STATUS:
Sick of joining roleplays only to have them die. I hate investing my time and energy into something for nothing. Seriously making me want to give up on roleplayer guild.
9 yrs ago
Current
Sick of joining roleplays only to have them die. I hate investing my time and energy into something for nothing. Seriously making me want to give up on roleplayer guild.
@Wick I hear you. Good luck out there. I hope it works out for you.
Sorry for this weekend. I've had a bit more hectic schedule than I anticipated, been barely home yesterday as it was. Don't wait for me for these posts, Priest isn't quite needed yet anyways.
Blaque is one busy man. Has enough time to answer a message while paying attention to his operators and also stalking the halls of a mad orphanage. Whew!
Steinway Plaza was lit only by the street lamps that lined either side. It was located only a few streets east of Riker's Island Bridge. The place felt like a void, empty of normal houses or any obvious safe spots. A lone man ran down the street, beads of sweat rolling down his frustrated brow. He wore coveralls, splotched with blue paint and a red sweat jacket. He looked behind him toward the main street to see a few ferals turning a corner into full view of the street lamp. His heart jumped and he groaned as he forced himself to run forward. One of the ghouls heard him and moaned loudly. Its blank eyes jumped rapidly around before it heard his steps pounding against the pavement. It lurched forward into a sprint in his direction.
Long, sleek, black arms whipped out from around a fence and pulled the man in. A hand was put over his mouth to muffle his cries as he was pulled back toward a building. The two tucked into a corner. The captor whispered into is ear gently. "Sshh..." The other man looked down at the blackened arms that held him and he started shaking uncontrollably. "Hold still, be quiet." The captor commanded. The group of ferals searched around the fence, sniffing around and looking manically for prey. The man with the arms whispered one more time. "Stay here." He let go of the poor runner and grabbed something along the floor. It clanked subtly in his claws. The runner looked wide-eyed at him, knowing no other way to answer aside from sitting there in a panic. The captor wound his right arm back and threw the bottle across the street. It crashed and shattered against a storage crate. Hyper ferals rubber-banded across the street, clawing and bashing at the large storage crate to find a way in.
A black arm pulled the man up and started hastily dragging him to the back door of the building. The two slipped inside and went up a flight of stairs where they could watch the ferals from above.
_______________________
Both of them stayed there in awkward silence for what seemed like hours. Gunfire permeated that period in regular intervals throughout the city. Finally the ghouls found some other noise to chase. The man in coveralls piped up, clearly still disturbed. "What the hell are you?" Ambient light from outside lit the room and much of the building enough to see.
The savior sighed and shrugged. "Well what about me? Screwed is what I think." He chuckled but it was clear he wasn't really amused with the confronting thought. "I'm Alan." He extended an arm to shake hands. The other man kept gawking at his arms like they were about to jump off Alan's torso to grab him. With how little sense everything else made it happened to be a reasonable assumption. Alan pulled his hand back. "Oh. Sorry. New to the whole... thing, whatever this is." He flexed it in the air and looked at every side. Grooved black armor coated his arm and ended in claws. "Happened when everything went to hell. I don't know how I didn't turn into one of those things out there but I'm thankful I'm not. What's your name?"
The other man relented. "It's Chad. Right now I'm tired and filled up with this crap." He sat in a nearby office chair with a huff. "I just want to get my family and leave this godforsaken city." Chad stared at his clothes in disgust, wiping absently at the dried paint on his coveralls. "Hell, I didn't even have time to get home and change. These demons have been hounding me since yesterday. Seemed like my whole crew was tearing each other apart. Tools, claws, teeth. It was madness.." He trailed off.
Alan gave Chad a sour look, sudden realization hitting him. "Chad. Did you just say that was yesterday? Can't be, sun isn't up yet." He looked outside, looking at the dismal sky for any sign of dawn. It was a story out of scripture, the sky simply held its black like a broken light bulb with no one to fix it.
Chad gave him a solemn nod and answered. "Afraid the sun isn't coming today. Maybe God is punishing us my friend. Maybe the rapture happened and all that's left is the mad and wicked. Who the hell knows!"
Alan pulled his phone from his pocket, careful not to make a new fashion statement out of his jeans with his claws. It read eighty-one percent battery life, ten eighteen AM. A good battery but a disturbing time. He checked his messages and found nothing new despite having already tried to contact his brothers and girlfriend, Liz. Alan's heart sank a little. He put the phone away. "I've holed up in this piano shop ever since I ran from the paper factory just off of 20th." Alan explained. "A factory covered in windows might seem like a bad idea but we're off the beaten path here. Hidden in plain sight if you will. Riker's Island Bridge right next to us draws most of the attention. No one else was crazy enough to hole here. Alan grinned at Chad. "Not by choice anyways." He had made up his mind, he was going to help the man. "Get some rest pal. I'll keep an eye out. After that we find your family and get you out of the populated zones."
Chad looked up at him, a hopeful glint in his eyes. "That's the best damn thing I've heard in a while. Thanks. I mean it, Alan. Thank you." He hunkered down against the wall and did his best to sleep. Alan kept staring out the window. Gunfire peppered through the silence throughout the city. When that gunfire disappeared things would certainly get scarier. There weren't enough bullets to put all these things down.
