We Can [Not] Redo || IC
* I'll probably forget to tell you guys in OOC, so I'll tell you now. Please don't quick post and give others some time because of the timezone difference and having a life. :3 Cheers~! *
A frown crossed the red-haired woman's face as she stared down at the nearly-empty bag she carried around. Just two weeks ago, the bag was nearly filled with canned food, some bandages, a matchbox, and some blades wrapped neatly in a cloth. Now, the only object that remained were the extra blades and a random pack of crushed crackers. Carol closed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She then fiddled with her spearing, her green eyes staring at the blood-tinted blades that were attached. The poor bloke she had sliced had went after her bag, which he had thought was filled with food. Carol would have liked to have food in her bag, but unfortunately, she didn't. With a sigh, she absent-mindly attached the blade she had to her pole. She licked her lips and leaned against the wall, gently touching her mask. Her stomach had been stabbing with pain ever since last night; her body screaming for something to fill her stomach. "I'm strong. I can do this. Maybe the supply truck will pass by today," she thought.
Her stomach wailed once again in anguish.
This young woman named Carol was around twenty years old, abandoned by her parents at a tender young age. She had learned from early experiences that the weak only died and the strong thrived. While other adults or well-off teenagers might have thought the scrawny red-head kid would die in less then a week, an old man had taken interest in the kid. He had given her a name, a name Carol would always treasure with her life. He taught her how to defend herself, how to scramble around for food, and the best hiding spots around the city. Eventually, Carol had taken a liking to a spear - a wooden pole that had blades attached to it. Life was good until that day happened.
For the second time again in her life, she was alone. Carol didn't cry, only silently closing the man's eyes and burying him in his hut. She left her 'home' that night, taking his and her things to wander around. For a while, she slept inside broken houses, until she woke up and decided to turn a not-so damaged house into hers. It was a blissful feeling, creating something that solely belonged to her and her only. For a while, Carol felt happy, until she ran out of food again. It was like a cycle. Happy when the food truck came by. Sad when the food was gone. To Carol, it was hilarious how people, including herself, could change so much from a loaf of bread. "I would kill for some bread," she mumbled to herself. Realizing what she had said, Carol let out a strangled giggle, shutting her eyes.
((Italicized for Vladimir's dialogue. Bold for everyone else's.))
A sly, snake-like grin formed on pale lips. Crimson irises observed the huddled group with a sense of amusement.
"Yeah, we could probably pull it off! Mostly starved fuckers go to 'dat truck. If we get there while they are scramblin' for food, we could take 'em all out and get away withe the food AND truck!"
It was an incredibly stupid plan, made by an incredibly stupid man.
A group of seven people stood in what seemed to be an old, run-down...hut. Warehouse? Let's just call it a hut. There was no windows, the roof was basically warped sheets of rusted metal, and there was no door. Instead, a large hole was punched into the rotten, termite-infested wood, making a make-shift 'door'. An awful 'base of operations'. An incredibly awful one at that
The group of men was raggedy, with tattered leather gear and old, rusty machetes strung behind their back by strips of string. There was nothing important about them. They all basically looked the same, sans the 'leader' of this operation, Bob. He was an older 'gentleman', around his thirties, with a bald head and the previously-mentioned gear. A bandana was folded across his dirt-smeared dome, blood red in color.
As a matter of fact, everyone in the small group has some sort of red coloring on their clothing. Either on the pockets of their jackets, or on their pants legs.other than this small feature, there was nothing very important about 'em.
They are what you would call 'Gangsters'. A group of rag-tag bandits who decided to come together to hunt, rape, and pillage this world of disaster. So far, they've done nothing special. Hell, they haven't even come up with a team name. Fuckin' idiots.
One man stood out from the rest, however. Standing in the shadows, staring at the group with amusement clear in his eyes, Vladimir was waiting to strike. Despite their idiocy, the group had actually managed to secure a small foothold when it came to plunder and loot.
A large amount of canned food, bottles of dirty-looking water, spare knives and machetes, and other spare items.
