, alcohol, large crowds, getting lost.
Fears: Accidental crushing death (a startlingly real possibility at her size), her parents, failing, spiders.
Name: Sarah Smythe
Age: 21
Physical description: Small. Tiny, even. At a scant 4'10", Sarah does everything she's willing to to make her height more even- which, given her preference not to draw attention, isn't much. With a clearly pilipino skin tone that she hides rather expertly, she's generally nonremembered- people notice what she wears and occasionally what she does, and her hair- and that's about it.
Her hair, a deep indigo, nearly black, takes a lot of her time. Keeping it at ankle-length, she brushes it daily, washes and dyes it carefully, and goes to a lot of trouble to keep it clean. Almost as much as she does to stay out of other peoples' way.
Usually carrying a backpack full of books, art supplies, a few small games, notebooks, and the odd trinket, Sarah frequently gives the impression of some small, colorful ghost. Ankle-length skirts and slightly oversized sweaters and sweatshirts are her usual, making it hard to notice the curiously well-matched midnight-indigo boots she's so fond of wearing (she owns three pairs). Sarah's a bit over on the 'plush' side, but fit enough thanks to her penchant for lugging things around.
Her eyes, on the rare occasions they're actually seen, seem to vary from a slate-gray color to a very deep green. She frequently smells of vanilla, thanks to her penchant for keeping a vanilla-scented candle in one pocket. When in public, she is often listening to music on earphones, or playing a handheld video game with earphones, or listening to music with earphones and reading a book or manga. Tests positive for anime addiction and chronic forgetfulness
Personality: You remember that kid in the back of the class who nobody know and barely anyone ever noticed was there? He was an amateur.
Sarah is a pro.
Her voice is small, she rarely speaks or does anything remarkable. She really enjoys books and video games (more the former than the latter, since it's hard to worry about failing at a book). She's not very impactful, while her opinions are strong, they're generally of the sort that involve not interfering with others, and she would much rather let other people do what they want.
Other people want very much to succeed- Sarah's ambitions are more along the lines of helping other people succeed. She's extremely unused to praise or affirmation, takes any criticism very harshly (and without any ill will towards the critic in question), and if she realized she was out-humbling someone, she'd apologize for that too and then meekly go away.
Somehow, in spite of all that, she has an extreme determination (While she considers her own successes not worth commenting on, she practically wallows in ennui when she fails) and a very, very independent bent.
You just won't realize when she's gone off in her own direction until she's been away for a good long while. Assuming you knew she was there in the first place.
Please note, however, that despite this shyness and reluctance to express confidence, she always pulls through in pinches, and is almost impossible to put off from something she's determined to do. Particularly when it involves helping others.
Sarah is a very bright, if reclusive, young woman. Just ask the people at the medical center where she works as a filing clerk. While she may not be up to lugging huge stacks of documents, she can organize and space-economize with a vengeance. She also has some interest in magic, though she's quite completely unsure of herself- to the point of not wanting to risk investing effort in it in the event that she winds up failing. Still, the thought never quite leaves her mind- which is why one of the books on her shelf at home is A Beginner's Guide to Abjuration. She's read it, but actually trying anything in it is thoroughly beyond her self-confidence for now.
Likes: Calamari, vanilla, sweets (maybe a bit too much), fresh fruit, animals, fog, swimming, reading, drawing, horror, music.
Dislikes: Failing, hot weather, embarrassment, public notice, alcohol, large crowds, getting lost.
Fears: Accidental crushing death (a startlingly real possibility at her size), her parents, failing, spiders.
\"What if nothing means anything? What if nothing really matters?.....
...Or suppose <b><i>EVERYTHING</b></i> matters. Which would be worse?\"
-Calvin
\"Joke \'em if they can\'t take a f$%k.\"
...Or suppose <b><i>EVERYTHING</b></i> matters. Which would be worse?\"
-Calvin
\"Joke \'em if they can\'t take a f$%k.\"
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The Willful Wanderer
- Member
- Posts: 2221
- Joined: Fri Mar 05, 2004 2:00 am
- Location: Aisle 12, between the kumquats and the radicchio.
