TOGGLE CBOX
DealsFor.me - The best sales, coupons, and discounts for you


Pages: (3) [1] 2 3  ( Go to first unread post ) LOCKEDNEW TOPICNEW POLL

 RANK-N-FILE, zombie gauntlet participants only!
NPC!
Posted: Feb 14 2012, 04:36 PM


GONNA EAT YO' BRAINS
Group Icon

Group: ROGUES
Posts: 48
Member No.: 297
Joined: 17-March 11



ZOMBIE GAUNTLET
GAME 3 – RANK-N-FILE.
AMMUNITIONS ALLOCATION
Clay Suarez – 12 shots


IN FRONT OF THE HOUSTON NATIONAL GUARD ARMORY
11:47

When the mid-afternoon sun was high in the sky your group began to assemble – unfortunately for you, the daylight will do little to help you once you’re inside the building. Your goal is to reach the third sublevel, a place where – if you believe the stories – you’ll find a wealth of firearms and ammunition, enough to keep yourselves and your groups safe for a long time. But, alas, it’s not that simple – the unground bunker was sealed for a very good reason, it’s bounty left untouched for this long – it’s full of the undead.

You stand at the door, the words ‘INFECTED INSIDE, DO NOT OPEN’ are crudely painted across it. You ready yourself for action as the chain that once held it shut is slowly removed. As the doors swing open you’re greeted by the smell of death and the cavernous darkness that awaits you. In the bowels of the bunker you can hear the echoes of movement and groaning, a telltale sign that something still lives within.

Now that you’re all there, there’s really no point in wasting anymore time – if anything you should hope to get in and out as quickly as possible.

DIRECTIONS : The doors are open and the noise might have attracted some unwanted attention get yourselves inside as quickly as you can.

PM@
^^^
STAN MAYHEW
Posted: Feb 15 2012, 06:17 AM


27 | 1UP
Group Icon

Group: TARGET PRACTICE
Posts: 207
Member No.: 587
Joined: 18-August 11







I FINALLY REALIZE WHO I AM

I'M THE BAD GUY

Stan looked his peers over and studied them for a moment to try to assess how capable they were. He had not met any of them before, which bugged the everlasting hell out of him. They had to trust each other, and trusting easily was not something Stan did well. “Alright, Scooby and the gang, I think it is time that we ditch the mystery machine and find those fucking guns.” Stan whispered to the rest of the group, “I have people to look out for.” His mind then went to the Mall Rats. At first, he had hated all of them. Why would he not? The apocalypse had made him antisocial, and his disorders did not help. However, as time had passed by, the Mall Rats had become a second family for him. Well, his only family. A lot of them did not like him still, and the feeling was mutual, but there were people he did care about like his friends: Birdie, Arnie, and the others.

Stan snapped out of his thoughts, and forced himself to focus. It was too easy to get lost in his abyss of thoughts and memories. He had to keep it together to prevent himself from becoming Walker food. “Move it, Family of Five. The Walkers will be coming down on our heads soon.” Stan declared to his peers as he stepped inside the door way. He reached to his belt, unsnapped the handle of his machete from the leather, and brought his blade up into the air. His machete glistened in the dull light, and it was easy to see that he had taken good care of it. Stan had even sharpened the blade back at the mall before he had ventured out on this suicide mission. He was determined to find the guns, even if he had to sacrifice one of the members of his current group to get to them.

Their success would take team work, but Stan knew it was foolish to think that losses would not be incurred in such a confined space. Stan took another careful step inside the bunker, but he opted not to advance to far. He did not want to be separated from everyone else. The smell of decayed flesh wafted around his nose, and his face wrinkled in disgust. He had grown accustomed to that smell, but he still found it unsavory. “Judging by the smell, I would say that they are close by. Keep alert.” Stan muttered to his comrades as he scanned the area, “Oh, and Clay. Shoot that thing sparingly because of the noise.” The people with him probably already knew how the zombies worked and hunted, but he wanted to provide clarification to Clay just to be sure the man knew.

Stan was not anxious to have a horde of Walkers brought down on him because somebody fired a shotgun. He took a few more steps forward, and that was when a Walker appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Stan swung his blade and slashed the zombie’s head off in one clean swipe. A machete could chop a human head clean off, so it was especially devastating to a zombie that had been decomposing for a while. Without warning, Stan swung his blade again, and he made a precise cut through the dead Walker’s shoulder to effectively chop the corpse’s left arm off. He retrieved the severed arm from the ground and wrapped it around his neck. It was his trophy, and his best ticket to masking his scent from the other Walkers.


