All in Your Head: A Zombie RP (Sorayah&JediSkyler)

[Sorayah]

Welcome to Barrister Hall, a haven of healing.



Built in 1872 as a boarding school, Barrister Hall was reimagined as a calming retreat for those seeking relief from psychiatric disorders. Staffed with over 200 acclaimed doctors and staff, Barrister Hall Psychiatric Institution sports an impressive record of rehabilitated patients, and offers a wide array of treatments and activities to promote excellent mental health. Let us help you become whole again...

[Excerpt from Barrister Hall Psychiatric Institution pamphlet, published 2013.]

On April 12th, 2014, the world ended. Of course, the end came a lot more gradually than that, but to the inhabitants of Barrister Hall, an imposing brick building sprawling across several acres in West Virginia's heavily-wooded and mountainous Webster County, the end hit abruptly on the night the generator failed. Doors unlocked, alarms silenced, and a rising cry of anarchy rose across the wings of the institution as the somewhat more violent inhabitants of the state-sponsored psychiatric hospital were loosed to release thier wrath upon the remaining skeleton crew of doctors and staff. After that night, with most inhabitants fleeing the grounds, Barrister Hall became a ghost town. But some ghosts are hungrier than others...

If you were lucky enough, you might be able to glean a clue to the state of world events from one of the crumpled newspapers blowing across the lawn. END OF THE WORLD? DEAD RISING! CANNIBALISTIC HORDES OVERWHELM NEW YORK CITY-- such headlines became more and more frequent before they stopped printing the news altogether. And really, what does it matter what's happening out there? Because it's happening here, too. Sure, the massive hordes haven't found this quiet, secluded wilderness... yet. But between the zombies outside and the lurking madmen within, Barrister Hall is no longer a haven, but a hellhouse, and only those with the most determined demons can survive.

CASE FILES

Subject Name: Sarah Whittaker
Gender: F
Age: 22
Height: 5'3
Weight: 111 lbs
Physical description: Long straight jet black hair, pale angular face and slender build, large expressive blue eyes.



Admission History:
Admitted to Barrister Hall Psychiatric Institution at 17 years of age as ward of the state after suspicious death of her father and sole guardian, Gerard Whittaker. Sarah claimed not to remember the events of that night and was declared criminally insane. When admitted, showed signs of post-traumatic stress, as well as night terrors and acute depression. Initial sessions revealed presence of dissociative states, as well as strong evidence of years of systematic emotional and physical abuse.

Diagnosis:
Dissociative identity disorder accompanied by acute bipolar disorder.

Case Notes:
Sarah's dissociative identity disorder presents in the form of at least three known distinct personalities, which change over at random or when triggered by high-stress situations.

Princess is a female, childlike personality largely characterized by her vulnerability, naivete and playfulness. When Princess manifests, subject's posture tends to straighten, and she speaks in a high, lisping voice, often fidgeting with hair or gown. Princess is clearly a manifestation of subjects disappointed desires to maintain innocence and trust.

Kateis a second female personality, identifying as an adult. Kate is a textbook protective identity, brash, confrontational, and distrustful of authority. When Kate presents, subject's posture slouches slightly and she swears frequently, spitting or glaring and frequently rolling her eyes and displaying other disrespectful and sarcastic behavior.

Subject's third personality has not yet given a name, but the others refer to it as Shadow. Shadow is a highly volatile and unpredictable personality. Rarely speaks, and if so only in single syllables, in a deep voice. Shadow's takeovers are signaled by subject becoming very loose and relaxed, with vacant facial expression, and half-hooded eyes. Shadow has an extreme propensity for violence, and has attacked several orderlies. One was taken to the infirmary with a gash in their neck from a broken pencil, and when subject was restrained, had a relaxed smile which did not fade until drugs set in. Shadow's violent nature makes it the first priority for treatment.

Subject Name: Vance Jameson
Gender: M
Age: 35
Height: 6'5”
Weight: 250 lbs
Physical description: Tall, broad-shouldered and extremely well-muscled. Piercing green eyes and long, jet-black hair that is kept pulled back into a pony tail. A number of tattoos on his arms and chest, denoting military service.