M A L E - T W E N T Y F I V E - A B-P O S I T I V E
Mutations: Catalyzed Spikes- Alan adapted a pair of new arms once he was infected. The virus aggressively and painfully gave him a stranger, larger set of limbs. They are covered in pointy black chitin and end in claws with superbly hard and sharp tips. There's a grooved hole in each palm that leads back into his forearms where new muscles not seen in normal human anatomy have grown and act as a launching mechanism for catalyzed projectiles. Since it would be unconventional to launch bones the body instead generates its own compound that can catalyze when Alan flexes a certain way, quickly compressing and creating a black crystalline spike to launch.
By appearance the spikes have the natural drippy look akin to stalagmites and stalactites. The spikes are very ceramic-like in hardness and effect and are capable of being launched roughly one hundred feet before being affected by drop. Projectile size can vary between six to twelve inches. Because they are unusual projectiles they are capable of piercing through body armor designed to block bullets like Kevlar. They have enough power to stick into solid objects but not much further than that, being unable to penetrate thick building materials. Changed and other infected creatures may sometimes have a naturalized armor coating parts of their body that direct spikes would be ineffective against.
Spike Compound- The "holes" in Alan's hands can release some of the spike compound before it is catalyzed which quickly solidifies into a light-weight and hard ceramic-like substance. Useful for myriad of things from blocking doorways to medical emergencies and even for makeshift tools. The spike compound begins to deteriorate after a few hours. Certainly an interesting tool for an engineer to make use of.
Chitin -- The outsides of Alan's arms are covered in a thick black chitin that matches the color of the claws. The chitin offers moderate defensive capability. The exposed areas on his inner arms and around his palms exhibits a dark orange hue. Short black barbs extrude from his elbows and shoulders. Alan's arms in general are larger in size than a normal human in order to make room for the new biology.
This whole thing has Alan rather rattled. He can't help but think of himself as some kind of a monster despite how naturally the whole transformation affects him.
Appearance: Alan has blue eyes and blond hair. He has a soft, gentle looking face with a fair complexion. He prefers high-collar jackets, no hoods. Of course any shirt he wears he will have to tear the arms off of in order to properly fit. His general attire is jeans and sneakers or similar footwear.
Physique-wise Alan takes care of himself. He's no stranger to hard labor in his field of work but he isn't a frequent gym attendee either. The occasional run and a little morning exercise were always enough for him. He stands at around 5'11 and comes close to dragging his claws on the ground. Alan weighs about 175 lbs.
Personality: Alan is generous with his time and kind. This mostly comes from a solid background with a loving family. Also he's a church goer. He's a religious man who doesn't thrust his values on other individuals but nevertheless holds on to his as if his very life depended on it. If there's a debate of morals or something very wrong is about to be done he'll be the first to speak out about it. Certain things are just wrong and he will always go against them even if it doesn't make sense. Raised in this setting he has never had a sip of alcohol in his life, preferring to abstain from that and drugs to avoid needless drama and mistakes.
Though Alan is so often kind and gentle, being pushed or threatened brings out the worst in him. Alan has never taken kind to threats of any sort. Being pushed to the brink of rage has happened but he's always controlled it. Very rarely has he exuded aggressive anger that his brothers refer to as a berserker rage.
Being changed so drastically by a virus has a tendency to bend some of those rules.. Alan can't help but become conflicted with all of what's going on. He finds himself feeling monstrous and unable to tell if what's happening to him is fatal or stable. His personality will change over the course of this story. It will have to if he is to survive.
Before the Outbreak: Alan had been out of community college for a few years now, working a successful job as an automation engineer, holding an active position in his church, dating a girl he loved named Liz. One he couldn't fess up enough to marry. Life was great, it was steady and safe. No mistakes, no debts. Alan was happy and set with high hopes for the future. There wasn't anything that could mess this up. Pfft! Right.
The Outbreak was special. Special in that it didn't care who you were, it was going to change you. Life, form, freedom, whatever you will. This event would haunt everyone who lived it.
Alan was in the midst of working, getting a new factory up and running. He was good at his job, he studied new technology in the field and made sure it worked the way it should. There was no way he would have guessed he would be living through a nightmare out of fiction. _______
The gunshots and screams were the first things he heard. A wave of noise washing over the outside. More alarming was that the factory he was in was designed to limit noise. This was not just a disturbed cry, this was fluid desperation made sound. A horde of chaos was ramming around these walls and he was stuck.
Alan wanted to open a door and go outside to see what was happening, he really did. The better part of him warned him not to so he listened and decided he needed to go up instead of out. As he was heading to a service ladder to reach the roof, the slamming started. A locked set of doors were rammed into repeatedly, over and over until the doors bent and gave way enough to be pushed through. He could see them across the open area of the factory as they sniffed around, gnashing at each other and clawing their way through the jammed door. They looked like normal people but "wrong" somehow. They were savage and black coursed through their veins. Alan couldn't help but mutter. "Seriously? Zombies? Great." A good day gone sour. No time to even think it over, Alan went into flight mode. In the back of his mind we was worried about everyone else but right now he wanted to survive. Alan forced himself quickly up the ladder and the movement was caught by some of the ghouls below. Guttural cries and screams let the engineer know they were coming.
