The Tower

[Blood and Roses]

Turk stared at the monitor displaying the feed from Camera 3 with a look of puzzled bemusement on his face. Chicken club? Vege-- what the hell was wrong with these people? Cracking jokes about food! Turk wasn't laughing. Perhaps they didn't realize that they were the main course at the zombie buffet. He opened his mouth to make a caustic reply, but quickly snapped it shut. These people had stumbled into his trap, or very nearly, and he would have to disarm it in order to get them out.

Rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand, Turk slid a rolling chair out from under the display console and slid into it. He wracked his brain, feeling his calm begin to dissipate. If he disarmed the corridor, he might not have time to re-arm it before the zombies broke through to it. And even if he did, what was he supposed to do with this herd of attrition-waiting-to-happen? It's not like there was enough food or water, and no beds to speak of. Turk stared into the monitor as the lead sheep shined his flashlight around in search of a camera or speaker box. Turk decided to humor him, speaking into the PA.

"Up along the ceiling. No, further over. Little more... ah, you've found me." Turk trained the camera on the people in front, the man with the gun and flashlight, and a woman--holding the hand of a child. Fuck! Were there more children hiding in the flock? And what were they doing here? He shook his head, and pulled out a crumpled soft-pack of cigarettes. Those wouldn't last long, either.

A deep rumble sounded from far away, and another sensor began buzzing as the indicator light on a different monitor began to flash. Turk looked over in time to see some yay-hoo had parked his hummer in the main entrance door to the tower. Where the hell were all of these people coming from? He watched as the rear hatch opened, and something small was ejected before the hatch slammed closed again. A hailstorm of anti-personnel fragments ripped through the chamber, followed by an aimless spray from a high-cal weapon. Turk's brow furrowed -- a yay-hoo with access to military grade munitions.

Turk shook his head, turning his attention back to the corridor full of people. They couldn't stay there any longer. He lifted the handset for the PA and held in the button. "Okay, people, you've got three options. 1: You can go back out into the tower, but there's a nut job with a machine gun hosing down the area. 2: You can try to tiptoe through the tripwires, but there's a really good chance that one of the less-nimble among you will blunder and none of you survive. Or," Turk swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, "you can try to disarm them as you go. I can walk you through it, if one of you happens to have a set of wire-cutters hidden up your sleeve. Of course, it could result in the same end-result as Option 2. Your decision."

[Zombie Overlord]

It was just a small oversight, but poor Mr. Doyle would soon have to face the consequences.

His meager fireworks display outside the tower would prove to have done little more than attract what seemed like an infinite number of zombies compared to what he had demolished to reach the building in the first place.

Focus on the city from overhead; from this height, the narrow streets look like they’re moving on their own. Zoom in to find that every inch of the streets are actually filled with zombies. The narrow city streets were now teeming with animated carcasses; literally packed from building to building, those unlucky enough to be on the outer edges of the flood were without room to even hobble.

Zoom in to the red brick wall of a city apartment building. They were inadvertently carried along by the rest of the crowd, dragged against their will against the brick walls of the buildings, their deteriorating flesh scraping and grinding against the rough brick, leaving thick trails of blood and gore on the walls – in fact, many zombies found their true end this way, their foreheads scraping on the brick for so long, the already weakened bone gave way and large portions of their brains spread out in their wake.

However, the undead didn’t know any better…They didn’t know, nor did they notice, care about, or even distinguish the differences between “Alive”, “Dead”, “Not exactly alive or dead”, or even “Dead, alive, then dead for good”. So those in the masses that were rendered “Dead for good” continued to be drug along with the crowd, until they happened to slip and land in a pile only to be trampled; or until a piece of flesh, a limb, a tattered piece of clothing, what remained of long hair, anything that could be snagged on a jagged piece of wall, latched on, and the corpse was left dangling, its lower half swaying with the masses as if in a breeze.

Focus on one such zombie; a female, whose long black hair had gotten caught on a low fire escape ladder. Moments later, another zombie falls through the focus. Zombies that had been inside the buildings on either side of the narrow street crashed through windows and dropped straight down to join the crowd. Sometimes their fall would be broken by fellow zombies, and they would force their way into the march; sometimes they would find an open spot and hit the ground head-on, and find eternal slumber; and sometimes they landed square on their feet, legs, or knees, and the bone crumpled in a sickening crunch. But a zombie’s will was strong indeed, so they began a long crawl to the tower, despite the rest of the crowd trampling over them.