Admission History:
Vance is a military veteran, having served in Special Forces, the Rangers, and Airborne. He has seen combat in a number of different theaters, in varying terrains. Most of these operations are classified Above Top Secret, and were not even available to the director of the hospital. Jameson is an expert killer, trained in a myriad of martial arts disciplines. He is imminently competent in armed and unarmed combat.

Jameson had a stellar career until a number of terminally botched missions in Afghanistan triggered a psychotic break. Fed up by repeated bouts of bad intel and stupid orders from Command, Jameson went rogue and began waging a private war on terrorist operations in theater. When caught and brought up on charges, Vance went berserk and killed half the senior officers present before being subdued.

He was originally transferred to a Stateside military facility, but later moved to Virginia when doctors there professed to be able to successfully treat his condition and return him to society.

Diagnosis:
Severe PTSD, paranoid schitzophrenia, violent psychotic breaks associated with distrust of authority.

Case notes:

Despite meds, patient seems to find a certain center in continuing his physical training. He spends hours each day working out, building his physical prowess and agility.

March 3rd, 2014: Patient seems to be becoming more aware of his surroundings and increasingly agitated, sure that "something" is coming. Persists in beliefs despite increased medication. Note: speak to staff about discretion when discussing current events around patients.

[Other notes:

Vance is a behemoth of a man...tall, broad-shouldered and extremely well-muscled. When he moves, it is with the innate grace of a professional dancer or gymnast; many have referred to the way he walks as essentially feline, almost as though he were a great cat stalking prey.

When the doors were mysteriously opened, Jameson was at the vanguard of inmates who performed the purge of the staff. For some reason, he didn't harm a single inmate, even displaying a certain paternal feeling toward some of the younger and more disturbed patients.]

[Sorayah]

Thudding feet against broken concrete and gravel. Bloody footprints left behind like markers on a map. Thudding heart. Laughter...

The antiseptic moonlight illuminated a waifish female form fleeting along the broken walkway that traced through the overgrown remains of the Dr. Albert Hawthorne memorial garden. The garden was mostly thorns and brambles now, broken occasionally by patches of tall grass that swayed in the mountain breeze. The path, if it could be called such anymore, was broken by monstrous mountain dandelions that warped the paving stones from their wonted formations and sent them reaching upward at jagged angles like a miniature tectonic event. One such craglet jutting out of the ground caught its first prey in the form of a lily-white foot, and sent the owner sprawling in the midst of a bushy juniper. A scream rang out, followed by a childish moan.

“Owwwwww... ow, ow, ow, ow, OW!” The girl whined, scrambling to right herself. “Time out!” she said imperiously. “I fell down!” But the shadowy form pursuing her in teetering bursts down the hill did not seem to hear, as it continued its shuddering shuffle toward the beleaguered girl. The girl managed to roll out of the bush onto the ground, but she caught her breath as she did so, clutching at her leg and lifting her white dress to inspect her knee. An angry abrasion shone red with rising droplets of blood in the moonlight, and as if smelling the odor, the shadowy form sped up its shuffle into a loping gait. “Boogers!” the girl said, pouting. She looked up, noticing her approaching pursuer. “Hey, I said time out! You can't tag me on a time out! That's cheating!” The figure kept coming, and as it neared, it drew out of the sheltering shadow of a nearby pine and exposed itself to the moonlight.

Bedraggled hair matted its head... where the scalp was still intact and hadn't peeled away to reveal white skull. One eye was missing, the hole posing a gore-caked gaping black partner to the other, which was clouded over and pale now, not to mention missing a lid. The mouth was surprisingly intact, sporting a lip piercing, which had only a few stray strands of hair tangled in it, dried blood dying them a muddy brown. The body was filthy, only minimally clothed in rags which looked to have once been somewhat fashionable teen punk attire. The boots scraped and squished as the thing tottered toward her, like a toddler reaching for the nearest surface to cling to. It's mouth cracked and a dry grunt escaped.

