Darkraven

Surviving: The End (character-centric; modern zombie survival)

Sorry bro, I would have gone with you but I'm taken :D Maybe a little later on when every little group starts meeting each other.

Surviving: The End (character-centric; modern zombie survival)

3 November 2017, Southwest Missouri

Silence. A cold wind blew, resembling the howling of the dead, uncontested by nothing. Seeing that the streets were empty of both the reawakened and awake, Valentina made her cross, keeping her head down. She remembered Lieutenant Hugh's lessons, and how she paid for not listening once. It was rather dark, as it was very cloudy, and looked just about to snow or rain. The building she wanted to enter loomed over her intimidatingly like a giant staring down at her, but the girl was unafraid, as there were worse things than shadows to be afraid of. Racking her brain through for a word to describe the building, she remembered that it was a shop, except this one was a big one. One thing lead to the next, and as she was hiding behind a car, she remembered her past life, which seemed like forever ago. Her parents would take her to those little shops with their friendly attendants, and then there was Sa'at's mart. To this day, Valentina still wondered what had happened to Salim Sa'at, the Turkish owner who was her friend - going to his place wasn't just grocery shopping. It was like visiting a friend. Her father had said that Salim had flown back to Turkey to visit his family, but she wasn't sure anymore.

Grief was beginning to fill Valentina's heart again, but she pushed it away - with great difficulty. She remembered what would happen if she slowed down, and wiped her tears away. Some of it was trapped underneath her 'pirate eyepatch' as she called it, so she had to wipe underneath and readjust it. Pulling out Lieutenant Hugh's knife, she kept her head down and sneaked towards the front door, looking left and right consistently for any distressful surprises. It was dark, but she was used to it, having lived in the dark half the time for months. For reasons she did not quite understand, the lights in the entire world had stopped working many months before, but it was just another mystery she had to live with in her short life.

Testing the door leading into the shop, Valentina found that it was unlocked, and became quite afraid. It seemed too easy, just like when her siblings would hide their best cards in a game of Monopoly Deal or Uno. From the past, she remembered that there would either be people or biters, and usually a group of them. Yet it was quiet, deafeningly quiet and still.

With both her hands, Valentina opened the swinging door while she was crouching. "It's like a game of hide and seek, Valentina." She remembered what Lieutenant Hugh said. She remembered his hand on her head, and how she liked it, "Don't let them see you." Sometimes, whenever the coast was clear, they would even play a real game of hide and seek, and the soldier would somehow manage to pull the smiles and laughter out of her despite the loss of her friends and family, and everything. She remembered his hugs, the closest thing to what only her father could give.

Silence. Valentina ran in, never forgetting to keep her head down. First, she hid behind one of the many cashier counters before going past them, her ears always peeled to listen. Treating any piece of furniture as if they were buoys in the middle of a stormy sea, she scurried to the closest store shelves and listened again. Silence. After some time of silence, Valentina became sure and confident enough that she was alone. Ever since Lieutenant Hugh's death, Valentina had become afraid of people, and it wasn't just because everyone else she had met after were bad people, but she had lost far too much to want anyone more.

Switching on Vertov's tactical torchlight, she started flashing it past store shelves carefully, always terrified of giving anyone or anything even a hint of her existence. Most of the shelves were empty, and Valentina moaned internally. The few odd shelves that contained something were either filled with useless things or... Precious few packeted and canned food made themselves known to Valentina. Like a stalking cat or rat, the girl was almost duck-walking, inching her way closer to the closest prize before finally seizing it. Beef jerky. Hastily, she moved on to the next closest morsel, and discovered that it was a can of Pepsi.

After moving on to the next aisle of the shop, something caught her eye, something amongst the useless stuff that would not help her survive. Toys, many of them, most of which remained in mint condition and well packaged. There was a whole group of them that was familiar to her. Matryoshka dolls, something that was her father's business. Valentina's father dealt with Russian toys as part of his small-medium business. Tears were once again stealing their way out of Valentina's eyes as she picked one of the Matryoshka dolls up, and noticed from a happy bear face logo that it was actually manufactured by her father. Slipping her bag off, Valentina swept the whole collection of dolls into her bag along with the little food she managed to salvage.

Memory after memory of her family began forcing their way into her mind. Valentina found that she couldn't move anymore. She felt drained, too upset to go on living. Sitting down, she leaned against the shelf, distracted from the fact that every moment spent out in the moment was hazardous. She remembered her previous life, and how the world became how it was on the day of her birthday, which was also Valentine's day. She remembered how her life was torn away from her one bit at a time, one family member, one friend at a time, each cut deep and goring and excruciating. Holding up her combat knife, the young girl contemplated joining her family. She remembered going to church every sunday with her family, listening to stories of a heaven where all good people will go, and a hell where bad people will be thrown into.

Then she remembered her time with her father and how he wanted her to be strong and fearless like a bear. She remembered her first day going to school, and how she cried uncontrollably in the family car, refusing to leave it. It took her father some time to coax her out of it, telling her stories of his very own anxieties and First Days and how school was like in Soviet Russia.

