mickilennial

Shelter: A Zombie Survival Story

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“We need to find food, too. Clean water. Unless you want to go keycard hunting on an empty stomach.”

The remark was made rather matter-of-factly, like Hera didn’t care at all about what they were all going through. Some of her body language betrayed that idea–the way she was clutching her blazer, the slight twitch of her fingers, and how she kept looking around the classroom.

The classroom was well-stocked… for literature. Plenty of books reciting old stories they had been tasked with studying before the end of the year. Mr. Potter had opted for an obscure novel by Mary Shelley, The Last Man, about the struggles of a man named Lionel Verney as he came to terms that the bubonic plague had left very few alive in its wake. The very first dystopian novel. Mr. Potter may have had a sense of humor after all. Not that a bunch of paper was going to be much use to them. School still had power. Heating and Water. At least that was a silver lining. As she thought about utilities and defense, a thought came to her mind.

The chair legs could be useful.

She looked to the chairs that sat in the classroom, moving one over to its side. Virco 9000. If they had a screwdriver they could remove the metal legs from the hard plastic. Right. She looked over to her classmate who was shuffling through Mr. Potter’s desk. There was no chance in hell that there was a screwdriver in there. 99.9% chance there was nothing useful in general. Well, she hoped the girl could find something. Anything, really. It would be better than nothing, that much was for sure.

What the girl would find, unfortunately, was little more than two energy bars (chocolate, though), a bunch of papers (including divorce papers yet to be signed), and one pack of mechanical pencils with two remaining.

Ju-V

Annoying People

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_{Location: Alcatraz Compound [Recreation Wing]}

Issue #3: Annoying People

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_{Interaction(s): N/A}

Previously: Escalation: How to NOT Handle Teenagers in 5 Steps or Less!

The blonde sighed, her hands buried in her pockets, as she moved quickly away from the prison veteran character from going into their full spiel about the rules of the prison and the other characters that inhabited it. That was how she saw it, like she was in some kind of awful movie.

“Great. Annoying people and handsy prison guards. Tons of fun.” She muttered under her breath.

Kaitlin ended her “get away from things she didn’t like” exercise at the room’s collection of books, her eyes constantly eyeing the people around her as she made her way there. She wasn’t a particular fan of people before she had powers, so she couldn’t imagine what was more nerve-wracking than a bunch of people she didn’t want to interact with who also had powers. She wasn’t a smoker, but just being on Alcatraz made her relate to the people who were.

She sighed, easing out her anxiety, before a book title caught her attention. She immediately took it from its place among the books and a slightly amused smirk replaced her rather unimpressed-slash-annoyed expression.

The Count of Monte Cristo.

Somebody had a sense of humor.

She flipped a few pages as she found the closest wall and sat on the floor with her back against it. A set of noise-canceling headphones would’ve been nice about now; they certainly would have made dealing with the place she found herself in a lot easier. Why did she leave most of her stuff at home? Oh right, because she didn’t have time to think. Just her luck. Not that it mattered much. She’d deal. She had no choice.

REZORT: VACATION FROM HELL

M a y b e

Mr. Misunderstood

D A V E
D A V E

^{37 ■ Male ■ Singer. Songwriter. Television Personality. Sometimes Actor.}

A P P E A R A N C E
A P P E A R A N C E

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At five-foot-eight and with access to a personal trainer, Dave has done everything to maximize his appearance for the good of his career. The last few years have taken a turn of sorts, with him seeming to stop caring about his carefully crafted image, but he hasn’t let himself go either. A blue-eyed brunette who to some is the biggest thing in country and pop music since Garth and Kenny isn’t a bad look to have for sure.

P E R S O N A L I T Y
P E R S O N A L I T Y

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“All depends on what side of bed Dave woke up on today.” a friend once remarked in relation to this very issue.

Dave is temperamental, moody. Sometimes described as high maintenance–the kind of pop star that makes people blast them on social media for having problems respecting the people who got him to where he is. His defenders will probably say anyone with a bad experience asked for it or caught him on a bad day. Perhaps both sides have some nuggets of truth at the baseline.

Ultimately, Dave’s been unhappy for a long time. Most of his success came when he moved away from his earnest songwriting and to blase, empty-headed pop music. Pair that with a generational addiction to addictive substances (particularly of the Jim Beam variety) and a very internal war between self and demons you have a hotbed of a temperamental, self-entitled, unfulfilled, and lonely man. Even he admits he needs to get back to the person he was, and not the person he’s been constructed to be by the big labels and important Hollywood producers. How can he live up to be a role model for anybody if he feels nothing and has nothing? It’s a question he ponders nightly and at the bottom of a bottle.