“I said time out!” The girl said, stomping one bare foot. She had risen to her full height now. Not a girl, but a woman, if a half-starved specimen, stood in the moonlight, small form half-drowned in a one-size-fits-most hospital gown. Her long black hair flowed over her shoulders and the wind pushed it into her face. Impatiently, she brushed the locks from her eyes and demanded the walking corpse a couple yards away and closing obey her “time out.” Ignored once more, the woman turned on one heel and marched a little way along the path. “Fine, if you're going to cheat then I don't want to play anymore!” she said. Declaration made, she took off once more, small bloody footprints leaving a trail in her wake.

The thing kept coming.

It found her once more in a stone courtyard. She sat near one wall on the mildew spotted mattress of an entire bed that appeared to have been pushed from a window on the second story and crashed into the courtyard below. Her feet daintily crossed, she ignored the shambling horror as it closed in, attention entirely focused on a little doll she had made by apparently wrapping strips of linen around a bedpost. As she fussed with the “doll's” ensemble, the corpse drew nearer, soggy boots kicking loose stones which skittered away into the shadows of the courtyard. “I told you I don't want to play anymore,” the woman said, voice high and petulant. It kept coming. “Go away, cheater!” she said, not looking up. It kept coming.

Suddenly, the woman went still. Her body seemed to relax, and her hands ceased their constant motion over the doll, clenching it instead in one pale hand. The thing came closer. The woman seemed frozen. But not by fear. It was as if the screw had wound out on a wind-up doll. She had ceased to respond. As the creature drew upon her, it reached out its hands and gripped her thin thighs, then plunged in, jaws gaping.

There was a crack, and the thing shuddered, falling to the cement, chunks of rotting brain flying from a concavity in the front of its head. The woman rose slowly, brandishing the “doll” by the broken off piece of post. The linen around the “head” was red now. Shoulders sagging, face utterly expressionless, the woman brought the “doll” down on the thing's head again, this time on the back. There was another ugly crack, followed by several sickening squelches as the woman pounded in the thing's skull until it resembled roadkill along the highway. Rising to her full height again, the woman took a few small steps away, then sighed and straightened, looking around her. As if noticing her playmate for the first time, she cocked her head to the side and shook it, a chastising look on her face.

“I told you I don't play with cheaters,” she said, then went to sit on the bed again. Inspecting the “doll”, she smiled and took up her humming again as she used her fingers to paint the coagulated blood on the bedpost into a smiling face for her dolly.

[Jedi Skyler]

This deal's getting worse all the time, Vance thought to himself.

He was perched high up in a tree in the atrium, one of over a dozen caches he'd set up throughout the asylum; it was somewhere the flesh-eaters couldn't follow. In fact, more than once he'd gotten several of them to follow him at once; they'd gathered around the base of the tree, moaning loudly in displeasure at having their quarry so close, yet so unattainable. He'd taken great pleasure in picking them off, pleased that all his faculties had returned after his sojourn through the drug-induced miasma that had been imposed on him, first by Command, then by the fools who'd been in charge of this hellhole. But he'd shown them, the bastards.

His cell door had been miraculously unlocked some time ago...one day after his mind had started fighting back against the stupor he'd been forced into. He was cognizant enough to realized what had happened, and also to realize that the shadow normally accompanying an orderly coming to his door was missing. The realization brought Vance something he'd not felt in a long time...an adrenaline rush. And the adrenaline rush brought something else he'd not had in quite some time - a clearer head.

Long years spent training and fighting in combat the world over had drilled into him the habit of taking advantage of an opportunity when one presented itself. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Vance had made his way to the door, grabbing the minute fingerhold made when the lock mechanism had released; the door had swung inward several millimeters, providing just enough of a lip for Vance to catch with his fingernails. Straining his muscles, he'd pulled the door open enough to slip through, and moved into the hallway. An orderly had seen him at once, but before he could raise an alarm, Vance's training and muscle memory had kicked in; he'd sprung into action, sweeping the orderly's legs out from under him. As the orderly's bulk had crashed to the floor, Vance had completed his spin, instantly clamping his left hand over the orderly's mouth, and simultaneously forming his right hand in a Tiger Claw, which he'd slashed down on the hapless man's throat. In the next instant, Vance's fingers had punctured the man's throat, grasped, and pulled, bringing a great, bloody handful of flesh and gore back with it. Vance had kept the pressure on the doomed man's mouth, keeping him from making any loud noises as he'd gone through his death throes. Vance had dragged the orderly into his recently-vacated cell and searched him, retrieving the man's ID card, key ring, and collapsible baton. Then, he'd taken a few moments to calm his rapidly-beating heart, and moved once more into the corridor...

