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Author Topic: Flassche:The price for survival (open)  (Read 1189 times)

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Offline flasscheTopic starter

Flassche:The price for survival (open)
« on: September 20, 2013, 06:50:32 AM »

Please refrain from replying directly to this thread, Pm me if you are interested.

Title:The price for survival

How much is saving a life worth. How far would you go to protect your family and yourself? Ask yourself these questions, constantly, when following this hunter, this immune that is your only hope of survival. Eleven years have passed after the initial outbreak of the virus, a plague that left the infected in mindless husks that craved nothing more than to either kill or infect. Safe zones had been numerous at first, yet over the years many have fallen, either because of the infected or mankind itself. Both bandits and infected roam the world outside the safe zones, ensuring only the strong and lucky survive. When your save zone was breached, the inhabitants  slowly being turned or slaughtered, your only chance at survival is to follow a hunter. But survival comes at a price.



My Character(s):
A hunter in his late twenties, early thirties. He is one of the few who is immune to the virus, marking him as a mutant by many. He has survived on his own for eleven years, surviving both the turned, bandits and the hostility of other humans. If there was ever a man you needed to help you outside of the wall, this man was you pick. The downside is that his morals weren’t very good to begin with, something that has only deteriorated over time alone in this fucked up world he now lives in.
Side characters such as bandits, other civilians, turned creatures would be played by me, unless any partner wishes to share the Burdon of it.

Your Character(s):
A heavy part of this scene is the taboo element of it all, the family going through extremes to protect itself. At the very least two family members will have to be played out, more is highly encouraged.
Feel free to choose either male of female for your character(s), although male characters will be on the younger side of the spectrum.

Open for suggestions/alterations if you have a good idea.

Inspiration for the scene:
The game: The last of us.
« Last Edit: November 27, 2013, 09:03:33 AM by flassche »

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche:The price for survival (open)
« Reply #1 on: September 20, 2013, 06:53:43 AM »

Day 1: Agreeing on the price

‘Mid-morning with a slight chilly wind.’ A man thought, eyes fixed on the area behind the wall, beyond the safe zone. Spring had been kind to them so far as it had awoken recently, leaving enough time for the crop rotation.  The man sat perched on the watchtower of the long concrete wall as a flock of crows flew overhead, rattling the branches with their incessant chirping. Guarding the wall was an important duty, seeing as he was all that stood between the destruction that was outside of the safe zone. The wall was roughly eight meters high and one meter thick, reinforced concrete that would withstand quite the beating, should it be tested. He cradled the rifle in his lap, using a rag to clean the scope that was attached to it. He was one of the ‘crows’, a soldier in charge of manning the walls towers that were build every thirty-five meters. In every tower stood a man with a rifle and some grenades. Some towers even had an RPG-7 launcher, or something similar,  in case of bandit attacks or something similar.

The larger squinted into the distance, his vision slightly obscured as sunlight drained from cloud cover, making things seem hazed and discolored. He raised his rifle and squinted again through their lens. He noticed a person in the distance, walking to straight and to even to be one of the turned. Right hand was lifted upwards, digits spread outwards. The guard cradled the rifle against his shoulder and aimed at the figure walking towards the walls. It wasn’t unusual for people to wander this area, yet when you had a city of five thousand to watch over, you took no chances.
The figure stepped closer and closer, staying in the open as much as possible. A good sign. It soon became clear that the figure was a man, the shoulders to broad and chest to wide to be anything else. Being somewhat of a good spotter, he thought the man was around six two, give or take an inch.
He held his aim at the man while kicking with his left feet against a hollow pipe that was in the centre of the tower, causing a sound to ring out. He then kicked it twice more, in long bursts, signaling that he spotted someone, yet it wasn’t an immediate threat. To his right and left he heard the response call, their pipes hitting twice as well. This method was quite effective when radios and batteries were a sparse commodity.