B I O G R A P H Y
B I O G R A P H Y

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David Earl MacKeown had a rough childhood in a town just north of Oklahoma City.

When he finally got free, he pushed himself to Nashville, hustling and hoping that one day his dream of hitting the lights of the big stage would become real.

Perhaps it happened a little faster than he could handle. Before the age of 25 he had multiple hits and attention from a big, proper music label. It would be that label that took him to greater heights for a decade plus, though it would come with its own costs. His songwriting took a backseat to a team of writers, his musicality became what he found banal–all while he struggled with addiction, relationship hurdles, and spending his time between Nashville and Hollywood. In his thirties, with strings of top ten smash hits for years and a popular stint as a judge on a singing competition, the midlife crisis finally came for him and probably a bit more violently than it came for others.

His son’s death. The subsequent divorce. A few things. A social media episode. The label deciding not to renew his contract; all of it came as it did and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get some R&R and rethink what his life meant and how he could pick up the pieces moving forward. The world sees him as some sort of diva, a trainwreck to encourage, a sellout, a star. Not often that the world sees him for what he’s going through. But touring independently has given him something to think about.

Perhaps he should’ve picked a different vacation spot.

M I S C E L L A N E O U S
M I S C E L L A N E O U S

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Dialogue Color: dodgerblue

Interested in this. I have some characters in mind, like a washed out rockstar that is just blowing whatever money he has left on extravagant trips, or a woman who broke up with her fiancée a week before the wedding, but still went on the honeymoon trip by herself. Once I pick a concept I’ll start work on my character sheet.

@Martian

Not exactly my concept, but it seems we are on a similar wavelength, huh.

Shelter: A Zombie Survival Story

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“I think you’ll need a little more than a lockpick.”

Hera sighed.

Stockbridge Academy was the most demanding private school she could have imagined. Tons of investors and donations had justified reworking the entire security system over the summer. After incidents upon incidents and the worries of a potential school shooter, everyone who had money had decided what Stockbridge needed was security gates, lockdown keycards, and all sorts of things. She had almost forgotten about it. The Detroit Free Press heavily criticized the whole plan, she remembered, too. Something about turning Stockbridge into more of a prison than a institution of learning. Seems for once, that was right.

The hispanic-american looked over to her classmates, “School is probably in tiered lockdown. Remember the new magnetic locks that Mr. Nielsen was so thrilled about? We aren’t getting out without a keycard. I think… if we are smart… we are going to need access to administration or maintenance.”

Ju-V

Escalation: How to NOT Handle Teenagers in 5 Steps or Less!

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_{Location: Alcatraz Compound}

Issue #2: Escalation: How to NOT Handle Teenagers in 5 Steps or Less!

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_{Interaction(s): N/A}

Previously: Last Ride to Alcatraz

The blonde gritted her teeth, the good humor she felt from her fellow captives being wiped away in an instant.

Commanding yells. A taser. A girl getting sprayed like she was a rioter on capitol hill. It got her nerves into a frenzy and she curled her fists tightly. Anxiety was a trigger for her powers, maybe for most of the metahumans she was side-by-side with on an island where it became very much clear that training facility really meant internment camp.

There was an impulse in her to get angry. With the prison guards, security, whatever, exuded their power over them. They weren’t exactly helpless, but they were basically helpless. It was enough to trigger her natural instincts despite trying to not put herself in the line of fire. She had no problem being here. She chose to be. But seeing how they reacted to a few dumb teenagers made her wonder if she wouldn’t have been better off running to Mexico once she got the offer from AEGIS in the first place. She could feel what must have been her power, though she hadn’t been exactly glowing with light energy yet.

She could do something. React. She could–

_{–No. Don't panic. Don't freak out. Don't become a light show.}

She calmed herself, though she still looked utterly pissed and confused.

So much for this being a community.

A community of fascists maybe.

Ju-V

Last Ride to Alcatraz

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_{Location: AEGIS Bus → Alcatraz Compound}

Issue #1: Last Ride to Alcatraz

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_{Interaction(s): N/A}

Previously: N/A

After refusing to engage with a girl in front who was eager to talk, Kaitlin Langstraat kept her eyes glued to the bus window near her, planting her head against it as they drove through San Francisco to their next destination.