TAG: GAUNTLET · WORDS: 593 · TEMPLATE BY 1UP


PM@
^^^
therese bouvier
Posted: Feb 15 2012, 07:17 AM


Unregistered









dead skin will atrophy Standing there, baseball bat in hand, the young woman took a sweeping glance over her peers and wondered why she wasn't more concerned.She should have been at least a little perturbed by the knowledge that their ragtag troupe was grossly unprepared, the only gun in sight belonging to Clay--and it was a shotgun, for Christ's sake. They wouldn't be able to use it until they were desperate, for fear of attracting unsavory attention from the walkers inside, and by that point they might as well just be dead. And what the fuck was she doing there, with a freaking bat in hand? It had served her well on previous outings, sure, but to be so complacent as to bring it on a retrieval mission--to a building swarming with creatures willing to go to any length to tear the flesh from her bones?She must have had a death wish.Then again, if every horror movie ever made was an accurate gauge, Therese was bound to walk out alive. Perhaps not unscathed, but alive, at the least. The sexiest girls in any slasher flick never suffered a fate worse than a few flesh wounds--maybe a broken arm--and, seeing as how she was the only woman in the group, she was a shoe-in for survival. Maybe it was her inner masochist talking, but there was something pretty appealing about diving head-first into zombie hell. Could you blame her? The most action she'd seen all week was when Brock spooked her at the 7-11. Since then, she hadn't seen a walker, safe within the (relatively) secured boundaries of the Galleria....with Stan. Who, apparently, hadn't a clue who she was. Being a new addition to the mall, Therese didn't mind the snub on his part, but she would be amiss if she didn't recognize him. He was kind of a fixture in the mall--the resident badass--so she had heard a bit about him.So, she wasn't in the least surprised when he snatched up the reins and stepped over the threshold first, taking it upon himself to christen the place with its first (and hopefully not last) mutilated zombie. What did surprise her, however, was his proceeding to drape the zombie's arm around his neck like some prized scarf. Brows furrowing, Therese swung the bat up onto her shoulder and slipped into the building behind him. She hadn't--er--noticed any stench Stan might have previously had on him, but he certainly blended in with the rest of the building's after draping that blasted limb around his neck.Therese's voice dropped into a whisper, following Stan's lead, and she prodded at the mutilated walker with her foot. "Should we all do that? It might be worth it to blend in, but..." If they took a moment then to smear themselves with zombie guts, they might be able to bypass some trouble later. Then again, if they were injured or scratched, and any of those innards infected the wounds...Nose wrinkling, she glanced back at the rest of their ensemble and took note of their potential assets.Yup. Death was a sure thing. cassie at atf.
^^^
SPENCER BRYANT
Posted: Feb 15 2012, 08:12 AM


Unregistered









the pointy end goes into the other personSpencer clutched the katana tighter in his hand as he took a look at his surroundings and the people in it. He'd found the weapon a few weeks back and it became his favorite. The blade was sharpened to perfection and there was nothing better than the feeling of satisfaction when it sliced through a zombie like a knife through butter. It was always an advantage when the reanimated bodies didn't hear you coming, like they would if you used a gun. For some strange reason, Spencer preferred close combat weapons. He usually chalked it up to him being in a gang most of his life when your fists were normally your only weapon in a surprise attack.He was able to discern right away that he was the youngest of the group. No doubt they'd all look at him to be the one to slow them down. Well, him or Blondie over there. Then again he was one of the least likely to give away their position, leaving that to the dude holding the shotgun. At first it slightly irked him that the one guy took it upon himself to take charge, but he shook the feeling away after a moment. It was time to see what everyone was made of.Spencer didn't know how they'd all make it out alive. He didn't know either of the people standing close to him and in this day and age, most people took the saying " Every man for himself" a tad seriously. Yet he knew coming into this he would end up looking out for himself but some part deep down he knew if push came to shove and one of them needed his assistance, he'd be there. It was just the way his Ma raised him. His attention was brought to the door of the building they were standing in front of when it opened. It was go time.It didn't take long at all when the first of their enemies appeared. Spencer suppressed a snort when it reminded him a little of his resident evil games he'd played back home. Almost cliche really. Yet the dude playing leader swung his machete around and decapitated the rotting meat bag. Not too shabby. He then nearly voiced his disgust when the man proceeded to drape the now cleaved appendage around his neck. Instead he swallowed his complaint as he thought about it. It was a way that they would be able to slip by more easily. Instead of bitching about it like Blondie, Spence instead followed "Leader" mans actions and hacked off a leg, placing it in the same position around his neck ( the thing would come in handy in case he lost his weapon. Dismembered melee leg weapon, anyone?), rubbing some blood in random spots on his body in the process.Once his task was finished he stepped over the mutilated corpse and played follow the leader. Matching his step to the older males, Spencer nudged him with his shoulder and spoke in a low, barely discernible voice. " Name is Spencer. Got something I can call you instead of 'Mr. Leader dude'?" In the slight darkness of the building, Spence knew that they'd have a slight disadvantage. The humans were on zombie turf, so to speak. Yep. This was going to be fun. Note the sarcasm.TAGS: Gauntlet | WORDS: 540MADE BY NATB0308 OF CAUTION
^^^
CLAY SUAREZ
Posted: Feb 15 2012, 08:55 AM