It would only be minutes until they reached the tower, and found that the weight of a military grade vehicle was hardly a challenge for the augmented strength of such a vast number of undead.

Pan quickly ahead of the zombies, to the entrance of the tower where the vehicle had been stopped. Timespan ahead to show zombies crawling under, into, and over the vehicle, and eventually putting enough sheer weight against it to move it aside.

They would fill the tower’s ground level, then shamble up the stairs in search of food, lacking the common sense that would normally tell them that a tower this old, particularly one that has suffered such considerable damage to its foundation after Mr. Doyle’s escapades, was unable to hold so much dead weight.

Follow the zombies into the tower; they fill the ground floor easily, and then head up the stairs, where a few of them manage to sink their teeth into the recently-shot body in one of the storage rooms.

It would not be long until the tower came crumbling down in a glorious rain of brick and bodies.

Cut to the outside view of the tower as it crumbles from the bottom up. The zombies inside and those immediately outside are crushed and covered in debris, but many of them get right back up and find the now exposed blast doors, leading into the underground tunnel where our survivors currently reside. However, as it sealed behind Doyle, the zombies are unable to work the numeric keypad in order to gain entry.

Naturally…That was the least of the survivors’ worries…

Return timespan to normal; the zombies are still a few blocks away from the tower.

Poor Mr. Doyle’s oversight…The blinking light on his GPS…

Cut to a shot of the GPS inside Doyle’s vehicle, a small, hardly noticeable green light flashing on its underside. It had been activated automatically…Just four blocks from the tower, automatic gunfire and shouts calling for a “full-scale retreat” erupted.

Focus on an apartment building, at least fifteen stories tall; we can’t see behind it. A quick, booming hydraulic hiss could be heard for miles around, accompanied by a thick plume of steam; the steam erupted from behind the building at an angle, reaching towards the night sky, its point of origin at least ten stories off the ground.

Zoom in on telephone poles that get enveloped by the steam. The wood of the telephone poles quickly caught fire in the superheated air, the transformers popped and blew out, and the wires melted.

Focus on the windows of the surrounding apartment buildings. The wooden windowpanes within close proximity of the steam bent and twisted, and then shattered their glass outwards all at once. The moonlight caught the falling glass just right, and for just a moment, it looked like it could have been snowing…

[Boston]

Boston nodded slowly as that voice listed their available options, thinking aloud, muttering to himself, “Going back into the tower…Machine Gun Mack or not, that isn’t really an option…A delightful tip-toe through the tulips?” He twisted his waist to look at all the survivors that followed behind, “Maybe if it was just me…” Once again his eyes landed on the hefty man from earlier, “And he ain’t tip-toein’ nowhere…” He faced forward to continue his train of thought, but looked back over his shoulder a moment later, suddenly perplexed; “How’d you even manage to survive this long, anyway?” Seriously, Boston couldn’t remember a single fat man in any zombie survival situation he’d ever seen…

He shook his head and resumed his train of thought, “I guess all I can do is cut the wires,” looking up at the camera and repeating loudly enough, then, he holstered his gun, and held up his right hand for the camera to see; “Steady hands, see? Nothin’ up my sleeve…” He knelt suddenly and grabbed for the first wire as if trying to clutch it, but instead, the wire safely split in two.

“Piece of cake, yeah?” He looked up at the camera and shrugged, stood, and then glanced over his shoulder once more when he noticed the collective frightened huddling of the front portion of the crowd. “Jeez, are you guys cold or something?” Then shaking his head he pushed the wire aside with the toe of his boot, to prevent anyone from accidentally stepping on and pulling it, inadvertently activating the mines. “Stay towards the center, don’t go stepping on this wire, we don’t need anyone blowing up unnecessarily…”

By the time Doyle had made it into the tunnel, Boston was already more than half way through the mine field. In what he referred to as “the magic zone”, he failed to notice Doyle’s entrance

So he squinted his eyes and kept his flashlight focused on the path ahead of himself, holding up an arm to signal when he wanted the crowd to stop. He knelt at that point and snipped the next wire in the same style as before, unable to pass up an opportunity to play the showman…That deep breath and then sigh of release he elicited from his audience egged him on, and he continued in that manner until they finally reached the blast door at the other end of the tunnel.