Between her hands was an old silver dollar, one she kept rotating in her hands to try to think about anything else than the events that led her to her current situation. It didn’t work, not really.

Being diagnosed as a metahuman would’ve been world-shattering enough for her, given society’s particularly uneasiness with those with the affliction, but the universe had decided it would be much more fun if a bunch of other things happened around that as well; because the universe was a practical joker. A comedian. A laugh riot.

The funniest joke of all was that her abusive father that she had avoided for several years turned up in Santa Clara, when she was at work in the local mall.

She couldn’t even remember what happened. What he said. How he looked at her. None of it. She had been told she had an “episode” by the police and doctors. There had been damages, injuries. They weren’t forthcoming with the details and neither was AEGIS when they showed up and gave her an offer she couldn’t willingly refuse. With a pending lawsuit from the ownership group who owned the shopping mall and official charges lingering in some kind of legal purgatory, she found herself scared and out of luck. Of course she took the offer from AEGIS. Legal protections? Evaluation and training of her metahuman abilities? Making the lawsuit go away? They did all that. Part of her was grateful for it, it was like a Get Out of Jail card from Monopoly but in real life.

What else could she do?

And then they arrived at the island. It took two trips, but the beginning was over.

It was a relief in a way, she mused, as she tried to get a good look at her surroundings to the best of her ability. Not that she was preparing an escape from Alcatraz like that old Clint Eastwood movie or anything, but more in line with her not liking surprises. Being perceptive had kept her alive since forever ago and that wouldn’t change, even under someone else’s care. Anything she could see and remember she would be sure to take mental notes of. One particular thought came to mind as they were already being treated like numbers on an orange jumpsuit.

_{I guess this being like ‘Summer Camp’ was a mild exaggeration. Cool.}

It felt so surreal.

Lined up. Being ready to be shipped off to their least favorite corners of a historic prison. All for the common good of America. The good of the community.

It was absurd how the warden tried to paint it. So absurd that one of the other metahumans, a boy, made of stone, made a remark that actually made her giggle, a giggle she quickly covered with her hand. Not a common occurrence, but she didn’t expect it so readily dispensed at the warden’s expense. It was enough to maybe, just maybe, make her think that this little situation wouldn’t be completely terrible.

Just maybe.

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

Fujiwara Chiasa

_______________________________________________ Full Name - Fujiwara Chiasa Age - 19 Gender - Female Occupation - Apprentice Tinkerer Personality Trait: Cold Chiasa is geared toward the harshness that she was raised with and as such has been taught that the best way to react to things is with a cold harshness and icy disposition. She can be seen as relatively standoffish due to this, though at the very least one can expect a degree of honesty rather than the usual degree of political niceties someone born from the major families tends to exhibit. Personality Trait: Patient The Fujiwara Family is conservative with a strict sense of family values and it took a long time for Chiasa to figure out how best to defy said expectations. After all, anything to do with the outside world was forbidden. The road to becoming a tinkerer was difficult due to this and it shows in her interactions. Explosive personalities and harsh words do not prick away at Chiasa’s armor nor does anything that she could find unpredictable. Personality Trait: Sarcastic While Chiasa is certainly patient and sometimes approachable, it is not out of character to say harsh, well-calculated words meant to dig at another person’s expense when she is irked. In her philosophy it is best to react calmly and utter your annoyance in a productive way and control the situation. Attributes + Skills S K I L L S E T Scavenger Chiasa is one of the few allowed to scavenge in the old world ruins that dot the outskirts of the valley, though she has never seen greater marvels than what the Master Tinkerer has. There are many dangers in such places and you need to keep your ears open, your feet soft, and wits about you. Sign Novice Chiasa’s elders made sure that the newly appointed signkeeper taught her for a few years, as it was important for those of noble blood know how to consort with the elements. As Chiasa got older her aptitude moved to machines over signs, though she continued to study signs that would help her in her craft. She is no adept or master of signs, but she’s likely more attuned than some others. Tinkerer The old machines linger the old ruins of the world and Chiasa has come to be studious in knowing them and knowing how to make new machines out of them. She has personally aided Anayo in her endeavors and has come to become skilled in her own way of understanding what things are and how to utilize them.