Unregistered









in the end it doesn't matter----- One thing, I don't know why It doesn't even matter how hard you try, Keep that in mind, I designed this rhyme, To remind myself of a time when I tried so hard. In spite of the way you were mocking me. Acting like I was part of your property. Remembering all the times you fought with me. I'm surprised it got so. Things aren't the way they were before. You wouldn't even recognize me anymore. Not that you knew me back then. But it all comes back to me in the end. You kept everything inside -----------------------------------Clay wasn’t that excited to be going into the armory. For one, he appeared to be the only one with a functioning firearm. Luckily, he traded for a box of shells earlier that morning, before he set off with Therese. The bitch of it was, was that this enclosed area was probably not the best idea for a gun. Good thing was, was that they had it for emergencies, and the butt of the gun could be used to stun any of the undead if they got close enough to the team. Clay stepped in behind the kid who thought he was a samurai, keeping an eye ahead of him, glancing toward Therese. This wasn’t a good idea. Mistakes were made when loved ones took brash action to save lives. It wasn’t that Therese couldn’t handle herself, if he wanted anyone along for the ride it was her, but he didn’t want to see her hurt. Clay perked his head up when he heard his name. He had met Stan down in the market of the mall one day when he was visiting Therese. He was a nice guy, and Clay was glad to have him as his leader. The older man was used to taking charge, but a young gun like Stan would do a much better job as point man. Clay whispered loud enough for Stan to her, ”You got it. Don’t worry about me.” Clay wouldn’t jeopardize the mission with his gun, but someone had to bring a ranged firearm. Melee was too close, too personal for the man. Besides, they were coming here to obtain guns. It would make sense that you might need one to blast open a door or something. The threshold wasn’t as bad he thought it was, but hearing Stan’s machete wiz through the air, and hearing a slump, Clay couldn’t help but look semi-repulsed. It was a sort of barbaric, killing these walkers with melee weapons. They were once human too. No matter, at least they went down fast, and with crazy Stan at the helm, they should be in and out fairly quickly. Clay looked down at the body as they passed. Hmm. Severed arm necklace. Smart. Therese didn’t seem too interested in placing zombie parts on herself. He didn’t blame her. It was kind of fucked up, but Stan was a hunter, and he respected and supported his ideas. Whatever kept the group alive and in one piece was fine by him. The mission was simple enough. In and out. Shouldn’t take too long if everyone kept their wits about them and didn’t act like a hero. Clay sure as hell wasn’t going to lose his life down here, and would do his best to make sure everyone escaped. Especially Therese. His thoughts stayed with her as he moved with the rest of the group slowly into the hall. They crept slowly, which was smart, and with a machete in the front, he didn’t think their position would be given up too quickly. All he knew was that more guns and ammo lay at the bottom of the crypt, and that he could definitely use some of them to pawn off, sell, and get some much needed supplies for his plane. It was worth the risk.TAG: GAUNTLET WORDS: 551 NOTES: ----------TEMPLATE BY DANASAUR @ CAUTION
^^^
NATHAN CROSS
Posted: Feb 16 2012, 12:30 PM