“Ta-daaa~!” Boston threw his arms into the air and turned to the survivors, bowing several times; “Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all week, don’t forget to tip your waitresses, and…” he stood up straight and pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his inside jacket pocket, “the owner of a black sedan, license plate number four, eight, two, six, seven, nine, you left your lights on.” He crumpled up the paper and dropped it, shaking his head, “Hey, I’m just kiddin’ ya, you’ve been great! Play me off, Jimmy!”

He gripped his flashlight in both hands and kicked his feet side-to-side, pumping his arms up and down in what could only rightfully be classified as a “poorly coordinated jig”. And, assuming Turk opened blast doors for them, he danced right in…

[Leila Darkmoon]

*Leila jumped as the voice boomed again, this time talking them through finding their way to the camera that was filming their every move. She followed his directions, her pale blue eyes finally coming to rest on the camera that moved and seemed to zoom in on them. From seemingly far away, she heard a loud boom and the tunnel around her seemed to shake. All she could think about was her poor VW bug sitting just outside the Tower’s entrance. She had spent most of her adult life with that bug and it was more a part of her than any other object she possessed. Oh well, she thought to herself, that was your former life. Just be grateful you still have a life.. She was snapped back to the present by the voice again as he listed off their options for them.

Being as close as she was to the man who now seemed intent on holding onto his role of temporary leader, Leila was able to hear his words as he muttered to himself, seemingly thinking out loud. Despite the current situation and her ever growing sense of doom, Leila chuckled to herself at his “tiptoeing through the tulips” comment. It wasn’t often that she encountered someone with a warped sense of humour such as herself, and she was surprised but happy to feel a smile crease her lips.

She followed his gaze as he referred to the rather large male member of their group, another chuckle escaping her lips as he questioned how this man had survived thus far. Soon though, his attention turned to the more important matter of disarming the bombs, and Leila reluctantly felt her smile slip away as Engies hand tightened around hers.

~Its okay kiddo..~ she whispered, forcing a grin to her lips as she looked down at Engie. ~I think this guy knows what he’s doing..~ As if to prove her point, their new leader bent down and began to disable the wires.

Following his directions, she led Engie down the middle of the tunnel, being careful not to step on anything apart from the concrete ground beneath her feet. She followed him, and soon they had reached the end of the tunnel, the large blast door in front of them, a welcome sight. As their leader proclaimed ~Ta Da!~ Leila applauded and called out ~Bravo! Encore Encore!~, laughing as he played up to his captive audience.

She noticed a crumpled piece of paper fall from his hand onto the floor, and she had just enough time to pick it up and shove it in her pocket before she followed him in through the now open blast door. Eager to meet the owner of the booming voice, Leila looked around what appeared to be some sort of lab.*

[MstSgtDoyle]

Man, all of the sudden, his head started to throb.
His thoughts sort of trailed off every time he felt his temples throb. God damn gunfire sometimes got to him. Or if it where the smell of rotting corps' or just the gunfire smoke through out the entire hallways.

When he turned the corner, his eyes rested upon a crowd of people. Not to large in size but it was a few people. They must've been what those bastards where after. He held the 416 closer to his shoulder some as he saw them sort of taking their time. He thought maybe they would move quicker since the thought of a zombie horde on their heels was as scary thought to him even.

His right eye sort of moved around and he aimed his vision through the night scope towards the camera and the speaker mounted to the wall. He heard someone speaking, about tipping waitress' and then about a car. What the fuck was going on?

He moved forward cautiously." Anyone, alive? Figuratively speaking." He said aiming the rifle directly at them. Well, he knew they where alive, and knew that they had to be human so he took in a deep breath. When he got closer his NVG zoomed in somewhat and he examined them all.

The left hand that was placed under the barrel of the Grenade launcher reached up to push the scope over his right eye up so he could see them a bit better. He was just on the outside of the so called mine field.

( Sorry for lameness and shortness... I couldn't think of anything but I promise to get the posts up and better)

[Nubaum Turk]

"Stop, idiot!", Turk shouted at the monitor as the man with the flashlight reached down, hand open, toward the tripwire. He clenched his eyes shut, not wanting to bear witness to the carnage that would follow. Sure, Turk had seen plenty of death in the last weeks, but he wasn't interested in watching live people be cut to bloody giblets by shrapnel. He waited for the explosion and horrible, anguished death-cries...