Most of it was held on by Bob. He had it strung across his back, right over his main choice of weapon.
Another idiotic move.
Despite the obvious bulk and weight the loot burdened him with, Bob was quite a big dude, and his body weight proved to be more than enough to hold the large amount of supplies. An old gun rested against his hip, tied to his belt by string. It had no ammo, but only Bob and Vladimir knew that.
How did Vlad know of this?
Don't worry about it.
Going back to the conversation however, one man stood up and walked forward. "We should hit it soon. I hurd' that it waz gonna cum' soon." he grumbled out in a slightly...warbled tone of voice.
Vladimir's smirk grew wider.
Bob turned towards the young thief, watery eyes narrowed. "Waddya think of 'dis, grub?"
Oh...yes. The dreaded insult almost everyone in this rag-tag team of misfits called him.
Sine Vladimir was 'new' to the gang, everyone called him grub. He had no idea why. It didn't really bother him, to be honest. They were all gonna' die anyways.
"I think that you are sososososo smart, bob. I mean, your mom shoulda' enrolled you in the Academy of Fine Arts. Too bad she was a fucking whore."
A childish insult, but it worked. Plus, it was time to act. He'd waited too long. They needed to die now.
Bob grew purple in the face, charging towards the lone figure in a blind rage. No one talked about his Momma Barbra! It wasn't her fault that she showed her cleavage to every male in the entirety of Paradise.
Plus, Vladimir was one of the main ones she talked about!
The fat man threw a rage-induced punch, his large, meaty fist heady straight for Vlad's head.
It all happened so fast.
In a flash, Vladimir had his pocket-knife out and in his hands. A half of a second later, he stepped past the bumbling fat-ass and put it back in his pocket. Calmly. Smoothly.
Two seconds past.
The other 'gangsters' stood still, wanting to see what had happened.
Slowly, one could see Bob's head slowly fall foward, as if it was hanging on a string.
In fact, it was.
The head was barely held up by the remaining muscle and tissue in his neck. The area under his head had been sliced completely open, show-casing his spinal-column and other such gory theatrics. Red, gooey, fat blood dripped out of the extremely-lethal wound, dripping down his bomber jacket and falling to the ground with light 'plopping' sounds.
Vladimir grinned, stepping forward, hands in his pockets.
He held up his middle finger, gesturing towards them with a mocking light in his eyes.
Six grown, slightly retarded men growled in anger, stepping forward with their fists up. Their machetes lay on their backs, forgotten.
Vladimir's grin widened, showing pearly white teeth.
His right hand gripped the knife while his left hand gripped a dollop of sand. He stepped forward, meeting their charge head on.
Raffaello was heading back to the orphanage he had left off to bring the starving kids something to eat, he was very good at looking for supplies and was in good terms with many people and some of them helped him in his good deeds, he had a bag full of bread and some meat he managed to scavenge from some animals that didn't look radioactive, though he was the one that was going to eat those, since he wasn't sure of what could happen if someone ate them, maybe if he didn't die from this he would start hunting them.
"God, it's been so long since I had a decent meal that I have almost forgotten about it." he let a sigh out in exasperation, but he started smirking just after it, "Anyway, it is better to see those kids smiling."
He spotted a crumbled house in his way and started jumping through the rubble in a childish way, "I wonder what this world was like before all of this." he jumped down from the big stone he was standing on and continued walking to the orphanage, "Well, I bet my ass on it that it wasn't as fun as this one, in this world I can find some really incredible things to fight with, those mutant thingies are impressive."
As he was walking he saw a red haired girl sitting in the ground with her back against a wall, he rushed onto her to make sure she was okay, he grabbed her shoulders and started shaking her.
"Hey! Are you okay?!" he realized that maybe she was just hungry and quickly took a bread loaf out of his bag, "Here, take it, it might help you, though I'm not sure." he just stood beside her wondering what could be wrong with her, memories flooded his mind as he was waiting for a response.