Physical Description The Fujiwara Family is one of the more important families in the great valley. While not being descended from the Takamori directly, there is a certain pride in Chiasa’s appearance despite foregoing honorable distinctions and choosing the life of a tinkerer. Chiasa’s hair reflects the dark moonlight skies and her eyes do not stray far behind, becoming like amethysts that have long since lost their luster. Her hair is well combed, though held together with metal bindings. What could be said most of all is Chiasa’s expression, or well, lack of a smile. She walks heavy and she comes with a heavy sense of entitlement. She’s about average in height as well, though with how she carries herself it is hard to remember. Her fists curl at the first sign of irritation and her brows narrow with even the most minor of irritations. When she isn’t upset she still looks prickly as a thorn. Essentially, a normal Fujiwara. Character Conceptualization Chiasa’s grandfather, Fujiwara Ichiro, often tells an old story. It is a story that Chiasa has heard told throughout her whole life. The Takamori betrayed the Fujiwara and nobody cared. Had it not been for the pacifistic policies passed they would certainly have met the end of a blade. But was the story that Chiasa’s grandfather told the truth or some kind of bitter story told through the generations to breed resentment and stoke the fires of rebellion? Fortunately Chiasa has never cared for traditions. She spit on the face of her family with marriage arrangement after marriage arrangement and even before that sought to learn about the old world in lieu of anything her family wished for. This was clear since the very first day she asked about the outside world and the weird gadgetry that the tinkerer of the village would haul in to work on some new project. The strange music the tinkerer would play at festivals inspired her even further, though for some reason her family tried to curb her interests in such things. “It’s unladylike” they’d insist before going into expectations of family and tradition. The Fujiwara directed trade, crafted sake and umeshu; they did not mess with the old world. Chiasa was not her mother or sisters. She liked the old world. She wanted to know about places beyond the valley. She would do anything she could to know more things. When she was a young girl she asserted herself and demanded the tinkerer make her an apprentice. After much persistence and her own family’s interference complicating things she never thought she’d actually get the chance to learn about machines of the past nor how to make things from them. Her family eternally disappointed, Tinkerer Anayao took in the girl. She’s still not satisfied all these years later… but that’s just how Chiasa is.

_{Signs Known: Spark, Reinforce, Mend, and Glow}

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

OBLIVION

Shelter: A Zombie Survival Story

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Hera’s back had been against the door for… actually she didn’t know how long exactly.

If she would’ve looked at her phone she would’ve known it had been a few hours. Two to be precise.

The screams in the hallways outside had rattled what generally was a pretty unshakeable perfect student. The worst part was she hadn’t heard any screaming for some time now but she was too afraid to unlock the door and take a look in the hallways that eventually she and the other students who found themselves in the room would have to venture to find food and supplies.

Why hadn’t the CDC solved this crisis by now?

There’s a pause in her brain, as if she asked herself a question so stupid it needed some time to process it. Fair enough. She may have still been a teenager but even she knew that the CDC wasn’t prepared for a zombie apocalypse. Who could? And it was all probably worse outside. They had been within the halls of their comfy, private school for two weeks. They were effectively contained and the rot had still gotten inside the school after fourteen days of nothing happening inside the school. If it was that bad in a contained environment, how bad was it in an uncontained, open one?

She shuddered at the thought.

Can’t think like that. Won’t think like that.

If she allowed her to think like that her thoughts would move to her mom and how she was dead or worse. The likelihood of someone working in the medical industry at a time like this. It was logical. It was heart-wrenching. It was something to avoid thinking about.

In the room with her were five other students. No teachers. A helpful adult who didn’t throw you in front of zombie freshmen was probably ideal in a situation like this, but they didn’t have that. Just a bunch of seniors and juniors. She recognized some. Quinn. Shinny. Aaron. The two others, well, she didn’t not recognize them but she couldn’t exactly put names to faces. Of the three she knew only one of them she could ever imagine as a friend, though they weren’t exactly besties. Similar circles and lanes. With Quinn, well, there was cheerleading. Aaron was a superstar. Probably was going to make the NBA with his trajectory. She supposed that wasn’t exactly in the cards anymore.

To be fair, that went for everyone in the world. Dreams were done and now they were probably stuck in a world two sneezes away from an episode of The Last of Us.

“It’s quiet.” She finally managed, even if it was a captain obvious sort of observation. “Not sure if that’s worse or better.”

She took a heavy breath, as her hands gripped the blazer of her school uniform. Her eyes looking over to the whiteboard for a few seconds.

‘Mr. Potter’ it read. She frowned, wondering where he could be. He was one of her favorite teachers. She hoped he wasn’t dead. She hoped he wasn’t undead.