Unregistered









{I'm short and I'm tall, I'm black and I'm white,Sometimes I be wrong, sometimes I be right,I'm iron and steel, I'm bad to the bone,You come looking for trouble, honey don't you come alone I seen 'em come, and I seen 'em go,I seen things and been people, that nobody knowsI'm talking in pictures and I'm painting them black,I seen Satan coming honey in a big black Cadillac- - - - - - - - - - youbetterrunMachete. Baseball bat. Katana. Shotgun.Shovel.It almost didn't seem fair.Almost.But then, when you really thought about the situation, it wasn't quite so uneven.Blades break. Shotguns run empty. Shovels, though? Well they're sturdy as you please. Heavy work required durability. Combine that with practicality and an edge that would remain sharp for a long, long time, and you had less an improvised, last ditch weapon and more an effective zombie killing utensil.Oh, the satisfying weight of a firearm or the comforting sound of gunfire might have been nice at a time like this, but consider that when ammo was gone, it was gone. When you were mobbed by scores of corpses, there wasn't time to reload, and bopping one in the head with the butt of your weapon wasn't going to be all that effective. In a close quarters situation like this, you'd be dead and torn to pieces before you even had time to grab those extra shells, or that spare magazine.And Nathan Cross did not want to die. In general, but specifically here. With these people. None of them were even from the Sam's Club. A mixed blessing, because while it rendered them all expendable, it also meant that he couldn't vouch for their loyalty. He very much wanted to avoid getting stabbed or shot if they did, in fact, find the mythical arms cache. The willingness to fight over limited resources was something that fueled humanity's evolution from a single celled organism into the (formerly) dominant life form on the planet. Competition bred conflict which curbed weakness and encouraged growth.Nathan didn't feel like dying because one of his "team mates" had the urge to indulge in some of that good old natural urge to compete.No. If anybody was going to betray anybody today, he would be the one doing the betraying.It would be effective, it would be thorough, and they would not see it coming.However, that wasn't a certainty. Stabbing these people in the back might have seemed tempting, but consider how it multiplied the odds. Every warm body taken out of the fight was one less barrier between himself and the zombies. And, if they did get where they were going, who's to say they'd manage to get out again? Noise attracted zombies. Even with the weapons, they might have to fight their way out, and Nathan did not want to carry weapons, fight zombies and flee all at the same time. He'd have to abandon some of the haul or take the considerable risk of getting surprised by a zombie and then bitten.So Nathan would keep his eyes open. He'd see how things played out. And then he'd make his move.Like always.A leader quickly emerged - not him - and rather than arguing with the man and his insistence to reference as many TV Shows as possible, Nathan just hefted his shovel onto his shoulder and fell in line. First in the door meant first taking the risk, and Nathan felt pretty good about letting this guy be their canary. Part of playing the game meant reacting over acting. Watching things develop and taking advantage of the angles was usually the better option.The decision paid off quickly when the Canary found himself confronted by a zombie, and even if he managed to make quick work of the thing, his machete hacking the thing to pieces, it was a nice little early indicator that Nathan's plan had been sound. They almost always were, but they weren't always proved so as quickly as this. That was a good sign. Or a very bad one. In either case, he'd keep his guard up and his eyes open.Helen would kill him if he didn't live through this.When the Canary hacked off the zombies arm and hung it around his neck, Nathan was... amused. He quirked a brow, watching him display it, then allowed himself a private little smile. Fleeting. But there. However briefly.The youngest man - the one with the katana - asked the Canary if he had a name. There was probably going to be a little bonding, here. A little exchange of personal details. Encourage levity. Stave off the fear of death. Try to feel like these people were, in fact, people and not just warm bodies that had a bright future of shambling and drooling to look forward to.Cute.Clearing his throat, making the effort to have it sound nervous and a little awkward, "I'm uh... I'm Jerry. Jerry Palmer."It sounded like an attempt to try and force personability. "I'm scared, let's swap names so I feel a little less scared." Something like that. Looking like he did at that moment, all urban with his denim jeans and leather jacket, he could have been almost anybody. From any walk of life.Nathan saw no reason why he shouldn't play that up.He glanced around at the four, forcing a smile and adding a shaky, "Wish we could meet under better circumstances."hope dat was kay
^^^
NPC!
Posted: Feb 16 2012, 05:31 PM


GONNA EAT YO' BRAINS
Group Icon

Group: ROGUES
Posts: 48
Member No.: 297
Joined: 17-March 11



As you enter the building and move further from the door you find your path getting dimmer and dimmer. Iridescent strips line the hallway floor no doubt leading towards the exits – unless someone thought ahead enough to bring a torch, it looks like this is the only light you’re going to be getting. Along the way you find all manner of icky and downright nasty sights – a puddle of gore here, a dismembered limb there. It is advised that you watch your step.

This floor, clearly, was mostly used for administration purposes and you find corridor after corridor of offices. If you wanted to you could spend all day rummaging through desks and filing cabinets looking for anything that might come in useful, but behind some shutters lurk shadows – moving shadows.