...but there were none. Turk cracked an eye open, and there on the monitor was the lead man, pushing aside the severed tripwire with his foot and proceeding to the next. Turk cracked a small grin and shook his head. "Lucky."

It wasn't luck. The fellow on the monitor continued through his trap zone, skillfully cutting the tripwires and leading the cowering group of refugees behind him, and Turk looked on incredulously. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't Joe Average civilian. He was too quick, too confident, to be some jerk off the street. Suddenly, Turk was glad he hadn't been shouting into the handset while the guy had been cutting the first tripwire.

Turk's eyes flicked over the other monitors. Rambo had entered the corridor, a massive gun on his hip, his face obscured by some strange headgear, likely a starlight scope. With the amount of mil-spec gear this guy was toting around, he had to be military. Turk had left military service for freelance work more than a decade ago, but he knew a Leatherneck when he saw one. Army grunts weren't nearly that reckless. And traveled in packs.

Glancing back, he saw the wire-cutting man snipping through the 8th or 9th rank of ordinance. Turk hefted the UCAS-12, checked the chamber, and quickly stepped out of the security room off to one side of the main lab area. He walked hurriedly across the lab floor and over to one of several storage closets on the other side. As he walked, Turk looped the sling of the shotgun over his head, sliding the weapon across his back. Where were all the techs, Turk wondered, glancing around as he threw open the locker door. He grabbed a crate of C-rations and a sleeve of paper cups, then hauled them over to the stainless steel table near the blast door.

Turk poked his head back into the security room and checked the monitors in time to see the strange man standing before the blast doors, bowing and performing to the huddled crowd of survivors. He shook his head, dragged the shotgun around to his side, and strode over to the blast doors. He took hold of the double-bar switch arm painted in yellow and black stripes, and threw it into the "Open" position. Sparks flew from the contact pads as the switch came to rest, and a loud hydraulic hiss sounded as the large red alarm light above the doorway began to spin and flash. Turk raised his weapon, holding the butt tight against his shoulder and nose aimed slightly upward as the blast doors slid into their wall pockets.

Turk pointed the shotgun toward the crowd, aiming for center mass. He tried to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth and did his level best to not catch the slightest glimpse of the child holding the blond woman's hand, and instead trained his stare on the lead man as he spoke.

"I don't know who you people are, or how you got here, but you've got one chance to answer this question correctly: Who's in charge here?"

[/size]

[MstSgtDoyle]

Okay, the correct term would be, Navy SEAL. But he did have the attitude and the Gung Ho way of a Leatherneck, or Jarhead. He also had the Family history of the United States Marine Corps. But he was born for the Navy. He loved the Navy, well... What used to be the Navy anyway.

The scope was still raised from his eye and he saw a light at the end of the tunnel. Holy shit, was he dead? No way... He already made it through the fucking crowd. Or did he? Damnit....

Rifle eye level he moved towards the group huddled at the end of the tunnel. He was still a good 75 yards when he heard the man speaking about their one chance to say who was in charge. What the hell was he gonna do? Shoot them if they didn't say so? He raised an eyebrow and just flipped the rifle onto burste. He knew if he pulled the trigger fast enough on burst, he could put effective rounds into the crowd of people if they decided to draw on him.

The rifle was kept at eye level as he glared down the red dot scope. He also had his other hand moved from the barrel case of the grenade launcher to the handle and trigger of the launcher. He unsafed it and waited. Both fingers on the friggers.

If he put a well placed 40 mm into the group, he could take them all out... Maybe. If he where lucky.

Through the group he could see the semi-auto shotgun totting man. He seemed to be a free lance with some Military experience. From what he had seen over seas the free lancers where former military. And well, there was no way he had that shotgun and wasn't free lance. there was no security force, swat team, police presinct, or even a military in the world that he had seen with a USAS-12. A shotgun he had only gotten his hands on ONCE.

It was a good gun, just he wasn't a shotgun person. He liked to put single, effective rounds down range instead of spraying a small wall of lead.

Plus, there was no way he was like Rambo...