Vance snapped himself out of his reverie, something he'd found happening more often than he wanted; he presumed it an aftereffect of the drugs he'd been subjected to, and hoped it was a temporary phenomenon. His subsequent war on the ever-shrinking staff had left him nominally in charge of the facility, at least to his way of thinking. Although there were quite a few violent inmates at the asylum, none of them had his training or presence of mind; he could see that. They'd made a decent accounting of themselves, given their impaired natures; however, he'd followed his training, and had taken out strategic targets, and had secured access to the various assets available on-site. Interrogation of some of the staff had provided him with access codes to the computer systems. From them he'd gotten a complete map of the facility, and had hit pay-dirt: there were armories here, in case there was a facility-wide break-out.

Of course, that would only work if the system hadn't hiccupped, opening all the doors and leaving the security system crippled.

So now Vance sat high up in a tree, restocking his ammo, and watching the ground below. Watching for more of those shiftless, lifeless husks that had been shuffling around the asylum ever since the Opening. The monitors had shown a small girl flitting through here not thirty minutes ago, being followed by one of the roving zombies; that had been the reason he'd chosen this cache. He could tell the girl was a patient here, rather than an undead monster, and as such he wanted to protect her. She'd been long-gone by the time he'd gotten here from the far side of the doomed hospital; there'd been a small bit of blood on the cracked sidewalk, as though she'd skinned her knee pretty good, but no discernable trail for him to follow, so he'd climbed to his cache to reload before going on. Pulling an apple out of his purloined backpack, he took a few moments to munch on it before readying himself to push on.

[Sorayah]

It seemed to take an eternity of clawing for purchase inside her own head, but Sarah finally managed to take control again. The first thing she saw was the gory woodpost in her hands, and she instinctively dropped it, disgusted. It clattered to the cracked cement and rolled slightly before bumping into the remains of the cadaver's shattered skull. Sarah blinked, stood up, and was promptly sick, adding the smell of bile to the already pungent odor of rotting flesh in the air.

She had seen this before. In Daddy's bedroom, on Valentine's Day. He'd looked so handsome in his nice suit that he wore to work at the university. She'd tried to keep it clean. But his head was just so... messy... She had screamed at first, then cried, then gone to find a washrag. She had dragged him off the bed and onto the floor, whimpering at the loud thump his cold body had made, and then proceeded to strip the bed linens, using them to mop at the gore caking his neck and face. It wouldn't come off, she found. Blood is so sticky. She was so afraid Daddy would be angry with her for making such a big mess... and on his special day too...

Stomach vacated, Sarah stood, wobbily, wiping her eyes. She backed slowly away from the corpse. Who was it? Another patient? A doctor? She didn't want to know... didn't want to face what she might have done. That's what the doctors had tried to do, make her accept the blame for her father's death. They asked her over and over again to tell them what had happened. Five years of constant finger pointing. “But I didn't do it!” she insisted. “I don't remember anything before I saw him there...”

The corpse lay there in the night, still as stone, seeming to accuse her with its silence. Sarah clutched herself, starting to feel the chill of the breeze. The moon was high in the sky, and the shadow it cast was short, squat beneath her, almost touching the pooled blood around the cadaver. Sarah hung her head and began to weep.

Suddenly she jerked, a slap resounding in the echoing courtyard as her own hand smacked her face. “Snap out of it, sweetheart,” she said out loud. Relaxing, she cocked a hip and studied the corpse for a moment before setting into motion. “I'll take these, fucker,” she said, stooping to pry the soggy boots off of the corpse's feet. “Since you won't be needing them no more.” The shoes came off easily enough, and she grimaced as she drained excess blood and water from them. “Nasty, dude,” she said reprovingly. Holding one shoe next to her own lacerated foot, she checked the sizing and shrugged. “Works.”