On the wall there hangs a sign, fortunately it is made of the same iridescent as the floor strips and clearly marks three points of interest within the building; the emergency stairs (which are just around the corner), stairwell A (which is indicated as down the corridor and to the left) and the staff canteen (which is down the corridor and to the right

DO YOU:

    - - Head for the closer emergency stairs?
    - - Make for stairwell A?
    - - Go check out the staff canteen?

PM@
^^^
STAN MAYHEW
Posted: Feb 17 2012, 05:40 AM


27 | 1UP
Group Icon

Group: TARGET PRACTICE
Posts: 207
Member No.: 587
Joined: 18-August 11







I FINALLY REALIZE WHO I AM

I'M THE BAD GUY

Stan’s face wrinkled in disgust as both Therese and Spencer copied him and covered themselves in zombie parts. He had only draped an arm around his neck as a trophy of his kill, and even that was blocked from his neck by the collar on his dark denim jacket. Were they crazy? “What the hell are you two doing? I just wanted a trophy.” Stan whispered over his shoulder to his peers, “You two should be careful about rubbing that stuff on your skin. You could get infected with the slightest scratch.” The simple fact that both Spencer and Therese had followed Stan’s actions both annoyed and amused him to no end. He didn’t want people to like him. He did not want to be the leader, at least, not of this little group. Stan was a man who needed a hug, but he would stab you if you tried to hug him.

Stan knew fully well there was a good chance they could all die, and that was why he was attempting to build up his defenses against these people. By keeping things detached, he would have an easier time of getting over their death when it happened. However, despite how much he wanted to protest against the group casting him into the role as leader, Stan decided to just accept it and go with it. He could have argued with the people and told them to leave him the hell alone, but then he risked failing his mission, and that was something that could not happen. Stan had people at the mall to look out for. They had just been attacked. The Mall Rats needed more guns and ammo. They had children to protect above everything else. He could not afford to fail now, or he would let everyone at the mall down.

Stan stared at the sign briefly before looking down the corridor. He was not the type to think and plan everything out. Instead, he went based off of gut instinct. “The staff canteen probably has wall to wall Walkers, so fuck that in the ass.” Stan murmured to the group, “The emergency stairs might have an alarm on them, and I don’t want to trip that, no matter how fun that sounds. Stairwell A sounds like a good place to die, so Stairwell A it is then. You people can follow if you want. I’m going this way.” He was very crude about his makeshift plan, but the others always had the option of going out on their own. The worst thing they could find is Walkers, and they were all equipped for such a fight.

Stan was almost hoping they would find some action just so he could fill his thirst for blood. He loved violence, and he hated that he loved it. It was not normal. As he continued down the corridor, he decided to answer the younger male’s question that was still lingering around. “You don’t want to know my name, kid. I will probably be dead soon, or you will.” Stan replied in a hushed tone, “We all go sometime, and from the looks of things, it looks like today for us. If you really want to know though, I’m Stan, and I won’t hesitate to fuck someone up if you mess this score up. I have people to look out for, so try to keep quiet and stay alert.” Yeah, the kid was annoying him a bit. He understood that the male was trying to be sociable, but that was typically not Stan’s best quality.


TAG: GAUNTLET · WORDS: 598 · TEMPLATE BY 1UP


PM@
^^^
therese bouvier
Posted: Feb 17 2012, 07:29 AM


Unregistered









dead skin will atrophy Quite frankly, Therese was a little shocked at the powwow occurring around her. They were exchanging names, being gruff and generally disgruntled--well, save for that Jerry fellow, who looked genuinely frightened, as he should have--and it was sort of...funny. She should have been scared shitless, she knew, having no place in the ranks of a bunch of glorified punching bags, animated purely by a testosterone high.She was surprised when Stan cited his fellow mall rats as his "people," and--while she was well aware he still hadn't a clue that she fell under that category, Therese was touched. He was kind of a mush, wasn't he?"Therese. Hi." She hadn't been asked, but Jerry had offered up his name without provocation--why not follow suit? If they were more interested in wasting their breath with team-building, then she might as well partake. Their lots were intertwined."I'm going with Admiral Petite on this one--I mean. Stan." Shit. She had that one whipped up before he said his name. He couldn't see her apologetic smile in the dark, but the stifled murmur that followed should have more than made up for it: "I doubt the alarm would be functioning at this point, but it's not worth the risk." Still, in either stairwell, they could easily be reduced to sitting ducks--moreso than when they were just lingering in the corridor--but Therese crept along behind the makeshift leader anyhow. He seemed pretty set on his plan, and they couldn't afford to split-up this early in the game. cassie at atf.
^^^
SPENCER BRYANT
Posted: Feb 17 2012, 11:09 AM


