deegee

The Risen: Fear the Fallen

There she was. klak. klak. Her boots on the tile. Her light wasn't helping the matter, and for a moment, he considered just pulling the trigger. Two of them. Two would mean trouble. Two would mean more will come. More would mean the stinkers. Trouble. Trouble... he couldn't trust her. Sure, sure. Not looking for trouble. klak.

"Like the others. Right..." Easy... easy... game-face. (cosmetics, foundation, $6.99, aisle 6 -- 'beauty products.') "Shut up!" Sometimes that voice was just too present. too close. Bad timing. Did I say that out loud? The light... her light (C-cell batteries, checkout #3 display -- place where you just whacked Dude with an Edger -- $24.99, aisle 17 -- 'garden implements') "I said cut it OUT!" ...was still lingering close at-hand, so that he couldn't focus. klak. The gun wavered in his hand a little, aimed at her (general location.) The barrel of the gun looked big... dangerous. Dirty. Like it was ready to deliver infection and pain. The fact that it quaked slightly in his (nervous? sick?) hand did her no favours, though the fact that he wasn't pointing directly at her, but only vaguely at her, was of some consolation.

"y-you just need to go. Away from here. Take your friend and leave. I-I just don't want to have to kill him. Or you. But you can't stay. Can't. I'm just not done, see? If I was done, you could stay, and it'd be swell." His face loses all emotion. "But I'm not. So you can't. Go." (bullets, security counter, no listed price [NFS!] -- you can always replenish...) "SHUT. UP!"

The Risen: Fear the Fallen

ohshitohshitohshit, she's being cautious. ohgodohgod... I can't see her anywhere. I was expecting her to step out, show herself. Mind racing. What now? What if this one wakes up? **game face... game. face.**

"Come out. Show yourself. And 'Grant' will be fine."

Welcome to Geurchville [Criminal/Gang Slice of Life]

^

The Risen: Fear the Fallen

March 15, 2018 - Framingham, Massachusetts - Walmart

An audible 'tink' rang out as the metal hit his head and he fell forward trying to catch himself before he hit the ground until he ran into a shipper of tin Christmas bakeware and knocking it over with a loud crash as he hit the ground dazed and confused.

@The DudeMan

...a few seconds later

Ryan dropped the edger, the sound echoing --

clangalangalangalang...

--throughout the checkout area of the store. Working quickly, he retrieved the large zip-ties ($4.99, bag of 50, aisle 17, Automotive) from his back pocket and hog-tied the fallen man. As he worked, he spoke softly to the man, tossing aside any obvious weapons he had been carrying.

"Sorry, fella... this'll all be over soon, one way or the other."

Grabbing the bundle of wrists / ankles that he had made, Ryan dragged the semi-conscious man to a corner beyond the checkout counters, a nondescript corner near one of the (locked) exit doors. Lying the Grant-package on its side, facing away from him toward the wall. His head was still lolling and his eyes weren't quite focused, so Ryan quickly checked for vitals, and daubed at the trickle of blood at the base of the man's skull.

"Damn, my man... sorry about that. Looks a bit painful. Don't worry. You and your friend play nice, everyone gets what they need. Your pal should be along soon. We'll just wait, you and me."

Drawing the Browning Hi-Power pistol, Ryan crouched, back against the wall, and rested the muzzle of the short silencer against the top of the Grant-package's head, and waited for the other one to arrive. It wouldn't be long. He took several deep breaths, steadying his nerves.

It was time to get his game-face on.

Infectious: Zone B Archives

Not sure if you lot are looking for more meat. I was born for this. I'd love to be a part of the tale. Let me know what you think...

'Fleas'

Name: Geoff 'Fleas' Wickwyr
Appearance:

'Fleas'

Age: "Twenty-five? No, Twenty-four." (15 at the time of the Infection -ed.)
Gender: male
Class: Loner
Occupation: "worked at a few stupid jobs before... you know. Fucking dish washer... changed tires and did oil changes at a local auto shop. Did 'landscaping' one summer, fuck ever that means. Occupation now? **blank, vaguely murderous stare**
Personality: (I have spent a little over four days in Geoff's company, during which time he has never once spoken without being spoken to. Twice in that time, if I dared speak at a moment he didn't expressly deem 'safe-safe,' he has come close, in my opinion, to killing me. His level of paranoia in anything approaching a 'social' situation -- conversation, food preparation, travel, the minutiae of existence -- is off the charts. I suspect he suffers from several affective disorders, as well as being on the OCD spectrum. As a survivalist and scavenger, his methodology is as finely crafted as any I have seen. As guide, he is deadly-proficient, if aloof and detached. How he has survived out here is anybody's best guess. He won't discuss it. Not with me at least. On my second day with Geoff, we met a group of Greasers, and his interactions with that group were as brief and as cold as any I have witnessed. He had been tasked with getting me from Brunswick, to just outside Jacksonville, and after seeing him dispatch a small group of Lurkers, I have every faith that he will do it. I only hope I can glean more about his life before I am safely delivered. -ed.)