Getting up again, Valentina continued foraging for food, throwing into her bag the odd chocolate bar and canned condense milk (which she would not be able to open), nuts and crackers. After filling her bag, she turned to leave...

Surviving: The End (character-centric; modern zombie survival)

I'm working on my post. You guys could see the progress in the collab page.

Surviving: The End (character-centric; modern zombie survival)

Sunday is nearly over on my end :D

Surviving: The End (character-centric; modern zombie survival)

Just a note on what's going to happen with my character. I'm not going to plan ahead who she's going to interact with and what she's going to do. But be prepared because one or a few of you might just encounter her :) (with varying possible result). I won't know until a few of you put down a post :)

Surviving: The End (character-centric; modern zombie survival)

Which leads me to my next query. From the looks of it, there's going to be alot of back and forth conversations and small actions. Although to tell you the truth, I haven't seen many RPs those. How are those going to be managed? Are we just going to have (relatively) small posts for brief actions and dialogue? Or are we going to do it the 2010s way (using google docs, chat and other tools)?

Surviving: The End (character-centric; modern zombie survival)

With the zombie apocalypse we can never know if it's metaphorical or literal... The context makes both equally possible XD

Surviving: The End (character-centric; modern zombie survival)

So... Abel is a cannibal? Abel the Cannibal sounds catchy hahaha.

Surviving: The End (character-centric; modern zombie survival)

Abandoned Apartment Building, Southwest Missouri

Most of the supplies Valentina had scrounged up here and there were moved into the vents of her new sleep spot, everything except the one thing that was huge. Looking left and right and keeping her revolver, which wasn't even fully loaded, Valentina snuck across the street and into the thick bushes of a park. The air was cold; it was early morning. Spending her entire existence trying to eke out a low-profiled, meagre existence was exhausting. No matter how young and energetic she was, she would feel sleepy not long after the sun was down. The various aches and bruises were easy motivations to sleep. Between nightmares and the risen dead outside waiting for her, there was simply nothing that could motivate her to sleep.

Switching on Vertov's tactical flashlight, Valentina began navigating between the stems of the bushes. There were various potholes threatening to sprain her ankle, which she avoided just barely. It was a forest within a forest. Then she saw it, slightly dull from dirt. It was something bigger and much heavier than even Lieutenant Hugh's rifle. Heaving it out of the biggest pothole where it was stashed with both her hands, Valentina nearly fell over, but after positioning herself better, managed to stand the humongous gun on its butt. Looking at it again, the girl was still in awe of its size. It wasn't much shorter than her - had she been a few years younger, she would have been dwarfed by it. It was far too big for her to be used, and far too complex. However, she had naively decided to keep it for when she grew up.

After spending some time sitting in the cosy confines of the bushes, an activity which she enjoyed even better than her memories of playgrounds, Valentina tore through the bushes and back out into the street, hugging her giant gun. Looking left and right again, not for incoming cars but the reawakened, she believed herself to be alone and started jogging towards the 'entrance' to her new sleep spot. Weaving past abandoned cars and trash, however, something snagged her foot and sent her tumbling. In her fall, she could feel something sharp, perhaps the jagged edge of a car wreck, slicing through her cheek, and immediately, worrying numbness where she was hurt.

"Ow!" Crying in pain, she hastily groped for her tactical light and waved it about, only to find herself surrounded by the reanimated and panicking. To her, they might as well have appeared out of nowhere, though in truth she had spent long enough a time dawdling in the bushes for several to wander by. Pulling out her revolver even as she could feel hands on her ankles, anticipating unpleasantly something to bite down soon, her hands shaking in pain and shock, she pointed it at the monster which had snagged her, set the hammer and pulled the trigger - where the conscious failed, her reflexes, 'trained' by trial and error, took over. Then, turning, she fired her revolver a few more times, until she had but one left. Out of four Mr. Biteys, three fell, but it had carved a way out for her.

Without wasting time, without even holstering flashlight nor revolver, Valentina hugged her giant gun again and made a dash for it, encountering more on the way, but dodging them with practiced skill. A fast biter, however, gave chase unrelentingly, forcing Valentina into a panicked sprint. Panting hard, she flew right into the ventilation shafts and disappeared from the streets.

Inside in the vents, she lay to rest, but as she calmed down, the adrenaline in her blood faded away. Her cut cheek no longer felt numb, but instead felt like the last time when her face was cut... Trying not to think, Valentina began pushing the huge gun in the direction she wanted to go.

By the time she was done, she was sweating and aching all over again, and extra dirty - ever since losing her last bathtub at the national guards camp, it could only be between dirty, extra dirty or downright filthy. There was no longer such a thing as being clean anymore.

The work she had to put into the giant gun had distracted her from her new wound (if her various bruises weren't counted), but with everything put in order, the throbbing pain had returned again with renewed strength. While she couldn't see the wound, her imagination filled the gap. The girl could imagine a giant, gaping chasm down her face, and she could feel it lying down next to her frown scar. Valentina couldn't help but to feel miserable over the prospect of having another scar on her face - ironically, it was her old frown scar that stopped it from crippling her emotionally.