[Boston]

The jigging Boston shuffled inside and bumped right into the barrel of Turk’s shotgun. “Oh, heya pal, how’s ya goin’, kinda a mess out there, yeah?” If Turk was even a little perceptive, it would be quite apparent to him that there was something slightly off with Boston – but you didn’t need some third person omniscient narration to tell you that.

He kept that calm and collected little smile on his face, and stuck out his hand for Turk to shake. “The name’s Boston, and I wouldn’t say that I’m in charge of this group, but I am the story’s leading man.” He had suddenly adopted a flawless British accent, and assuming Turk didn’t let go of his gun to shake hands, Boston would use his amazing slight of hand to click on the gun’s safety – his sudden accent change ideally enough of a diversion to keep Turk’s ears off the quiet click.

He couldn’t go and accidentally get shot after finally finding the secret lab, now could he?

“Now,” he dropped the accent and took his hand back, clicking off his flashlight, “where’s the head scientist ‘round these parts, hm?” He opened his satchel, strapped bandolier style around his chest, and dropped the flashlight inside; he exchanged it for a small bottle of pills, at the same time inadvertently flashing the silver police badge pinned to the inside.

He began speaking with a Scottish accent, “I am Lord Robert McFalfa, and I’ve come to inspect the tapestries…” Boston twisted off the bottle’s top and began pacing around the immediate area, rubbing his chin and looking the walls and equipment up and down, “This is a lab, is it not? There are tapestries?” He held the pill bottle mouth-level and stuck his thumb inside, pinched a pill against the plastic, and then flicked it into his mouth. He swallowed it dry, then replaced the bottle’s cap and dropped it back into the satchel.

“But in all seriousness,” his voice was back to normal, “I need to see a man about a cure, so if you would kindly point me in the direction of the scientist in charge, I’ll gladly be on my way…”

He had hardly left a few moments for anyone to interrupt his speeches; by the time he was finished speaking, he more resembled a performer at the end of an improv skit than someone who had been surviving a zombie outbreak.

[Leila Darkmoon]

*The soldier wanted to know who was in charge of the group. Leila merely shrugged and stared at him with wide eyes as she first pointed to their fearless leader from the Tower, and then their newly appointed leader from the tunnel who had apparently done a rather good job of getting them all here in one piece.

~I’m not too sure which one is in charge, but this guy here did a pretty good job of getting us here… so my votes with him, right Engie?~

Engie merely nodded, her eyes as wide as Leilas, as both girls stood back and seemed to be looking for some shadows to swallow them up whole. Seeing no shadows though, Leila looked around at all the equipment and stainless steel thingies that seemed to be in abundance. What a weird place, she thought to herself, as she reached out to touch a large green button that was flashing at her. As a loud woooosh sounded in her ear and a blast of cold air blew at Engies back, Leila giggled and squeezed Engies hand. ~Guess we shouldn’t be touching anything in here for a while, eh kid?!~

She looked up as Boston stepped forward and introduced himself as the story’s leading man. It was clear that the guy was a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but any guy who could get them through all those explosives could help himself to as many sandwiches of hers as he wanted to. He clearly shared her view that this was a lab of some sort as he seemed intent on finding a scientist in charge cause he was looking for some kind of cure. A cure for what exactly, she had no clue, but she guessed it probably had something to do with the whole zombie infestation outside. Arching a brow as he started spouting about tapestries, Leila finally made eye contact with the soldier who wanted to know who was in charge.

~Yeah, he’s kinda…. “out there”… but he does seem to have a few brains squished into that head of his… so, maybe we could find him this scientist dude he’s after huh?~*

[Nubaum Turk]

The dancing fellow kept up a stream of seemingly idle patter, and the stream of chatter threw Turk off his guard. Perhaps it was fatigue, or stress, or maybe just that he hadn't had a "real" person to talk to in days. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen the Doc since they arrived. Whatever the cause, Turk was taken aback. As the "lead man" dug his pill-bottle out of his satchel, Turk spotted the policeman's badge pinned to the inside.

It occured to Turk that it must be terribly difficult to police flesh-eating monsters.

The cop, who introduced himself as Robert Mc-something, wandered in and glanced around, Turk finally relaxed and lifted the shotgun from its ready position and leaned the barrel against one broad shoulder. With his off hand he reached up to safety the weapon, only to find that the safety had already been engaged. Turk's eyes narrowed and he glared at Officer Bob. That sneaky son of a...