Standing, she tied the laces together and strung them around her neck. She'd have to rinse these suckers out with bleach just to be safe, but anything was better than running around this hell-hole barefoot. And though supplies were scarce, bleach was something she had plenty of back in her janitor's closet. She briefly considered the rest of the thing's clothing, but it was all pretty ragged and rotting. Not worth saving. She stopped, considering, then moved to the thing's other end, rolling it over. “That's right,” she said, grimacing. “Smile for Kate!” Grasping the lip ring firmly, she tore it out of the thing's mouth. The flesh gave way easily enough. Must have been dead quite a while. Kate grunted, standing and wiping her hands on the old mattress before inspecting the lip ring. You never knew when a little piece of metal might come in handy. Maybe she could rig a fishing pole with it and get something decent to eat down at that pond in the woods-- she was getting tired of apples from the orchard. She crouched to collect the bedpost too. Apparently it had made a decent weapon once. No reason it couldn't serve again.

Sudden movement caught her eye, and Kate whirled toward it, inspecting the shadows, bedpost clutched firmly in her grip, crouch loose. Kate felt Shadow pushing at her consciousness like an overeager attack dog, but she shushed him... for the moment. She had seen something... What was it, and what did it want?

[Jedi Skyler]

Vance finished his apple, licking his lips and fingers. Having eaten the entire thing, core and all, he was ready to move out.

Climbing down from his perch, Vance draws two of the collapsible batons he'd collected from dead orderlies, holding them at the ready, but still collapsed. He had a shotgun strapped across his back, with cross-crossed bandoliers of slugs covering his chiseled chest. A Springfield Armory 9mm pistol was strapped to his right thigh, with several spare clips held in the pouches affixed to the holster assembly. The one thing he'd really hoped to find was a good-sized combat knife; however, in a facility such as this, the closest he'd been able to get thus far was the selection of kitchen knives he'd found. Two of the larger offerings were secured in the makeshift sheaths he'd cobbled together, one strapped to his left thigh, the other strapped over the outside of his right boot.

As he moved across the atrium and into the nearest building entrance, Vance automatically slid into stalker mode; his motions were slow, methodical, and practically silent. He entered the building and began his search of this area of the compound. He'd not been in this section before; at least, not that he could remember. He'd memorized the layout from the schematics he'd printed out very soon after the Opening; better that way than toting around blueprints. Much quieter too.

Reviewing the schematics in his head, Vance remembered there was a courtyard on the far side of the building. He decided to check there to see what kind of vegetation was there, and if there were any suitable sites for him to set up another cache. He moved through the corridor, coming cautiously to the exit leading out into the courtyard. The doors were askew, one of them closed and the other open about three quarters of the way. Vance used the doors as camouflage, knowing the angles would reflect light differently, should anyone or anything be out there to observe him. He got into position close to the inside of the open door, looking out into the courtyard, sweeping all the visible terrain before moving to the closed door, enabling him to sweep the other arc before slowly moving into the courtyard.

[Jedi Skyler]

As Vance surveyed the courtyard, he heard a distinct sound...the clatter of small, broken chunks of concrete being skittered across a sidewalk. Adrenaline instantly coursing through his body, the urge to kill rising within him, he smiled darkly. Brandishing his collapsible batons, he quietly slid through the open door, moving into the courtyard proper.

There, in the bright moonlight, stood a small figure...a young girl apparently, and clutching what looked like a bed post or some other hunk of wood; what really attracted his attention, however, was the obviously rotted corpse at the girl's feet. Looking back and forth between it and the girl, he deduced she'd dispatched the zombie with her improvised weapon; the zombies didn't use weapons, or machines, or even doorknobs, for that matter. Besides the obvious corporeal disintegration the virus caused, it also robbed its victims of higher brain functions; the only dexterity the monsters seemed to have was getting their mouths clamped on flesh. Anything else was done in a clumsy, shuffling manner, which was the telling factor to him; a less observant person might have mistaken her for one of the monsters, and attacked her on the spot. However, since he'd not seen another truly live body around here in a week, plus the odd protective streak he'd developed for some of the other inmates, he decided to engage her.