He was still a kid when his mother died, and so his father raised him alone, taught him parkour and how to survive, he was happy with his dad and he wished it would have stayed like that forever, but one rainy night, a gang assaulted them, killed his dad and took all of their supplies, he was left to die alone, he just sat in the ground and waited for death to take him, he then saw his father's corpse and something snapped him out of it.
This world isn't fair and everyone here just cares about themselves, but he will try to change that for his dad, who had died for something stupid, 'It is just as like that time........'
Throwing a half empty duffle bag across the room, and plopping down in a old wooden chair, The raggedy women looked around and sighed. It had been slim pickings for the last week. All the people that she would "barrow" stuff from had nothing to "lend", and she couldn't manage to scavenge anything if her life depended on it. She wasn't starving, but she was damn well almost there. If she couldn't rack in a big score soon, she'd have to walk into town when the trucks arrived, and she didnt feel like being trampled or mugged by a group of thugs. Leaning slightly back in her seat, she was caught off guard as the chair collapsed from beneath her. Pulling herself off the cold, stone floor, she brushed off her tattered clothes and gathered up her supplies.
This woman's name was Renee Bellegarde, and she was a drifter, wandering from area to area, she had no real home. Sitting her hat where ever she saw fit it was a tough life but she made do. Renee cant exactly remember when she first went off on her own. All she can recall is that she set off from area 63 in Quebec and started to travel SE towards Niagara falls. She remembered hearing how there was a self sufficient community there that had figured out how to grow plants, and that they were rebuilding society. But she was wrong, dead wrong. When she arrived all that was there was a Bandit ambush, set and ready so that they could kill survivors and loot there corpses. She had managed to escape with her life but not before getting slashed across her face leaving a large scare on her Left cheek and nose. From there on out she didnt trust anyone but herself. She learned how to stay unnoticed and take things that no one would realize was gone. This is how she survived, she would live off the land, and only go into areas to score supplies from unsuspecting survivors. This worked for many years, but more recently supplies have grown scarce and Renee is starting to collect less and less. She needed to find another way to support herself.
Walking into town with her Machete slung around her back, and her firearm on her waist she gathered many stares, even for today's standards she was quite dirty compared to the average citizen. Covered in dirt and dust from the head to toe, it looked liked she just got into a tussle with a mound of dirt, and the dirt won. This is how Renee looked all the time, It wasn't like she was some pretty young girl trying to find herself a man, so why should she worry about her appearance. walking into a back alley full of rubble, and trash Renee started to climb up the the mounds of debris. Reaching a door, she cleared enough room so she could open it wide enough to slip in. Inside somethign would happen that would change her life.
There was woman tied up in the center of the room, she was beaten, bruised, and stripped naked. She was practically dead, but some would argue that she was still alive. Maybe in body but not in mind. Looking around Renee noticed that other bodies riddled the floor. All of them showing the same signs of abuse that this woman had. It was one of the worst thing she had ever seen, but she was unfazed. Leaving the women behind Renee turned on her flashlight and continued deeper into the building. For the most part it was empty, but she could tell someone had been there recently Walking into a room that had a light shining from within she was surprised to see multiple bags lying on the floor. All ripe for the picking. This is my lucky day Renee thought to herself stuffing as much food and supplies as she could into he duffle bag before zipping it back up, and leaving the place behind. But as she walked back out the door she was greeted by a large man who whacked her over the head with a large pipe.
Area 21, none called it Paradise, but it had many other names spreading amongst the district’s seedy underbelly. Joseph’s favorite name for this godforsaken city had to be Blackjack, it was a game of both chance and skill, even if you were careful and did everything right it didn’t guarantee your victory, but even when the careful snakes weren’t on top, they were always alive, whereas the fool who risked it all to get on top might get lucky for a few hands, but eventually his luck ran out. The game was the most perfect metaphor for the city that Joseph had ever heard, and so he would often spend some of his free time musing over it, he liked to think that he played it well. Today he was lounging in a battered yellow chair on the second floor of his house, waiting for a client of his, Joseph was a broker of a variety of services, and while he wasn’t the top dog in information trading, he had proven to be a reliable source for the right price.