Background: (Geoff mentioned that he was from just outside Norfolk, originally. Mentioned that his father was in the service. I have been unsuccessful in getting information on his past, and about most events from prior to the Infection, save this: he had a girlfriend, once -- Jessi. He mentions her with some regularity, and occasionally talks to himself, as if he is speaking to her. I pressed him about his past once, after he had spoken about Jessi, and he held a knife to my throat. I thought I had breathed my last. -ed.)

Goal: "Live. Fuck you think?" (Find Jessi -ed.)
Equipment: (Geoff carries a backpack with, it would seem, everything his stripped-down version of 'life' requires. It is truly not a lot. I have seen thread and needle, a compass, a pill bottle of some sort, some sort of thick black cord, several pieces of cloth of varying sizes -- one of which contains a whetstone and oil. He will not let anyone touch his pack.)
Weapons: (Geoff carries a rifle I was unfamiliar with, prior to asking him about it -- thankfully one of the few subjects he was content to discuss. It is an M1 carbine, with a folding 'paratroop' stock. He also carries a pistol and a folding knife. There may be more in the bag... but I was not allowed to look. -ed.)
Skills: "Land Nav. Survival. Pickin'. (scavenging -ed.) Lurkers. Know about 'em. Map readin'. Some mechanics. Guns. Tactics. Some cookin'."
Family: deceased.

The partial transcript of Marsha Heburn's (the 'editor') time living amongst 'Loners' was discovered outside Savannah, in a pile of bloody rags. It is estimated the manuscript had been there two years when it was discovered by Government forces 11/8/28

Welcome to Geurchville [Criminal/Gang Slice of Life]

Jesse arrived at the Sin Den a little after 18:30, and was welcomed by the usual pat-down at the door. Price you pay for wearing prison tats in "polite" society. Poor bastard at the door -- Jesse had come straight from work, and was likely smelling none-too-fresh. Guy doing the frisking was getting the worst end of the deal, that was for sure. Finally inside, his mind was next-to-switched-off. He walked to the bar, laying down a fistful of crumpled bills, and spoke to the bartender, pointing at a table in the corner furthest from the stage. "I'm gonna be over there. Let me get a beer, and just let me know when that **indicating the bills on the bar-top** runs out."

He moved over to the table, not sitting so much as collapsing into the plush seat against the wall. There was a girl of some description on the stage, and a few more working the room, though he didn't take much notice. This place had air conditioning, and he could drown his life in beer in the relative comfort of the bar (till it closed) before having to make his way back to the shitty trailer he called 'home' and not sleep for another night.

There was a disturbance over by the commode. Laurents. Moons, too. His body tensed, and he instinctively reached for the .45 at the small of his back, which wasn't there. Then he remembered. This wasn't his fight anymore, was it? He was a citizen now. Didn't matter if he was Moon blood. He was straight now. Didn't matter if every cell in his body strained to act. Ached for his former life.

He took another long pull on his beer, draining it, and signaled one of the waitresses that he was dry. Blessed black-out, fall-down drunk couldn't come fast enough. Maybe then his head would stop screaming at him...

Welcome to Geurchville [Criminal/Gang Slice of Life]

5:48. Four goddamn minutes since the last time he'd checked his watch. A long-ass, shitty, fucked-up day sitting on this godforsaken piece of blacktop, ten miles outside the 'Geurch. Diggin' holes. Diggin' holes, fillin' holes. Laying culvert in the middle of fucking June, 90 degree heat, 90% humidity. Someone's idea of torture. "Honest work." Jesse didn't know what hurt worse, the sunburn, his back, or the idea that the day would net him only $75 after taxes. Fuck sakes. He rubbed at the sweat under his hardhat, and pitched in helping Julio load the Genny into the back of truck #13. They set out the after hours blinking LED warning signs, stating 'work zone, uneven pavement 2mi' They tossed their tools into the work box on the back of truck #4, the only other vehicle on the shoulder that day. Both were mid-90's Chevy's. Long-box, crew cab, 2500-series. Both had long miles on the odo and smelled of sweat and dirt constantly. Dropping the tailgate, Jesse hopped up, and opened his lunch-bag, drawing out two cold ones. Julio jumped up beside him, and Jesse handed over a can. No words were exchanged.