Straightening slightly, moving from an obvious, battle-ready crouch to a loose, easily defensible stance, Vance tilted his head slightly to one side and said, "Hello there. How long have you been running around in here?"

[Sorayah]

Kate watched, crouched and poised to flee, as a hulking shape rose out of the shadows and moved into the blanching moonlight. It was a man, bare-chested and strapped head to foot with various weapons and ammunition. As he started walking toward her, she began backing away, wary. She'd had her share of run-ins with other inmates. Some had been after her supplies; she'd lost an entire week's worth of food a week ago to a couple of skinny vagrants before chasing them off when she'd come back from a scavenging trip. Others... well, it WAS a mental hospital, particularly known for treating people with violent case histories. There was bound to be a few dangerous crazies around. Kate hadn't personally encountered any yet, but she'd watched from the shadows as many of the inmates had killed each other off that first night, and she didn't relish her chances against a guy who looked like this, especially with weapons thrown in the mix. Nervously, she glanced around her, gauging the distance to the shadows and, beyond them, the double doors that led into the southern wing.

“Hello there. How long have you been running around in here?”

Kate frowned at him. “I could ask you the same, Rambo... what's it to you?” she snapped, cocking an eyebrow and continuing to back slowly toward the shadows. This guy was NOT going to get these boots from her so long as she was still alive. Her feet were killing her, and her knee was beginning to scab over and get stiff.

[Jedi Skyler]

Slightly taken aback by the girl's projected angst, Vance chuckled softly. With a half grin on his face, he replied, "I ask because I don't recall seeing you here before. I'm wondering if you were a patient here, or if you came in from outside." Tucking his collapsible batons into his belt, he let his hands rest on the pommels as he more closely regarded the waif before him. "I have to admit...I'm curious as to how you've survived this long...unless you've teamed up with someone."

Alerted to a possible, however abstract, threat, Vance sinks down slightly into a more rooted stance, his eyes darting all over the entire courtyard, searching for anyone hiding in the shadows.

[Sorayah]

Kate narrowed her eyes. She didn't like the way the guy laughed, so relaxed, so apparently confident of his own safety. But he had put his weapons away, and that was a good sign. Still, she kept backing toward the shadows, eyeing him like a cornered animal. Shadow prodded her again, but she shut him down. Even with the edge the dark persona gave her, she doubted she'd be able to best this monstrosity of a man.

"I ask because I don't recall seeing you here before. I'm wondering if you were a patient here, or if you came in from outside. I have to admit...I'm curious as to how you've survived this long...unless you've teamed up with someone."

Kate snorted at the thinly veiled insult. From her hospital shift it was obvious she was a patient, and frankly she didn't care where Rambo here came from. What mattered more was what he wanted from her and how he intended to get it. She took another step back. "Fuck off, Tarzan! I can take care of myself," she spat. Was this guy just going to small talk her to death or did he have an agenda?

[Jedi Skyler]

Vance raises an eyebrow at the waif's caustic reply. "Didn't mean any insult there, half-pint. Just trying to figure out how many of us there are left here, as opposed to how many of them." He emphasizes his point by gesturing at the rotting corpse at the girl's feet.

As his eyes moved back up to hers, he took a more thorough look at her. He sees the shift she was wearing, and the boots she'd obviously scavenged. Wiggling his toes inside the boots he, himself, had scavenged from one of his victims, an idea crosses his mind. Drawing the baton riding at his left hip, he helds it up where she can see it. "Do you know how to use one of these?" he asked. Then he pointed at the thin shift draped over her frame. "If you aren't simply trying to make a fashion statement there, I can hook you up with some better clothing. And maybe some shoes that might fit you better than those. If you're interested, that is. Wouldn't wanna rain on your 'Fuck off, I can take care of myself' parade."

For some reason, this kid was reminding Vance of his little sister; he'd not seen her in ages, but she'd been a mouthy little shit, too. This might be fun...