Valentina remembered her parents' assurances - that no matter what she would always be beautiful. When they were gone, and when Lieutenant Hugh followed them, she found it harder and harder to believe it. In fact, in the pit of her stomach, she could feel an uncomfortable but empowering feeling, a strong feeling welling up that made her mad, but no matter what she could not think of the words to express it.

Sitting behind the dressing table again, the girl sighed at the prospect of looking at her face and went ahead. Assessing her own wound was an ardous process owing to her scars, but it was made bearable only by the cracked oval mirror, which had turned the reflection of her face into a defective jigsaw puzzle.

Catching a glimpse of her left cheek, where she could feel the wound acutely, Valentina realised that it was very close to her frown scar, and so could not avoid looking at it. While she had learnt that the new wound was not as bad as it felt, the sight of her old frown scar disturbed her. It was far more damaging than her new wound ever could be, for it reminded the traumatised little girl of what had caused it...

Muddy Lawn Outside Suburban Home, Southwest Missouri, 13 April 2017

A smelly, rough ogre-like man threw Valentina to the muddy ground. She gasped in fear and pain as she hit the floot. Her hands and feet were bound. Her parents were forced to kneel before her by other bad men. As it turns out, the ogre was the leader of a bandit group that attacked the girl's family, and he wasn't very happy with the outcome of their latest raid. Valentina's Daddy had single-handedly taken out a whole squad of his bandits, and he was going to make him pay for them, every single one of them.

Pulling Valentina by her shirt, the bandit leader pulled the little girl to her knees before grabbing a huge clump of her blonde hair, pulled it hard, making poor Valentina scream.

"Don't you hurt her, you piece of-!" Before the father could finish his sentence, one of the bandit leader's lackeys threw a fully wounded punch. It threw the strong but helpless man off his knees, but that was soon corrected by the bandits standing beside him.

The bandit leader pulled out a mean looking knife that was bigger than any that Valentina had seen before, and jabbed it at the girl's cheek, threatening to cut her, but instead of doing that, he pressed his face against the hair of the little girl, taking in her scent, rubbing his own unwashed cheek against hers as he planted kisses down the the cheek and neck of the little girl. Valentina cried as the rough and broken skin of the ogre's skin rubbed against her silky face. "I'll kill you, you dog!" The father howled uselessly as the mother was wailing without stopping.

"If it hadn't occurred to you yet, you fuck, you can't do shit to me!" The bandit leader. He pressed the sharp tip of his huge combat knife against Valentina's left cheek to make his point. A trickle of bright red blood came out, "I want you to beg! Beg for her life!"

Looking down, as if to consider his options, the father then threw the bandit leader a defiant look, deciding that Valentina could not afford to lose any confidence in him, that he couldn't afford to let her see him in a compromising state. For his bravery, the bandit leader placed the barbed tip of his combat knife in the left tip of Valentina's tips, and yanked his blade left, carving a downward line. Valentina screamed, and screamed, with each little inch of her cheek violated, she screamed like never before as blood was spurting out, dripping from the downward line carved into her left cheek. Her parents screamed with her, incoherent, unintelligable, like animals to be slaughtered for meat.

"Ooh! Look how unhappy you've made your daughter now!" The Bandit Leader said sarcastically, and his lackeys laughed without remorse nor mercy, "Beg, you stupid! Or you'd make her more unhappy!" The ogre placed his now bloodied knife on the other tip of Valentina's lips. Valentina shivered in pain, tears mingling with copious amounts of blood. "If you won't make her happy, then I will, and I know exactly what would put a smile on any gal's face..." The dreaded knife went lower, seemingly getting caught on Valentina's buttons, the ones just below her neck. With an artful swing, several buttons fell off, revealing more of Valentina's pale, untouched flesh. Then something worse happened.

Her father begged.

Surviving: The End (character-centric; modern zombie survival)

Goldmarble said
Aye. In a book I read, they had a great saying that went something like this:You're either really stupid lucky to survive an apocalypse, or you're very skilled, and very lucky.Problem is, you can't count on luck.In the first few months, the lucky will usually survive. They might get into a good group of survivors, people who can protect them, etc. But as the months wear on, the people who are only lucky begin falling, cause the dice have no memory. Those who live learned new skills quickly to become somewhat skilled and lucky.Realistically, the walkers are going to be hardened survivors after 9 months of fighting, running, and surviving. The CDC group is where you will find the "Lucky" people. There of course will be "nests" of preppers, shelter-folk, out there as well.

I completely agree that you have to be skilled, smart, quick, fast, strong and everything else...

But that doesn't mean you have to be a soldier/police officer/SWAT/criminal to be any of the above. Fitness in the natural selection sense, I feel, can't be tied to your main occupation. There's plenty of office workers/toilet cleaners/coaches/shopkeepers/students/teachers/salespersons/couch potatoes/etc I know who'd make good survivors. Physical and mental traits aside, they'd have something going on the side and things like that too. E.g: There are plenty of young girls who could outpace me in a half-marathon anytime. Now that would come in handy when you're running from a horde of flesh-eating zombies. :D Which also means they could easily ditch me to them :D

P.S: Will post a flashback post soon.