The horde of survivors following behind the policeman reacted to the weapon's raising like a security gate lifting to allow them in, and took it as their cue to enter the lab. Turk did his best to keep order, but there were too many, and soon they were all around. The woman escorting the child fiddled with a control panel, and a slightly obese man had quickly found the emergency rations that Turk had set out on the table nearest the door. Turk resigned himself to having lost control of the situation, and instead did his best to keep damage to a minimum.

“But in all seriousness,” Officer Bob said, “I need to see a man about a cure, so if you would kindly point me in the direction of the scientist in charge, I’ll gladly be on my way…” Turk glanced around. He still saw no sign of the Doctor.

"Yeah, he’s kinda… out there…" proclaimed the woman with the child, speaking about the policeman, "and he does seem to have a few brains squished into that head of his… so, maybe we could find him this scientist dude he’s after huh?"

"Uh, he's likely, um..." Turk gestured vaguely in the direction of the back of the lab, distracted from the bantering policeman by the crowd of people wandering around. He glanced back at the cop, "Go ahead and look around. Good luck finding him. You might check the security room, over there, "he jerked his thumb at the door, "and see if he's on any of the monitors."

Turk snagged a ration kit from the box before they'd all vanished, and a bottle of water. He made his way back to the woman who'd just spoken, and gave his best smile to her before squatting down to come eye-level with the child. He held the food and water out to the girl, his voice as soft and friendly as he could make it. "Here, little one. I bet you could use something to eat. It's not great, but it'll fill your belly. There's even a candy bar in there," Turk said, tapping the lid. He glanced up at the woman whose hand the child clutched. "I bet your mother would like some, too."

[/size]

[Boston]

“Thanks, pal, I’ll give it a look-see.” Boston wasn’t put off by the fact that the whereabouts of the scientist in charge were currently unknown – the fact that there was a scientist in charge was good news either way. He must be somewhere in this place, now it was just a small matter of searching.

“I assume you’ve already taken care of all the researchers that must’ve turned into zombies,” he grabbed the hilt of the baseball bat in the sheath on his back, slid it out, and twirled it several times in his grasp in one smooth motion, “So I don’t gotta worry about one jumping out at me from withi~in…” he drew out that syllable to build the suspense as he approached a nearby locker, then suddenly grabbed its handle and threw the door open, “this locker!!”

Boston gritted his teeth and braced his feet on the ground, holding either end of the bat in either hand, horizontally in front of his chest to block the zombie he was sure would spring from the locker in a hungry frenzy. He held that pose for a few moments before realizing that there was no (and likely never was to begin with) zombie in the locker…

“Very good. I see you’ve covered your bases well.” Boston re-sheathed his bat and held his hands on his hips, staring at Turk and the rest of the crowd in a suddenly awkward silence.

“…”

He smoothed his hair back with his hand and bounced on his toes for a moment, taking in and then exhaling a deep breath. “Well. Oh, is that a cell phone?”

(It was still dead silent.)

He looked around for a moment, then began pointing between himself, Turk, and Leila; “Yours? Mine? No?”

He clapped his hands together, “Well! Alright then, I’ll go have a look at those cameras…This way, you said?” Boston pointed in the direction Turk had motioned towards earlier, then took a large step in that direction to begin towards the security room.

“So I guess it’s safe to assume there won’t be any zombies left in here, either…” He muttered as he stepped into the room, only to shout a moment later, “Zombies!! Everyone out!”

A second later he poked his head back into the main room, laughing quietly, “Nah, I’m just kidding, there aren’t zombies in here. It’s actually kinda cool, they got flasks and beakers and stuff,” as he spoke, unbeknownst to him, a particularly rotten looking arm came into view just above his head, from inside the security room just behind Boston; the fingers clutched around his forehead and he shouted as it the hand dragged him back inside.

He stepped out of the security room a moment later, waving a dismembered zombie arm in the air above his head, “Ha! Got’cha again, it’s just an arm.” He dropped the arm onto the floor quite nonchalantly, and strolled back into the security room to examine the cameras and look for that scientist.

[Leila Darkmoon]

*Leila smiled at the soldier, slightly taken aback by the dazzling smile he flashed her way before he bent down to talk to Engie. When he smiled like that he seemed a lot less foreboding than he had when she had first encountered him, and as she tossed her long honey blonde locks over one shoulder, she realised he was actually kind of cute. Grateful for some food for the girl, Leila smiled down at her as Engie glanced up at Leila uncertainly.

