((Sorry I kinda scrambled it together to get the kickoff. I hope it will suffice!))
The sun hid behind the clouds on the dead old world as the light came through the cracks and traveled across the ruins in blinding speeds, revealing the nightmare of the post apocalyptic setting. With it came a new life, one that will be harsh but possible to survive in despite the odds against humanity. In the end, though, one's morals and values are put to the test, how far will someone go to stay alive or keep those around him/her alive?
((For those who wanted the GM to put them in a spot~))
Underground where the metro tunnels ran in their tightly knit system, the humans and anthros went through their daily tasks: fending off mutants, fending off each other, getting food and necessities, and even getting a daily kill to steal from the unfortunate. Of those stations was the center of it all, the metro station. The numbers were plenty and the diversity flourished for the neutral, independent station with only 57 of them being guards and some of the residents associating with rival factions, but they managed to band together in order to stay safe and alive. All was normal from the brief mutant raids to the shooting outside the gate until one day news had been drifting around about a group of refugees fleeing from the red line coming their way. It was rather usual to hear such things, yet this was different, and it became clear when distant gunfire echoed down the tunnel. There was a good chance those refugees were being massacred by something.
Nearby a bar where tables and small rooms for rent were set up, two of the station's armed protectors came in and went straight to the counter, one of them waving to the bartender as they spoke of the daily rumors. "So from what I heard, some guy arrived claiming to be a survivor of the shit going down in the tunnel. He says they're rounding up people and executing them or something like that.. Poor bastards."
"Shouldn't we send some men out there to hit them? If they're killing off people coming our way, what's stopping them from just attacking our station?" The other gunman asked, propping his shotgun against the counter. At that moment the bartender arrived with the bottles and he too jumped into the conversation.
"I for one heard of a ranger supposedly going to get them, but it's obvious those raiders or kill squads or whatever are still alive and well. We are for sure in trouble with this stuff now coming home."
"Well we only got soo many guys who are willing to do that and we need them here if we are attacked, no? Besides, those guys will probably find that its not worth the effort to run through two more stations to get to us when we're armed and ready. We should be fine." The first guard replied to the other two, already taking up the bottle and unscrewing the cork before pouring it's contents into two nearby cups: a clear liquid with the stench of alcohol. "It's the post captain's call, and I sure am not going to throw my life away when it is needed here." After that the three continued in their own, off topic chatting, despite how loud they spoke earlier. Regardless of what was going on, there were still jobs available on a board nearby, unless someone were to try and take up the rumor.