Use your eyes, Luke.
'Indigo, nearly black'. Unless the light hits it just right and you happen to be peering at her, it might as well be black.
'Indigo, nearly black'. Unless the light hits it just right and you happen to be peering at her, it might as well be black.
\"What if nothing means anything? What if nothing really matters?.....
...Or suppose <b><i>EVERYTHING</b></i> matters. Which would be worse?\"
-Calvin
\"Joke \'em if they can\'t take a f$%k.\"
...Or suppose <b><i>EVERYTHING</b></i> matters. Which would be worse?\"
-Calvin
\"Joke \'em if they can\'t take a f$%k.\"
-
Inferno Dragon
- Member
- Posts: 6097
- Joined: Mon Jul 30, 2001 1:00 am
- Location: Planet Draco
- Has thanked: 1 time
- Been thanked: 7 times
okay we're ready to begin. Just let me get things started here. be ready everyone.
Sarah will be at the hospital records room and she will start with a scalple.
Martain will start at his hotel room with his combat knife strapped to his belt (though due to it's size it looks more like a machetti)
santino will start in the lobby of his apartmint building with a steel cane given to him by the old Godfather.
Ben will start at the gym of the high school with a wooden bat.
Sarah will be at the hospital records room and she will start with a scalple.
Martain will start at his hotel room with his combat knife strapped to his belt (though due to it's size it looks more like a machetti)
santino will start in the lobby of his apartmint building with a steel cane given to him by the old Godfather.
Ben will start at the gym of the high school with a wooden bat.
beware the power of Bahamut\'s eldest son.
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Inferno Dragon
- Member
- Posts: 6097
- Joined: Mon Jul 30, 2001 1:00 am
- Location: Planet Draco
- Has thanked: 1 time
- Been thanked: 7 times
OOC: okay guys, we're starting. read this post and then post your actions.
the sun is setting, the safety of the daylight is fading now... unknown to four people of this doomed city, a plague has swept thtrough, killing anyone it touched and animating their corpses. no one was safe from it's far reaching grasp, not even the long departed of the near-by cemetary.
now the dead roam the streets in search of the only ones leaft alive in this foresaken city.
even now, the four are unaware of the situation they face. a scraching at a hotel room door, a mournful moan from the floor behind the front desk at the apartments, the shuffle of feet in the hospital records room, a banging at the gymnasium door at the school. the survivors begin their journy...
the sun is setting, the safety of the daylight is fading now... unknown to four people of this doomed city, a plague has swept thtrough, killing anyone it touched and animating their corpses. no one was safe from it's far reaching grasp, not even the long departed of the near-by cemetary.
now the dead roam the streets in search of the only ones leaft alive in this foresaken city.
even now, the four are unaware of the situation they face. a scraching at a hotel room door, a mournful moan from the floor behind the front desk at the apartments, the shuffle of feet in the hospital records room, a banging at the gymnasium door at the school. the survivors begin their journy...
beware the power of Bahamut\'s eldest son.
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::Abbadon::
- Member
- Posts: 37
- Joined: Sat Jun 23, 2007 8:04 pm
- Location: Vegas
1st encounter
Santino Cardinelli was in his apartment, lounging on his love sofa. All of his troubles seemed to be overflowing him with stress. Just three days ago he killed the Basto Capone (Underboss) of the Valentino Family and he was in big trouble with the Big Boss. But on top of those troubles he had all of his assassin supplies and weapons destroyed in a car bomb attempt on his life. He tried to go legit and applied for a position at a local Italian restaurant called Luigi‘s, but he was fired the first day on the job due to harsh serving techniques and his heavy Brooklyn Italian accent. Things Just were not going His way.
“Looks like I’m gonna have to find work in another city.”