~Hey now, my mother always said never look a gift horse in the mouth.. and yeah, so he’s not a horse, and he hasn’t got any gifts.. but he’s got food and who knows when we are going to get some more, so if I was you…~
She trailed off as the soldier referred to her as Engie’s mother.

~Woah bucko! I aint her mother! I mean seriously.. do I look old enough to have a seven year old???!~ Mortally offended, Leila snatched the offered candy bar out of his hand with one hand, while pulling Engie away from him with the other. Glancing down at Engie, she was quick to explain herself in case the girl thought she was taking offense with the thought of being HER mother, and not just any mother in general.

~I mean kiddo, that there is no way in hell Im old enough to have a kid your age.. ANY kid.. not just you... unless I was a realy bad girl who liked to run around with boys when I was barely in my teens, ya know?~ as Engie looked up at her with wide eyes and asked “Whats “running around with boys” mean?~ Leila just shook her head and rolled her eyes.

~Never mind… just.. ignore me okay. It wasn’t that long ago that I still used to get asked for ID at the liquor store, so I know there is no way in hell I look old enough to be your mother..~ fuming silently, she pulled Engie over to a corner and stood there, glaring at the soldier as she unwrapped the candy bar. Offering half to Engie who accepted it eagerly, Leila bit into the slightly melted chocolate as she shot daggers at the soldier with her eyes. Suddenly he didn’t look quite so handsome to her anymore, and she glared at him one more time before she looked around at the others.

Their self appointed leader who was now obsessed with finding a scientist was now making a show of intimidating a locker with his baseball bat. Staring at him as though he was crazy while he asked who’s imaginary cell phone was making the ringing tone that only he could hear, Leila looked around at the others to see if they found him to be as crazy as she did. She watched with wide eyes while she shoved the chocolate in her mouth as he continued on with his song and dance, being so gross as to use a severed arm to add to his routine. Rolling her eyes, Leila looked to the ceiling and counted to ten slowly.

~Give me strength,~ she muttered, before looking back at the soldier. Feeling a tugging sensation on her jacket, Leila looked down to see Engie crossing her legs and rocking back and forth slowly. Recognising the signs, Leila walked towards the soldier once more.

~So, where’s the toilet then? Its kinda been a while since we went, and while I’m old enough .. well.. more than old enough according to you.. to “hold it”, I’m not so sure about my little friend over there..~ she pointed to where Engie was now looking very uncomfortable as she made faces at Leila.*

[Prv. Guy/ Sir Guy of Gisborne]

Escaping from the old base wasn't as easy as ryan had hoped, half of his unit was killed, mostly by him. The zombies had suprised his unit, and the construction workers that were building the base back up to its old glory. The original plan was to make the base another stronghold, it could accommodate over four hundred people, with high walls and strong walls, they thought it would last against any zombie invasion, they were wrong.

The old base had a security system of mines, whenever the zombies were out of range of sniper fire, they would send pickers to get the crops that they had planted out there during the first construction of the old base, to be a nuclear warehouse, there had been food, but some of the older soldiers, who had the privalege of knowing where they were going, brought the seeds with them to break away from the MRE prison they were stuck in. After the zombies were at a safe distance, they sent out the army of runners, with sacks in each hand, they would go from bush to bush, collecting there red and green plunder. With full bags of sweet tasting vegetables, they would ration the food to each of the families.

Ryan fixed his shoulder pad, and pulled his armour up with one and, the other he placed on the steering wheel, he had, well, taken one of the construction workers' vehicles, he had found the keys in the locker room. At the moment when he was the last surviving member of his squad, and the only living person in the base, anything would do. When he pulled the key out and say that it was a honda, he would have been glad for anything. He ran out to the parking lot, discharging his gun four times before he made it in the car, with a click he locked the doors, there wasn't many zombies out, but he knew there would be many after the shots were fired, they're would be more. It was after the run and sitting in the comfortable seat that he realized, he left his sniper rifle in the locker room. With a little speed and lots of luck, he grabbed the rifle and ran like hell back to his newly acquired car.