He spotted another guard opening the door and walking towards the man who had stopped a hundred meters or so away from the main gate. He obviously knew how things worked around here, judging from his knowledge of protocol. The man carried himself as military, yet something about his posture said that he might be a hunter or tracker of sorts. He was garbed in brown, green and grey attire, perfectly suited for the outdoors. It hugged his frame and looked thick; durable and lightweight. Boots were obviously military and in rather good condition. He had a thick traveling coat around himself that looked easy to remove in case of a pinch, although slightly worn. On his left shoulder he was carrying a travellers backpack, the other shoulder was holding a crossbow in place. ‘Yhea…. Hunter.’ The man whispered, using his rifle to get a better look at the man’s features, noticing the long black hair and unshaven beard. Judging from the shape of his nose, the jaw line and bright green eyes, the man might even be considered handsome, should he find a razorblade and a shower, immediately. He placed his crossbow, machete, knifes and pistol on the ground, stepping to the side while the other guard made his way over towards him.

A brief chat later and the man was let in, weapons and all. The fact that he was led in with his weapons spoke volumes about this newcomer. He wasn’t staying longer than an hour and he would get two soldiers to accompany him while he stayed within the walls.

The man held his mouth as he followed the guard in front of him, eyes occasionally glancing left and right, taking in the scenery. The stench of this place was horrible, a collection of piss, sweat and feces. Say what you will about the world outside these walls, the air was surprisingly clean. He controlled the urge to rub his left shoulder, the spot where an infected had bitten him there. Normally a person who gets bitten either dies or turns within a week, yet here he was, eleven years later and still somewhat the same. He made his way over towards the government building and stepped inside, quickly finding the man in charge there. He knew the drill by now; get in and out as quick as you could. People knew about immune people, yet they had trouble trusting them, believing that it was true. He sat down on a nearby chair and waited for his reward for his latest run. He chuckled a bit when he noticed a man carrying a large stack of papers.

It was quite funny actually. The world had gone to shit eleven years ago, plunging mankind into anarchy and destruction, yet there were still people doing paperwork. Some sort of virus had started to infect the populace, turning any infected into mindless husks that wanted nothing but to infect and kill. It quickly became known that once you were bitten you only had a few days to remain sane, at tops a week. Some cases of immunity were found after the first few months, people who had a rare blood type that could somehow withstand the infection. After many trials it quickly became clear that it was not something that could be used to make a cure. Safe zones had been established; large hulking cities with thick walls surrounding it and a strong military presence.

These cities now used people who were immune to travel from safe zone to safe zone, acting as messengers or curriers. It was usually faster and cheaper to send one immune than to send an armored convoy. In exchange for their services, these people would get rewarded with rations, equipment, ammo, clothing, whatever they needed. It was a hard fate, yet one infected could potentially destroy an entire city if not found out soon enough. The fact that these people had been bitten once was something frightening, even though they were immune.
The man stood up when he was called. His reward was ready, as was his next job, should he want it.

The guard on the guard tower raised his rifle, peering through the lens. His jaw lightly dropped, teeth chattering as if he struggled for words as what he suspected came to full realization. Without a second warning he kicked against the hollow pipe in front of him, ramming against it three times in quick bursts. He heard a man climb up the ladder into the guard tower. He wasted no second and pulled the second man next to him with his elbow, causing the other to fall forwards, violently.

"You seeing' this shit, Jack?" The guard spoke franticly as the second fumbled with the binoculars before staring through them. "Holy shit..." Was all the other had to offer as a horrifying cry came from beyond the wall. Three young men were running towards the wall, running from a horde of turned walkers. It was the largest horde they'd seen in months. At least a hundred and fifty were on the men´s heels as they sprinted towards the walls, moving in zigzag patterns. They all had some sort of body armour on and even then were sprinting fast. By the time the guard noticed the explosives tied to their waists it was too late, two of them still alive by the time they reached the walls, only one of them shot down by the guards.

The combined explosives of the two men was enough to blast a giant hole into the wall, leaving a crater on both sides. Seconds later hell broke loose within the safe zone; hordes of turned rushing in through the gap, slashing, biting, clawing at everything in their path. The city would be lost within the hour, to many citizens would be infected or turn within the day, depending on the amounts of bites they had. In the background you could heard engines roaring, signalling vehicles that were drawing near. A group of bandits then took out the remaining guard towers before entering the city. One perfectly orchestrated attack was all it took to destroy a settlement that held thousands within.