He pulled his map out and pressed his finger on a little dot with “Chicago” beside it.
“I heard the Vicci Family needs good hitmen”
He was talking, but obviously no one was listening, maybe he thought Rocko, his dog, could understand English.
“You know Rocko, we deserve better then this…Ya, Ya, I know we have money, but we deserve a better life, my Uncle would want that I think”
Rocko just looked at him. Something was different about Rocko this evening, he was very “touchy” looking nervously at everything.
“I know how you feel Rocko, our day will co……”
“RUUUAAAAHHHHHM”
“What The….Shut up down there you dumb hors! Go back to your pimp!!!….No respect for people Rocko, hors have no respect!”
“RUUAAAHHHHM”
“See they don’t listen!”
Santino clutched his silver cane, wanting to go down there and beat the hors out of the building.
“Lets see what’s on TV Rocko”
Santino turned the TV on but there was no signal all he saw was a salt and pepper fight, annoyed by this Santino threw his remote hard at the window…It shattered. Now that the sound tight room was broken all he could hear were low moans out the window, he looked at his dog, grabbed his cane and looked out the window. He saw deteriorating people walking down the road, some were limping, some crawling and some running.
“What the heck?” Santino then heard a clawing sound on his door then a pounding noise, he grabbed his cane and walked toward the door. The door was broken down with a mighty thud and all he saw was a deteriorating man standing in front of him, trying to grab him.
“What do you want, is this a JOKE?” He jumped behind the couch, but Rocko attacked the zombie like man. He clenched his jaws into the deteriorating man’s leg. Flesh was being ripped from the man’s leg but the man gave very little attention to the dog. Until the dog took a bite for the man’s neck. The deteriorating man grabbed the dog by the hind legs and picked the dog up brutally. The dog yelped and sunk its teeth into the man’s forearm. But it had little affect…the deteriorating man stumbled toward the window and heaved the dog out of it…it was a 10 story drop.
“You killed my dog!”
Santino was in shock but jumped over the couch and pushed the man down, then lifted his cane over his shoulder and began to bash the deteriorating man’s head in. The man squirmed trying to get up, but the vicious blows kept emitting from the cane. Finally Santino cracked the man’s skull open and his brains fell out. The deteriorating man, laid there…dead.
“Zombies…how?”
Santino Looked out the window, his dog laid on the ground obviously dead and bloody, but the dog wasn’t the thing Santino was worried about, it was the two or three hundred Zombie faces looking straight at him that gave him the worst fears…
Santino Cardinelli was in his apartment, lounging on his love sofa. All of his troubles seemed to be overflowing him with stress. Just three days ago he killed the Basto Capone (Underboss) of the Valentino Family and he was in big trouble with the Big Boss. But on top of those troubles he had all of his assassin supplies and weapons destroyed in a car bomb attempt on his life. He tried to go legit and applied for a position at a local Italian restaurant called Luigi‘s, but he was fired the first day on the job due to harsh serving techniques and his heavy Brooklyn Italian accent. Things Just were not going His way.
“Looks like I’m gonna have to find work in another city.”
He pulled his map out and pressed his finger on a little dot with “Chicago” beside it.
“I heard the Vicci Family needs good hitmen”
He was talking, but obviously no one was listening, maybe he thought Rocko, his dog, could understand English.
“You know Rocko, we deserve better then this…Ya, Ya, I know we have money, but we deserve a better life, my Uncle would want that I think”
Rocko just looked at him. Something was different about Rocko this evening, he was very “touchy” looking nervously at everything.
“I know how you feel Rocko, our day will co……”
“RUUUAAAAHHHHHM”
“What The….Shut up down there you dumb hors! Go back to your pimp!!!….No respect for people Rocko, hors have no respect!”
“RUUAAAHHHHM”
“See they don’t listen!”
Santino clutched his silver cane, wanting to go down there and beat the hors out of the building.