After driving for hours, the information he was told by his superiors, that there was an old tower a couple miles north of the base. He could see the tower starting to come into view. He hoped there would be survivors, if there was a place to be, it would be there. He pulled in, and slid the sniper rifle strap over his shoulder, and got out of the car, he pulled his M4 from its resting place at his side and with many, many flash flashes, his run to the door was clear, the tower was surrounded by zombies, and those zombies surrounded by the dark metal wall. Ryan shut the door behind him, he could hear a subtle quaking, and also steps from the top, there were zombies coming down, he wasted an entire clip on killing them, again. This building was falling, he wasn't going outside and there wasn't safe ground to be found in the tower, he found a door leading to rooms below the ground, he ran down there with his desert eagles at the ready.

It was a lab, he slammed the door shut, leaving the zombie horde clambering outside, he pulled out "Fury" one of his desert eagle. "Hello...anyone in here, tell me that way I dont shoot somebody, Anyone?" he took military steps from the door, to a lab station. He was sitting, facing the door he had just walked in. He took off his pack and sat it next to him, and dropped his sniper rifle, he had almost died for this things, and he wasn't about to die for it again.

[silenced]

The black haired young man, although he still looked like a freshman from high school shrugged as he silently followed the group. Although most of them ignored him till now, he wasn’t quite sure he liked it to be so silent. This wasn’t like him, but the situation demanded for him to be as invisible as possible. He could perfectly defend himself against those creatures that used to be human beings, but he wasn’t quite sure he could stand against all of them. As he remembered how several of his friends had fallen prey to the zombies’ hungry bites and poisonous claws, and their cries for help, he pulled his jacket even tighter around him.

As he crouched down in a corner, he observed all the people that had survived up until now. He was trying to concentrate so he could get those images out of his brain… He wasn’t a brave one. He admitted that he was a selfish cowardly bastard that let his friends to die. Everyone was dead, and hopefully, they would stay dead. He chuckled at himself painfully as he rubbed his forehead.

Suddenly, he heard the echo of a door slammed not far beyond the room they are currently in. He felt his guts tightened themselves as the fear slowly set in again. But no one cared… He bit his lips the hundredth times as he could feel the metallic scent of blood on his taste buds. He had to check this out. If they were really in here, at least he could warn the others about them.

True, he was no savior, he was no martyr, and he was certainly not the messiah. But he had to do his part if they were all to stay alive in this dark tower. Reality… became a very twisted nightmare not long ago. But he must go on… he must survive. There were things that he must do if he were to redeem himself for escaping his dark fate that day.

“I’m…” He muttered to himself, before standing up, patting his jeans and looked at the others. “I need to go check something out…” He told the others, and left without so much of a good bye. But in his eyes were determination to love.

“I’ll come back, so… see you all later.”

With that, he took his leave and turned the knob of the metal door. After taking a deep breath, he stepped out from the sanctuary and into the dark corridors. He wasn’t quite sure he would be willing to deal with zombies be it zombie scientists or zombie personal assistants, but if they were to stagger into his views, he would shoot them down just like he shot down his own friends after they became one of them.

He reached out to his customized Beretta 92 under his jacket and checked its ammunition level. After a few tinkering without incident, he slowly moved from corner to corner, opening his hearing to any things in the corridors. Thankfully, he had sharp hearings to help him in this kind of situation. The shambling monsters would create noise wherever they went as they dragged their feet.

[Prv. Guy/ Sir Guy of Gisborne]

"Is someone there" he said as his trigger finger tightened around the silver trigger guard. He looked around the corner of the metal panel, "I'm a human, and im coming out, dont shoot" he said as he stood up. He was freightened, by the boy with the gun. He quickly whipped his gun to pointing at his head. The boy brought memories back from his stationing in somalia, a young boy had shot a killed one of the men in his company, he had to shoot him, if not he would have taken a dirt nap next. The boy, he was sure, didn't pose a threat, it was just that one point that made him jump.

He'd never forget that day, when the sgt. was pinned down by Machine gunner, that was coming from a car that had been blow out. The gunner was sitting in the passenger seat, with the gun coming out of the drivers window, Ryan threw the grenade at the door and with a "Fire in the hole" the threat was eiliminated. The boy came running out and shot at his unit. The boy managed to get three shots off, and took out the prvt. next to him, gonzalez or something, he took our his m16 and shot the kid, ending a painful life.