Unregistered









the pointy end goes into the other personSpencer was starting to rethink his decision when he thought he wouldn't care if this dude took up the leadership role. He got the feeling the man was a douche just by his gait and how he held himself and now that he'd spoken Spender just wanted to crack him one. Instead, he just mirrored the disgusting look on his face. " You may have wanted a trophy but I took this in case I lost my katana and needed an emergency melee weapon. Yeah, it wouldn't kill the fuckers, but at least it'd give me time to get away if I had to." Spencers voice was low and hostile. Two could play at that game. He shot the man a glare as they headed towards the stairwell." And I wiped the blood on my clothes, not skin." Yeah, the man got under Spencer's skin and he did not like it one bit.As they continued on down the corridor, Spencer glanced behind himself at the small group of people. They more or less stayed quiet. He was kicking himself in the ass for not thinking about bringing something to use as a light yet at the same time he wasn't. The light would only attract unwanted trouble. He just wanted to get in, get the booty, and get out. Simple. Right?As they went further in, the smell of rotting flesh started to premead his senses. Spence supposed he was lucky he didn't have a weak stomach. Deciding not to speak anymore unless he had to, he gripped his weapon a bit tighter and repositioned the dismembered leg around his shoulders. He thought he was rather smart in thinking of using the leg as an emergency weapon, regardless of what everyone else thought. Spencer paused a moment, praying no one would bump into his back, as heard heard a barely discernible noise. He cocked his head towards an open door to his left and brought his weapon up in time to impale a zombie right through its eye. Using his foot, Spencer pushed the zombie off of his blade and watched in satisfaction as it more or less crumpled to the floor in a heap of rotting flesh.Bringing the blade around again, Spencer lobbed of its head for good measure. It was really the only way to make sure the fuckers stayed down. Decapitation or a bullet in the brain pan. He slightly relaxed the arm holding the katana, letting it hang at his side as he turned to continue their search. " Another one bites the dust." TAGS: Gauntlet | WORDS: 434MADE BY NATB0308 OF CAUTION
^^^
CLAY SUAREZ
Posted: Feb 17 2012, 11:30 AM


Unregistered









it doesn’t even matter------------ One thing, I don't know why It doesn't even matter how hard you try, Keep that in mind, I designed this rhyme, To remind myself of a time when I tried so hard. In spite of the way you were mocking me. Acting like I was part of your property. Remembering all the times you fought with me. I'm surprised it got so. Things aren't the way they were before. You wouldn't even recognize me anymore. Not that you knew me back then. But it all comes back to me in the end. You kept everything inside -----------------------------------This wasn’t good. Why would Therese and the goofy kid do that? The smell permeated within the group, as they continued down the corridor. Clay kept his finger off the trigger of the gun, fully aware that any shot could send hundreds of walkers their way. No, last case resort. 12 shots to get them out, he figured. They would be safe, as long as no idiotic moves were made. Clay remained at the back of the group, following up behind Stan, Therese, and the kid. Clay smirked as the man spoke. ”Pleasure, Jerry.” He turned his head and nodded at the man. The smell of the zombie ornaments of his comrades was starting to get to him. The older man didn’t like the idea of carrying zombie parts with the group. Suddenly, he saw Stan stop, deciding which way to go. Stairway A. Right. ”I think we’ll be okay. We need to stay together till we find the cache, then we can split up in the room.” Going off alone, with no light source, was suicide. Death would come swiftly upon anyone who wandered off. No, group work would have to do. Clay was only concerned about the welfare of Therese, and himself. Stan was a good guy, but seemed angry. Anger led to rash decisions that could cost them their lives. Clay was careful where he stepped, avoiding the zombie that moved toward Spencer. Clay’s heart jumped, kicking the body out of the way so Jerry didn’t step on it. All these melee weapons might be a good thing, he thought. At least the group could silently dispatch the undead without bringing attention to themselves.”This stairway better be right, Stan. If we walk into a trap…getting back up here will be a bitch.” Clay shrugged, seeing several dead soldiers on the ground next to the wall. He turned his head, not wanting to feel sick again. He was strong willed, but this was ridiculous. In and out, Therese said. They would grab the guns, trade, and use the guns for better things. He didn’t tell her he planned to get his share to London, see if he could get a raise for his guard duty to getting medications, so he could in turn trade those to Lucy, for herself. All his intentions were good, and he didn’t want to see anyone get hurt, but this wasn’t going to end well, he just knew it. Clay moved past Spencer slightly, so he could stand next to Therese. ”You okay? You smell a little.” He smiled as he spoke barely above a whisper. He was still shocked and impressed that Therese was ballsy enough to plaster zombie guts on herself. Of course, Stan seemed pissed about it, but Clay still thought it was funny as hell. TAG: GAUNTLETWORDS: 539 NOTES: ----------TEMPLATE BY DANASAUR @ CAUTION
^^^
NATHAN CROSS
Posted: Feb 18 2012, 11:26 AM