Both men were just out from long stretches (Julio 8, Jesse 6) and they knew enough to not pry into the other's existence. Jesse drained half his beer in one pull, silently hating his life and staring at the open road. All was silent except the noise of crickets and dragonflies buzzing in the marsh to the South. Jesse had long since stopped swatting at mozzies. What was the rad-blasted point?

In the distance, a new sound. Minuscule at first. Maybe it wasn't even real. No... there it was again. A drone. Getting louder now. Throaty. Reverberating. Sound bouncing off the trees and the water. All around them now. He knew what it was already, and they were still over a mile away. He lay back in the filthy bed of the truck, defeated. Why now? Why did they have to stab him in the senses when he was down? Julio leaned over. "Hey man -- you hear that? Sounds like..."

The bikes rounded a corner and roared toward the two trucks sitting at the side of the road. One, two, six, ten. They flew by, the sound so deafening it could be felt in your gut, like AC/DC on steroids. A beer can clattered onto the road as the last bike passed, and Jesse resignedly hauled himself up, out of the truck to pick up the litter. (It was part of the job.)

"Yeah, I heard that. Bloody Fucking Moons." He checked his watch. 6:01. Thank Christ. He piled into the cab of the truck, along with Julio and two other workers. The foreman and three more were in the other vehicle. "Let's get outta here. I got a cold beer at the Sin Den with my name on it... help me try and forget this shit..."

Welcome to Geurchville [Criminal/Gang Slice of Life]

So who's starting us off IC?

Welcome to Geurchville [Criminal/Gang Slice of Life]

"Ratso"

Name / Nicknames: Jesse Aaron Fielder -- known as 'Ratso' in the Bloody Moons MC. (There was that time he bit the head off a rat on a dare, coupled with the fact that he was so skinny as a prospect, which meant naturally the Sergeant at Arms referred to him as 'Fatso.' "Ratso" kind of stuck.)

Gender: Male

Age: 39



Appearance: Jesse is 5'7", 165 lbs. He is in good physical shape (boxing, weight training) but can't really ever keep a lot of extra mass on. He would be best described as a 'wiry, tough little bastard.' He carries ink in the form of the Bloody Moons three-part patch on his back, 'Hard Luck' on his knuckles, 'FTW' on his neck, the AOA middle finger on his forearm, two outlined prison-tat tears by the corner of his left eye, 'ACAB' in gothic type on the chest, and a couple of Marine Corps tats on his arms from his stint in the service. (1 tour in Afghanistan, 2 in Iraq.) Jesse walks with a noticable limp, the result of having broken his patella and shattered his left leg some years ago, while riding as the Moons' Tail Gunner.

Personality: Jesse moved to Geurchville after his last turn inside, after having gone 'nomad' with the Moons, and it was intel passed on from Jesse regarding the town's relaxed views on crime that led to the Bloody Moons staking a claim. He claims that part of him is in the past, though he still has ties to the Moons, and is still a part of their Nomad chapter, officially. Currently works on a local road crew as a heavy equipment operator. He is slow to trust, a bit of a loner, but fiercely loyal. He suffers from PTSD, and occasionally finds it difficult to 'switch off.' Oftentimes he is soft-spoken, and there is the fire of intelligence and determination behind his eyes.

Bio: Jesse lived the life of the 1%er for ten years after his discharge from the Marine Corps. He was a good member, and bought into the life 100%, eventually working his way up to the rank of Road Captain, and then Tail Gunner, with the Baton Rouge Chapter. There was a violent changing of the guard in the Chapter in Jesse's 12th year in, involving some deaths and a lot of bad blood. Rather than weather the storm, Jesse went Nomad. Later that year he was framed and implicated by members of his own MC for a huge drug bust, and did 6 years inside. He's been out nine months.

Other: Jesse has history with Lady of Lore's character. (TBD)

Welcome to Geurchville [Criminal/Gang Slice of Life]

@Kingfisher Thanks!