He heard a knock on his door, first he listened carefully to make sure it was the right knock, and then discerning that it was he dinged the little bell on the end table next to his chair. If the knock had been wrong he would have known that his guardian was not under her own power and there were potential hostiles waiting for him, if he had answered her verbally she would know that he was not under his own power and there were potential hostiles waiting for her. It was a simple system, but it kept him safe when someone wanted to see him. The door swung open and she walked in, followed by a gruff looking man in makeshift armor with a pair of machetes on his back and a six shot revolver on his hip, it was on the left side so Joseph guessed he was left-handed, useful information if they got into a confrontation. He was carrying an old milk-crate filled with food, which he dropped heavily on a worn but sturdy looking desk to the right of the door. Then he approached Joseph aggressively, she tensed behind him and Joseph’s hand slipped down to his knife, but he stopped before he got threateningly close.
“You’re, information, today better be fucking good,” he said gruffly, his jaw clenching and unclenching vigorously. The information had been good last time, the idiot simply hadn’t used it right, that didn’t make it Joseph’s fault? Joseph had given him a good lead on a food hoarder, but Balthazar had bragged about the big score he was going to make and his little gang had been followed. Joseph was surprised that the idiot had survived, it did lend credence to the adaptability of rats.
“My information is always good,” Joseph insisted with a glare as he passed a dusty envelope to the brute. Balthazar seemed about to say something, but he seemed to feel the threatening presence behind him at that moment and thought better of it, grabbing the envelope and leaving the room heatedly instead. They could hear his heavy footsteps as he descended the stairs and exited the building.
Joseph stood up and meandered his way over to the box of food, knowing what he would find. It was only half full and as he perused its contents he noted it was mostly expired, not inedible, simply crap. That is why Balthazar was going to die today, Joseph smiled, it was good information.
“What if he survives?” she asked, as usual concerned for his health in that scenario.
“I doubt he will, I think I set him up rather effectively, he cheated me for the last time today.” Joseph’s expression turned sour, that fuck would still be alive tomorrow if he hadn’t insisted on giving Joseph shitty cuts, so now instead of cheese at the end of the maze this rat was going to find and ambush. That was life in Area 21, Blackjack, and Joseph was good at living.
The girl watched the rain pour down for the sky from under the shelter of an alcove to most her very presence and appearance wasn’t very remarkable, just a passing thought, nothing to be bothered with. Those thoughts didn’t bother her, she rather they stay that way when it came to surviving in this desolate city the more she was unknown, the better.
The trace of dirt and mud still lingered on her clothes and face that the rain couldn’t wash away, she wore a simple black hoodie it had the same worn out look that seemed to be etched onto her face, yet her eyes still shown with a desire to survive and a hardness in them. Under the hoodie she wore a loose fitting tank top that hides her figure, making her seem gangly and unattractive she didn’t need any unnecessary attention though in those streets it’s hard to avoid it. Her hands where clad in a pair of fingerless gloves, they didn’t offer much protection from the elements but they offered a stronger grip for climbing and scrambling over broken walls and fences.
She wore a simple pair of black cargo pants, they hung slightly off her hips but the hoodie came down far enough to cover that fact, and on her feet were a pair of sneakers, ones she had found in a dumpster when she passed through a back alley.
The only startling features about her would be her eyes, she stood at five foot six inches, and had some muscle on her enough to keep her from getting mugged by any thug that happen to cross her path, but her hair fell down past her shoulders dripping water down the front of her jacket.
The plain black color of it was contrasted by the bright blue tones etched into the gray that took residence in her eyes, they currently where scanning the street seeing if it was safe of not to come out.
Sighing softly Erica pulled her hood up and stepped out into the rain taking off down the street at a brisk walk, she should’ve been inside a shelter by now but it seems luck wasn’t on her side as she had to reach the inside of the city through the outskirts because the main road shown side of a recent fight and she wasn’t going to stay around to find out what caused it.