“Lets see what’s on TV Rocko”
Santino turned the TV on but there was no signal all he saw was a salt and pepper fight, annoyed by this Santino threw his remote hard at the window…It shattered. Now that the sound tight room was broken all he could hear were low moans out the window, he looked at his dog, grabbed his cane and looked out the window. He saw deteriorating people walking down the road, some were limping, some crawling and some running.
“What the heck?” Santino then heard a clawing sound on his door then a pounding noise, he grabbed his cane and walked toward the door. The door was broken down with a mighty thud and all he saw was a deteriorating man standing in front of him, trying to grab him.
“What do you want, is this a JOKE?” He jumped behind the couch, but Rocko attacked the zombie like man. He clenched his jaws into the deteriorating man’s leg. Flesh was being ripped from the man’s leg but the man gave very little attention to the dog. Until the dog took a bite for the man’s neck. The deteriorating man grabbed the dog by the hind legs and picked the dog up brutally. The dog yelped and sunk its teeth into the man’s forearm. But it had little affect…the deteriorating man stumbled toward the window and heaved the dog out of it…it was a 10 story drop.
“You killed my dog!”
Santino was in shock but jumped over the couch and pushed the man down, then lifted his cane over his shoulder and began to bash the deteriorating man’s head in. The man squirmed trying to get up, but the vicious blows kept emitting from the cane. Finally Santino cracked the man’s skull open and his brains fell out. The deteriorating man, laid there…dead.
“Zombies…how?”
Santino Looked out the window, his dog laid on the ground obviously dead and bloody, but the dog wasn’t the thing Santino was worried about, it was the two or three hundred Zombie faces looking straight at him that gave him the worst fears…
-
Firestorm
- Member
- Posts: 2332
- Joined: Wed Jul 12, 2000 1:00 am
- Location: An asylum for the criminally stupid
^LOL
School Gymnasium
5:45 P.M.
--------------------
A huge, sweaty man was digging through a metallic bin in the corner of the high school gym. He pushed aside the assortment of junk in the container, digging towards the bottom. His girth heaved to and fro and his meat-stick arms navigated the pile of random tools, obviously looking for something. Anyone unfortunate enough to be passing by would find themselves on the unpleasant end of a full moon, as the man's gray sweatpants sagged and failed to conceal their contents.
Let's see here...
Weed killer...
Check.
Fertilizer....
Check.
Hey! Where's my weed-whip?!
The man stood up, the bottom edge of his t-shirt coming back down to cover the formerly exposed fat-man crack. He wrapped one of his fatty knubs around the edge of the box, and simply leaned backwards. His weight did the work, sliding the steel across the floor effortlessly. Ben Frizzer leaned forward, looking between the box and the wall.
No luck.
Ben stood upright, wondering who moved his tool *this* time. He was the part-time groundskeeper for the school, and the administration kept a supply of lawn maintainence items in the gym for his use. He waited until sunset because working in the sun drove him nuts, as well as increasing his already impressive capacity to secrete salty fluids.
He turned around, looking across the gym. The basketbal court loomed in front of him, still shiny from its recent wax-job. He grumbled to himself as he headed left, looking for the locker room.
Maybe someone locked it in with the sports crap again..
He swung open the locker room door, unfazed by the smell. The easily recognizable "sweaty high school boys" scent hung in the air, but Ben's presence seemed to replace the smell with his own, far more potent, stench. He rounded a corner and walked by the showers, pausing to reach under a leaky faucet and wipe the moisture on his eyes. He'd already been working for twelve hours, putting in his time at the locksmithing company before getting started on his lawn jobs.
He proceeded all the way to the end of the room, stopping in front of a large wooden cabinet. He seized the handle on the cabinet and cranked, only to elicit a stubborn "click." The handle refused to turn.
As though it were second nature, he pulled a paper clip from his pocket. He bent the wiry metal into a semi-straight shape and inserted it into the keyhole under the handle. After two seconds of expertly guided jiggling, the lock clicked and he tried the handle again. This time, the door swung open easily, revealing a cabinet full of athletic gear.