The streets were chaos, people running in every direction. The city had only a few exits, yet most of them were either overrun or a hotspot for the turned and infected. Some areas were still offering signs of resistance, gunfire being heard here and there, yet not much. The cities major strength was their walls, with that breached they would not have the manpower to turn the tide.
The hunter was about to step outside, make himself a ghost and vanish through one of the weak points in the wall when he noticed a group of people rushing inside. Several of them were bitten, caring their children or friends with them. Their bite wounds were not as deep that they would turn within a few hours, yet they would turn, no changing that. One of the bitten men rushed towards the hunter, eyes wide with fear as he blurted out words in quick succession.

“I am begging you, safe my family! Name the price and we will pay it! Anything!”

Even amongst all of this death and destruction, the hunter remained calm and composed. Death and suffering was an everyday occurrence outside of the walls, it was simply concentrated more densely here now. He gazed at the man, deciding whether to stab him right there and then, yet glancing at the family he was begging the hunter to protect changed the hunter’s mind. There was a stirring within him, a hunger that he wanted to quench. He knew exactly what the price for their survival was. He eyed them again before he moved closer to the dying man, sliding hands over his wounds and checking the depth of the bite marks. The man had one on his neck and wrist, both small, yet penetrating veins. The wrist wouldn’t be that harmful on short term, although deadly on long term, the neck was different. He fingered the scarf away from the neck and peeked closer, seeing a small stream of blood seep out immediately. The jugular vein had been nicked, no doubt carrying the infective spores of the attacker.

The hunter stepped backwards and glanced at the man again, watching his expression as he spoke. “Jugular vein. A hour, tops, before the fever kicks in. Best to go out before that, the turning is……. painful.” He said casually, voice carrying a hint of an accent, although the man would probably not know where it came from. The man nodded and then glanced at his family briefly before repeating the question, this time more composed. He had a bit of a commanding attitude about his eyes, probably military, police or law background before the apocalypse. The hunter could respect the man’s strength, the determination. Most people cracked when they realised they were doomed to turn, few remained functioning and productive. This man had done the math and was now securing the future of his family.

“Alright, the nearest safe zone still active is the dome, a small fortification near a large dam. It’s a three month journey if I have to take all of you, even with the added time it will still be a highly risky journey. I will only be able to pull this off if you get them to swear an oath of obedience, in all things, and tell them that you and everyone is dead. I am going to leave them behind if they even think of slowing me down or breaking apart because daddy is now a drooling corpse.” He paused for a while, pondering whether to take pleasure in their suffering or doing what is right? Guessing from the way the family was staring at this ‘mutant’ that was talking to their father, they responded better to an efficient and clear approach. “So, you get them to swear that to me, bid their farewells of you and pack. They have three minutes.” He then fondled something in his backpack and placed it in the man’s hand, placing the still connected pin of the grenade in the man’s other hand. It was a going away gift for the brave man, yet would also draw in many turned zombies to the sound, giving him a few minutes of freedom while they would be occupied.

He then left the man and heard him calling his family to him. Already his face was paling considerably. The hunter could care less. In the end everyone dies….. Everyone.
He shrugged the weight from his shoulders and began preparing his kit, his clothing and weaponry. He then began sorting the new supplies he had gotten and grabbed a few things out of an emergency cabinet that was next to a doorway. A few gasmasks were looted and the strips adjusted to suit the shape of a female’s and one male head. Next up was a small container he had in his backpack, one containing a thick dark grease that was non-flammable. He opened it up and began stirring it with a digit, hearing in the background how the man was instructing the others to follow this ‘mutant’, making them all swear an oath and say their farewells. He would then calmly walk outside the back entrance, waiting for them in the alleyway, allowing him time to grab his machete and see if the alleyways were still a safe option for them to take.
« Last Edit: May 15, 2017, 03:17:26 AM by flassche »

Offline flasscheTopic starter

Re: Flassche:The price for survival (open)
« Reply #2 on: June 03, 2017, 05:41:10 AM »

Change log

20-09-2013 – Added the plot.
03-06-2017 – Bumped the thread.