Listening to the rain dance over the roof tops she kept her head down staying in the shadows of the building as she made her way up the street, keeping an eye out for any place that might be open to travelers.
Not all placed were safe, sometimes these thugs got creative and ‘opened’ shelters for the lesser ones only to overcharge them and empty them out of anything of value before turning them back out into the streets the next morning.
Catching sight of a flashing neon sign, a welcoming break in the desolate darkness its bright lights echoing and illuminating the streets, she crossed over to the other side of the street catching glance of a small band of men walking back down an alley they seem to be occupying, spotting a hole in the wall big enough for them to get through. She wondered if they had attempted to follow someone, and if they did have the luck to catch some poor soul and remove him and his possessions from this cursed life; then they wouldn’t really bother with her if she was spotted hopefully.
She wasn’t that bad when it came to fighting but in most cases she could maneuver herself out of it whether that meant talking her way out or just running away, thankfully she hadn’t run into any of those monsters she heard rumors about, only catching glimpse of shadows and the sounds that came in the dead of the night. Shaking her head she walked into the small place hoping just to get out of the rain.
"Bo," his mother whispered weakly. "You've been such a good boy." Her hand brushed up against his cheek as he knelt beside her. She was frail and thin, something that most people were nowadays. Weakly she pinched his cheeks, smiling widely. Her eyes were now closed, still brushing her son's face. "I'm so very proud of you, Bo. You are helping everyone out, I raised you right, that I did." The man just stayed quiet as his mother rambled on peaceful nothingness. You could see his copper-toned eyes were now bloodshot, holding back his tears. "It's ok. I have lived long enough, I have seen enough. Plus I know that you will... be.... safe. I love you, Bo."
"I'm only twelve," the man finally muttered. Her voice faded with the last of her words echoing in his head. "I love you, Bo." It had been twenty-one years since his mother had passed away, and every so often he would dream of the night she left him. It wasn't her fault she had gotten sick, everyone was and still is. His eyes opened, bloodshot and weak. It had only been a few hours since he had fallen asleep in his little run-down shack. It was his safe haven, he hadn't been bothered with in over a few months to his surprise. But that also meant he hadn't had any attention at all in over a few months.
Deeply sighing he slowly wandered over to a locked cabinet, opening it and taking out a half-eaten pack of salted crackers. They were dry, very dry, but they were the only snacks that he could afford to eat at the moment. Everything else in the cabinet were more valuable than the crackers. He embraced every inch of the salted cracker with delight though, having something fill his stomach always felt good.
Finishing up his midnight snack he wandered over to his broken mirror. He stood, shirtless, and checked himself out vainly in the mirror. He stood at a height of six-three, having enough muscle and meat on his body to survive him for awhile. His thick brown hair laid wildly down. "I need a cigarette." He sighed, moving his hands on his hips. Looking at his front door he imagined himself going outside and smoking. It was too dark and too dangerous to be smoking at that time. Like Bo was thinking before, he hadn't been bothered in over a few months, he didn't need that now.
"You can wait," he mumbled to himself, "It's not worth it."
"Hey! Are you okay?!"
Carol suddenly felt her self being violently tossed around. Her eyes flew open, only to see a worried-looking man with a... "Is that...?" Yes. A loaf of bread. "Here, take it, it might help you, though I'm not sure," the man said. Carol hesitantly looked at the man in the eyes, unsure if this was some sort of nasty trick. She learned to grow wary of people, to make sure she wasn't back-stabbed by anyone.
Her eyes glanced to her spear that had fallen next to her.
"No thanks," she sternly said. That was before her stomach made a rather large gurgling sound. "Shit." Carol tilted her head a bit to the left, her lips pressed together so tightly that they were drained of color. Her mind was a mess. Should she accept it? Or should she not. After a few long seconds of debating, Carol made up her mind.
He didn't seem exactly threatening and hunger was clearly affecting her ability to fend for herself. "Here goes nothing." It was something she could not afford to refuse. Still, she had to keep her dignity.