And there, buried under the baseball gloves, was his weed-eater. He smacked the gloves to the side, raining them down on the locker room floor. He snatched the tool and closed the cabinet before turning around...
...and screaming at the top of his lungs.
Standing in front of him was a human corpse, a walking pile of degenerated flesh and mangled skin. The grayish, rotten body of the creature was covered in cracks and rips where the skin had broken apart and oozing liquid poured out. Most of the hair on its head had fallen out, making it a perfect match with Ben's mostly bald cranium.
The zombie was almost within arm's reach, sizing him up with its iris-less eyes. Ben swung the weed-whip at the zombie's head, more out of reflex than anything else. The zombie stumbled left, completely unharmed. The weed-whip clattered to the floor as Ben stumbled backwards, and the zombie moved in on him. Ben lost his footing as he stepped on one of the gloves littering the floor, and he tumbled backwards, landing in the cabinet. He shot his arms out to the side, attempting to catch himself, but the cabinet could not hold him. Instead, as he gripped the door for support, the whole cabinet started tipping foward. Ben screamed again as the zombie and the four hundred pound cabinet both lurched toward him.
Rather than crushing him, however, the flimsy pegboard that made up the rear wall of the cabinet broke over his arms. The entire cabinet collapsed around him rather than on him, and the bulk of the furniture landed on the zombie moments before it could grab his leg. The frame of the structure landed directly on the zombie's head, flattening it into the floor immediately. Ben scrambled with considerable difficulty, trying to pull his massive belly through the cabinet.
He finally rolled over the edge, a resounding "splat" announcing his contact with the floor. He now surveyed the damage: The zombie was not moving, its head now a brain-mush flavored pancake on the floor. The cabinet was intact, aside from the broken pegboard, and its contents littered the floor around the corpse.
He picked up his weed-whip and then, thinking about it for a moment longer, also grabbed an old fashioned wooden baseball bat. The bat was heavy, with the words "The Gorilla" etched into the side of its shaft.
What was that thing?! It looked like a zombie! What is this, Eternal Darkness or something? I gotta get out of here!
Ben started running towards the locker room entrance when he heard it.
The sound of shuffling feet.
And moaning.
And thumping on the door...
Ben was not about to try and fight his way out. He turned and ran back the way he came. There was a window on the east wall, and he slid a bench up to the window as he prepared to climb out. About three seconds after he poked his head into the outside air, he regretted it.
There were two excellent causes for this moment of regretfulness:
1. The rest of his body was far too large to even hope to fit through the window.
2. The zombie outside the window was about to eat his face.
"AAAAAAAAGGGHHH!!"
Ben jerked his body back from the window, losing his balance and crashing to the floor with a thud.
As it turns out, fat people can move very quickly when properly motivated.
Ben was motivated.
He bounced up to his feet in a display of maneuverability that he would normally have been incapable of, if not for the adrenaline rush he was now experiencing. The zombie outside the window started to crawl through at the same time the locker room door opened...
...and the horde came in. No fewer than twelve zombies pushed their way through the door, following the sound of Ben's footsteps. Ben's instincts took over and he bolted toward the row of lockers, slamming his mighty girth into them with all the strength of a panicked cow. The lockers leaned forward and crashed to the floor, trapping all twelve zombies underneath the metal coffins. Ben stepped onto the lockers as he climbed over, his weight doing more damage to the zombies than the initial crash. He pushed open the locker and headed straight for the parking lot, sprinting (well.... jogging) right across the shiny basketball court in his grimy work shoes.
He threw open the door to the parking lot and ran for his vehicle, which was parked close to the entrance.
I think I just lost all my "cool points"...
...those twelve zombies were wearing the varsity team jerseys.
------------------------------------
OoC:
To make keeping track of time slightly easier....
Starting point: 5:45
Digging through bin: 5 minutes.