Up here there was a small room before the door that led to the roof. Alan quickly closed the hatch and started looking for things to put on it. After seeing how they tore that door down like one of those Japanese paper walls he didn't want to give them any room for advance. Alan really wished right now that his company didn't have a no weapons policy, heavens knew he could use that gun right now. If they got through he was screwed. He started moving a cabinet in the room toward the hatch. It wasn't fast enough, the first one slammed the hatch open and poked its head up.
The snarling ghoul had already broken some of its front teeth, hollow eyes with darkened tendrils like roots stared at him. It was a woman but her discernible features were slipping away. No empathy, no real feeling other than hunger, rage and the hunt bore in those empty eyes. She lurched upward, more pushing at her from behind. Guttural howls sounded for the attention of more ghouls outside. Alan felt so screwed.
Mustering all he had, Alan slammed the cabinet down against the hatch. The female ghoul was only pinned by one leg as it lashed out at him, screaming and spitting, teeth gnashing. She managed to graze some skin off his arm. He barely noticed as he grabbed for anything he could use for a weapon. There was unused piping so he grabbed one and started desperately wailing on the ghoul.
The vicious ghoul pulled herself free, being beaten with a pipe or not she was hungry. The leg she managed to pull free was bent awkwardly, clearly broken. She didn't care as she stumbled across the room, grasping for him. Alan just swung harder and harder, aiming for her head. She clawed at Alan some more before a serious blow knocked her to the floor, her head bloodied and dented in. She twitched a little before rising again so Alan hit her harder and just kept hitting until she stopped moving. Her head was a bloody mess. Alan started moving her out of the way before pushing the rest of the objects in the room against the hatch. Alan's heart raced, his lungs burned but there was no way he was dying here. Not now.
Alan pried the roof door open, took the she-ghoul by her good leg and started dragging her outside. There was no conventional way on or off the roof except by the access hatch he had blocked. It was at least forty feet from the ground. He hauled the ghoul across the roof to its edge, took one look down and pushed her off. She slammed against the ground with a resounding thud.
It wasn't until now that Alan really looked around. Gunfire was going off toward the center of the city, screams were calling out everywhere, both animalistic and in anguish. "Damn." He muttered. "World's gone to hell..." He kept watching, an observer stranded on the roof. Finally he knelt and offered a silent prayer.
Alan's arms itched, he looked absently at the scrapes and noticed something truly alarming. The shallow wounds were sealing themselves up and where they should have been red and bloody it only looked black. Alan's heart sank in his chest. "Well.. shit.." He clenched his fists and looked at the sky. "DAMNIT!" He yelled into air. The attention of several crazy freaks around the area had been caught. They gurgled and cried at the sky as they started moving to the factory. Alan sighed and laid back against the tin roof, staring at the sky. "No stopping it now."
Equipment: -Empty Backpack (What? It keeps your back warm and you can put stuff in it.) -Keychain and Wallet -Android phone.
Proficiencies: "Know how.." Technical trade skills happen to be Alan's business. He knows how most machinery works including, cars, cranes, work lines, electrical systems and so on. He can use computers better than an average guy but he's never been good at programming or more advanced computer skills.
"The Good.." No one hates Alan, he's just a nice, friendly guy. You know, unless you hate nice guys, then it's awkward. Alan is good at earnestly getting close to people and being trustworthy. He would hate to be made a liar. He will stand as a moral pillar to stop a wrong before it happens.
"Why you little...!" Alan is a lot stronger when he's pissed. Surprisingly his anger is almost always put in the right direction. It's a good thing he grew up with a good family and values or he'd have some serious anger problems.
Limitations: "The Bad..?" Yeah... well, sometimes being a good guy isn't helpful when you get in the way of a decision that needs to be made. The most righteous option isn't always the one that will save everyone's hide.
"Top Heavy." The rest of Alan's body hasn't yet evolved to accommodate the change in muscle mass and size. He can get off balance easily if knocked around and he's supporting the extra weight on mostly normal legs so his ability to move is below average.
"Muscle Cramp..!" Overuse of catalytic projectiles in a short amount of time could cause one of Alan's inner arm muscles to cramp and close sooner than it's supposed to, trapping a catalytic reaction inside his arm. This could involve piercing through his arm in multiple directions as the force finds its way out. This could disable his arm until the problem is fixed.
"Feel the Burn.." The catalytic compound produces acid as a byproduct that breaks down muscle, overexposure could mean the acid would eat through his arms following the flow of gravity. Ignoring these serious conditions and forcing a continued use of catalyst could cause it to burn through his body and contact vital organs which could result in organ failure and death.
"Did That Tickle..?" Spikes are ineffective against Changed armor and most other infection based protections. There may be some exceptions such as a thin layer of armor or armor that has been weakened or turned brittle by other means.
Relations: Liz Hensley is his girlfriend, where did she go? Eddy is his brother, the younger by four years. Ben is his older brother, the elder by three years. Others to be decided.
Vashonn