"Uhm. Half would be fine..." she whispered.
"GOD DAMMIT!!!!" Petra shouted, her blue hair about to burst into flames from frustration. Days of scavenging parts and tools, and she still couldn't get the stupid motorcycle to run. What was the point of finding a cool leather jacket if she didn't have a cool motorcycle to go with it? She crouched down to examine it closer and realized another part was broken. Every time she found a new part, another one broke. This bike wasn't even worth it anymore. She grabbed her bag and headed out in search of some food since all she had left was some pieces of beef jerky. Well, she hoped it was beef.
Petra didn't get very far before she was intercepted by a man. All the noise she made with that bike must've drawn some attention. Good thing she decided to get away.
"Hey blue! Come here a sec, I got something to show ya!" the suspicious looking man called out to her.
"Alright! I got something for you too!" Petra pulled a wrench from behind her and swung it into his head before he had a chance to respond. He fell over, either dead or out cold. Doesn't really matter which. A rusty knife fell out of his hand, it still had some blood on it. She searched his bag and found some water, a bag of chips, duct tape, handcuffs, and a leather mask. "Geez, what a perv. Where the hell do you get a leather mask around here anyways?" She took everything except the mask before continuing through the wasteland.
After an hour of wandering Petra happened upon an old convenience store that looked like it may still have some stuff in it. She could hear a man shouting for help from inside. Sneaking in through the back, she saw a thug beating on a guy. Quiet as a mouse, she crept up behind him and gave the big thug a blow to the head. This guy was big so she gave him an extra swing or three.
"T-t-t-thankyou!" the victim graciously said to her. "My name is Tim. If you hadn't come I-" before he could finish Petra cut him off.
"Listen up Jimmy. Everything in here is mine! So get outta here!"
"I said scram, before I kick your ass like chubby over there!" The frightened man ran out the store, scared and confused. In truth, Petra couldn't care less about him. Actually, she was being nice letting him go like that. She was only there for the supplies. Most of the shelves were empty, but she did manage to find a couple soda cans and blue hair dye.
She didn’t know if she should consider today a ‘sunny’ day, the sun was always hidden by clouds but sometimes the sun rays would poke though the cloud, when that happened it was a ‘sunny’ day. Though it wasn’t like people took breaks on days like these, breaks, holidays, she never understood the concept of those words. If someone didn’t work, they didn’t get paid, they don’t get paid, they don’t eat, and if they don’t eat, they starve. There was no such thing as handouts nowadays because kindness can only stretch so far when someone’s stomach is growling.
“Yo!” A voice called, Maki snapped out of it, she didn’t know how long she was staring at the sunray in the distances but it had to be long for someone to call out her name, “We were in the middle of making a deal right sweetie?”
“Yeah…Sorry about that, I saw sun rays and couldn’t help but get lost in thought, those things are rare you know, people consider them a good luck charm nowadays.” Maki explained as she took off the shoulder bag and dropped it on the ground in front of their feet, “Though I doubt sun rays can cheapen the cost of the little item I want.”
The man laughed, Maki watched as his pot belly rolled with his laughter, and it almost disgusted her. Not because of movement of the belly, but the belly, she was hoping that it was a tumor that was slowly eating away at him. No one should have a stomach that big, if the children don’t have them, no one else should. Maki took a deep breath, but not too deep, she didn’t want to poison herself with the air. She didn’t believe gas mask protected someone from everything but it was the only way to deal with trade on the outside.
“Nope, sorry sweet pea, you know the deal 2 first aid kits and a three can foods and you can have it.” He laughed. Maki sucked in her teeth as she watched the man go for the bag but was stopped by her foot.
“Where the goods?” She snapped before she saw what’s behind his back, a huge box that was sealed air tight just like she asked, “Good boy~”
“Though…” she said as she reached behind her back, “I’m not really looking forward to giving up my shit…”
She pulled out a hunters knife, “Sorry I hope you didn’t have plans for the rest of the day~”