Walking to locker room: 3 minutes.
Crossing locker room and digging through sports closet: 2 minutes.
Discovering zombie, tipping over cabinet, and obtaining weed-whip and bat: 2 minutes.
Attempting to leave locker room: 1 minute.
Attempting to climb out window: 2 minutes.
Flattening twelve zombies with a row of lockers: Priceless (1 minute).
Running across basketball court: 1 minute.
Running through parking lot: Still in progress.
------------------------------
Total time elapsed: 17 minutes.
------------------------------
I don't know if this makes it easier or harder for you, Inferno, but I figured I'd try.
If you think this will help, I'll make a time marker for all my posts, except it will only include the total.
School Gymnasium
5:45 P.M.
--------------------
A huge, sweaty man was digging through a metallic bin in the corner of the high school gym. He pushed aside the assortment of junk in the container, digging towards the bottom. His girth heaved to and fro and his meat-stick arms navigated the pile of random tools, obviously looking for something. Anyone unfortunate enough to be passing by would find themselves on the unpleasant end of a full moon, as the man's gray sweatpants sagged and failed to conceal their contents.
Let's see here...
Weed killer...
Check.
Fertilizer....
Check.
Hey! Where's my weed-whip?!
The man stood up, the bottom edge of his t-shirt coming back down to cover the formerly exposed fat-man crack. He wrapped one of his fatty knubs around the edge of the box, and simply leaned backwards. His weight did the work, sliding the steel across the floor effortlessly. Ben Frizzer leaned forward, looking between the box and the wall.
No luck.
Ben stood upright, wondering who moved his tool *this* time. He was the part-time groundskeeper for the school, and the administration kept a supply of lawn maintainence items in the gym for his use. He waited until sunset because working in the sun drove him nuts, as well as increasing his already impressive capacity to secrete salty fluids.
He turned around, looking across the gym. The basketbal court loomed in front of him, still shiny from its recent wax-job. He grumbled to himself as he headed left, looking for the locker room.
Maybe someone locked it in with the sports crap again..
He swung open the locker room door, unfazed by the smell. The easily recognizable "sweaty high school boys" scent hung in the air, but Ben's presence seemed to replace the smell with his own, far more potent, stench. He rounded a corner and walked by the showers, pausing to reach under a leaky faucet and wipe the moisture on his eyes. He'd already been working for twelve hours, putting in his time at the locksmithing company before getting started on his lawn jobs.
He proceeded all the way to the end of the room, stopping in front of a large wooden cabinet. He seized the handle on the cabinet and cranked, only to elicit a stubborn "click." The handle refused to turn.
As though it were second nature, he pulled a paper clip from his pocket. He bent the wiry metal into a semi-straight shape and inserted it into the keyhole under the handle. After two seconds of expertly guided jiggling, the lock clicked and he tried the handle again. This time, the door swung open easily, revealing a cabinet full of athletic gear.
And there, buried under the baseball gloves, was his weed-eater. He smacked the gloves to the side, raining them down on the locker room floor. He snatched the tool and closed the cabinet before turning around...
...and screaming at the top of his lungs.
Standing in front of him was a human corpse, a walking pile of degenerated flesh and mangled skin. The grayish, rotten body of the creature was covered in cracks and rips where the skin had broken apart and oozing liquid poured out. Most of the hair on its head had fallen out, making it a perfect match with Ben's mostly bald cranium.
The zombie was almost within arm's reach, sizing him up with its iris-less eyes. Ben swung the weed-whip at the zombie's head, more out of reflex than anything else. The zombie stumbled left, completely unharmed. The weed-whip clattered to the floor as Ben stumbled backwards, and the zombie moved in on him. Ben lost his footing as he stepped on one of the gloves littering the floor, and he tumbled backwards, landing in the cabinet. He shot his arms out to the side, attempting to catch himself, but the cabinet could not hold him. Instead, as he gripped the door for support, the whole cabinet started tipping foward. Ben screamed again as the zombie and the four hundred pound cabinet both lurched toward him.