Unregistered









{I'm short and I'm tall, I'm black and I'm white,Sometimes I be wrong, sometimes I be right,I'm iron and steel, I'm bad to the bone,You come looking for trouble, honey don't you come alone I seen 'em come, and I seen 'em go,I seen things and been people, that nobody knowsI'm talking in pictures and I'm painting them black,I seen Satan coming honey in a big black Cadillac- - - - - - - - - - youbetterrunAs Nathan cycled through an imagined back story for "Jerry Palmer", quickly building a life for him, a previous occupation, all that kind of thing. He doubted he was going to be up for any intensive questioning, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Who knows? In the face of death, people tended to open up about themselves. If they were cornered in some room with dozens of zombies bearing down on them, his chances might be a little better if they were convinced he had a little kid to take care of. Or something like that. Something classically... heart wrenching. An adorable five year old with some vague illness. One that involved lots of dramatic coughing. All very sad.The blonde was forthcoming with her name - Nate made sure to give her a small smile in reply to the "hi" - but the older guy seemed a little cooler. Whether that meant he was less anxious about what was coming or generally just more reserved remained to be seen. He'd already made a point of wanting to keep an eye on him since he was the only one properly armed. Now, he had another reason. It paid to keep on ones toes, or so Nathan felt, anyway. Treating almost everyone as though they might be a potential attacker was generally the best way to proceed. Kept things simple. Kept potential options nice and open.But aside from the greeting, Nathan kept his mouth shut. He assumed the uneasy but determined demeanor of a man who was forced into this kind of position. He had people relying on him! They needed these guns! And he had to help them whatever way he could! That fit Mister Palmer very nicely, he thought. Appointed by necessity rather than any real desire. The reluctant hero. There were a lot of those, these days.In all reality, he wanted the guns because it would help solidify his position in the Price Choppers. He'd make sure anyone who backed him and were loyal to him got the lions share of the guns and ammunition, with the dregs left over for the less reliable residents of Sam's Club. Anyway you cut it, he was going to get praised for doing this. For risking his ass and bringing back further assurances of safety and security for all the poor, helpless survivors. "Say what you will about Cross, but at least he got us guns!"He wordlessly watched the back and forth between the Canary and the rest of the group, adding his agreement to the stairs idea with a little nod of his head. The Canary had relatively sound reasoning, which was nice. Nathan would have preferred that he didn't get himself killed too early into things, just in case. It was better to have the defense for a while than lose it straight away. He didn't know how many other bodies he could reliably toss in front of the zombies before he started to seem suspicious, so. It was better that he not have to find out.As you'd expect, there were a few macho displays. Pointless threats, especially from the Canary. Nathan would have rolled his eyes if he weren't so committed to staying "in character." Jerry didn't find that tiresome. Jerry found it worth taking note of and complying with. So, he gave another little nod, as if it had been directed at him, personally, and then just followed along. Dutifully. Determined.The group continued down the hall until another zombie shambled onto the scene, one that the younger guy - Spencer - made quick work of.And then he made a quip that made Nathan feel the urge to roll his eyes again.Next thing you know, someone's going to be asking them to "say hello to my little friend" or something equally derivative.Nathan didn't know which seemed more threatening; the zombies or testosterone poisoning.He made a show of reacting with wide eyes, but then shook it off and soldiered on.hope dat was kay
^^^
NPC!
Posted: Feb 20 2012, 07:52 AM


GONNA EAT YO' BRAINS
Group Icon

Group: ROGUES
Posts: 48
Member No.: 297
Joined: 17-March 11



You make your way through the dingy corridor with little difficulty, though the further you move into the building the louder the sound of things moving in the depths grows. Rounding the corner you find the remains of what appears to be a security guard slumped against the door leading to the stairwell – he needs to be moved before you can proceed.

Once that’s dealt with, your team heads into the stairwell to find it lit by emergency lights that, miraculously somehow still have power. By this point some of you might be thinking that this is all too easy, and you’d be right. It’s plain sailing getting down the stairs to sublevel one, but then you encounter a problem. As far as you can see, there’s no emergency lighting on the flights of stairs that lead to the lower levels and if that wasn’t bad enough, a pile of bodies block your way.