Rather than crushing him, however, the flimsy pegboard that made up the rear wall of the cabinet broke over his arms. The entire cabinet collapsed around him rather than on him, and the bulk of the furniture landed on the zombie moments before it could grab his leg. The frame of the structure landed directly on the zombie's head, flattening it into the floor immediately. Ben scrambled with considerable difficulty, trying to pull his massive belly through the cabinet.
He finally rolled over the edge, a resounding "splat" announcing his contact with the floor. He now surveyed the damage: The zombie was not moving, its head now a brain-mush flavored pancake on the floor. The cabinet was intact, aside from the broken pegboard, and its contents littered the floor around the corpse.
He picked up his weed-whip and then, thinking about it for a moment longer, also grabbed an old fashioned wooden baseball bat. The bat was heavy, with the words "The Gorilla" etched into the side of its shaft.
What was that thing?! It looked like a zombie! What is this, Eternal Darkness or something? I gotta get out of here!
Ben started running towards the locker room entrance when he heard it.
The sound of shuffling feet.
And moaning.
And thumping on the door...
Ben was not about to try and fight his way out. He turned and ran back the way he came. There was a window on the east wall, and he slid a bench up to the window as he prepared to climb out. About three seconds after he poked his head into the outside air, he regretted it.
There were two excellent causes for this moment of regretfulness:
1. The rest of his body was far too large to even hope to fit through the window.
2. The zombie outside the window was about to eat his face.
"AAAAAAAAGGGHHH!!"
Ben jerked his body back from the window, losing his balance and crashing to the floor with a thud.
As it turns out, fat people can move very quickly when properly motivated.
Ben was motivated.
He bounced up to his feet in a display of maneuverability that he would normally have been incapable of, if not for the adrenaline rush he was now experiencing. The zombie outside the window started to crawl through at the same time the locker room door opened...
...and the horde came in. No fewer than twelve zombies pushed their way through the door, following the sound of Ben's footsteps. Ben's instincts took over and he bolted toward the row of lockers, slamming his mighty girth into them with all the strength of a panicked cow. The lockers leaned forward and crashed to the floor, trapping all twelve zombies underneath the metal coffins. Ben stepped onto the lockers as he climbed over, his weight doing more damage to the zombies than the initial crash. He pushed open the locker and headed straight for the parking lot, sprinting (well.... jogging) right across the shiny basketball court in his grimy work shoes.
He threw open the door to the parking lot and ran for his vehicle, which was parked close to the entrance.
I think I just lost all my "cool points"...
...those twelve zombies were wearing the varsity team jerseys.
------------------------------------
OoC:
To make keeping track of time slightly easier....
Starting point: 5:45
Digging through bin: 5 minutes.
Walking to locker room: 3 minutes.
Crossing locker room and digging through sports closet: 2 minutes.
Discovering zombie, tipping over cabinet, and obtaining weed-whip and bat: 2 minutes.
Attempting to leave locker room: 1 minute.
Attempting to climb out window: 2 minutes.
Flattening twelve zombies with a row of lockers: Priceless (1 minute).
Running across basketball court: 1 minute.
Running through parking lot: Still in progress.
------------------------------
Total time elapsed: 17 minutes.
------------------------------
I don't know if this makes it easier or harder for you, Inferno, but I figured I'd try.
If you think this will help, I'll make a time marker for all my posts, except it will only include the total.
-
Inferno Dragon
- Member
- Posts: 6097
- Joined: Mon Jul 30, 2001 1:00 am
- Location: Planet Draco
- Has thanked: 1 time
- Been thanked: 7 times
-
Inferno Dragon
- Member
- Posts: 6097
- Joined: Mon Jul 30, 2001 1:00 am
- Location: Planet Draco
- Has thanked: 1 time
- Been thanked: 7 times