If you’ve got a strong enough stomach you could probably try to carry on this way, though climbing over piles of bodies in a dark stairway isn’t without its dangers. Or you can move through the door and into sublevel one of the building to find another way down.

DO YOU:

    - - Risk climbing over the bodies?
    - - Check out sublevel one and look for another way down?
NOTE: Please don’t NPC your own zombies, guys, that’s what the game account is for.

PM@
^^^
STAN MAYHEW
Posted: Feb 22 2012, 09:39 AM


27 | 1UP
Group Icon

Group: TARGET PRACTICE
Posts: 207
Member No.: 587
Joined: 18-August 11







I FINALLY REALIZE WHO I AM

I'M THE BAD GUY

Stan could feel his peers judging him as he commented on their situation more. Clay was a cool guy, but the others were starting to grate on his nerves. In Stan’s opinion, Spencer was too overzealous, Therese was too cheeky, and Jerry just seemed fucking weird. What kind of person volunteers to go get guns, when the very thought of zombies makes him shit his pants? Yeah, something was definitely not right about him. Stan decided to not trust any of his compatriots, not even Clay, and instead opted to deal with them later. They would have plenty of time to work things out once they found the guns, but for now they needed to be quiet and stick together. As they reached Stairwell A, a look of concern became plastered on Stan’s face. The emergency lights were on and it seemed completely safe, but Stan knew that was just a pipe dream. Something was up, and their little ragtag group was about to find out soon.

Stan’s gut twisted up as their group reached sub-level one. The stairwell appeared to be littered with bodies the rest of the way, and to make things worse the lights were out. Stan stared at the bodies for a minute before he grabbed one, a small female, and tossed the corpse over the side of the railing. The body plummeted towards the ground and after a few seconds, a loud thud rang out. Stan’s ears perked up and he attempted to listen for any noises that followed after the corpse had fallen. It was too difficult, though, and any noises that followed were mixed in with the loud sounds the group had already been listening to. “Fuck.” Stan declared in a hushed tone, “Hey, Jerry and Spencer, why don’t you two go down the stairs and check things out for us. Maybe you will find someone who gives a fuck about your lives?”

A devious chuckle escaped Stan’s lips as he poked fun at some of his comrades. He had to poke fun at them because that was how he got people to reveal their real personalities. Stan had been excited about taking the stairwell, but now it looked like he would have to deviate from his plan. Instead of venturing into the unknown, Stan opened the door to sub-level one and entered into the corridor. He had to find the guns and he had to do it fast. Nothing was going to hold him back. Sob stories did not work on him. Chit chat did not either. He was focused. “We look like the fucking Beatles and Yoko Ono. Hurry up, guys…and lady.” Stan remarked to his peers. They had not been in the bunker too long, but already Stan was starting to feel annoyed. His group kept rambling on about their lives, and he kept blocking out the information the best he could. He did not want to know their names or their lives. They were expendable, like him.


TAG: GAUNTLET · WORDS: 500 · TEMPLATE BY 1UP


PM@
^^^
therese bouvier
Posted: Feb 22 2012, 05:52 PM


Unregistered









dead skin will atrophy This was a retrieval mission, first and foremost, but she also liked to think of it as a learning experience. Even if they didn't retrieve the guns, there might as well have been a point for the risk, right?First lesson: Stan was a very good test dummy. Emphasis on "dummy."Alright, that might've been harsh, but he acted rashly without taking into consideration the opinion of the rest of their group. He might have considered this to be an apt survival strategy, though it wasn't rooted in much logic. Therese considered the point of the mission to retrieve the ammunition, sure, but she wasn't willing to expend any lives to do that--at least not so early on in their quest, when they hadn't even deduced whether the stories of the mythical underground bunker filled to the brim with firearms were even accurate. The guns and ammo they may scavenge could save hundreds of lives, perhaps, but there may not even be any guns. It was in their best interest to keep everyone on their feet--strength in numbers, and that crap.Therese chose not to acknowledge the more pragmatic aspect of this concept, which suggested that bulk meant that there was a lesser chance of her being plucked out of the group for some walker's lunch. She wasn't ready to accept that the apocalypse had sapped them of the things humans once acknowledged as the roots of their humanity, and she certainly wasn't ready to accept it in herself.So, with a sigh, she stopped short, blocking the three men behind her from following Stan's lead. She turned her back against the doorjamb, as to get a glimpse of their unwitting leader and the remainder of their ragtag troupe. "I know it's with some risk, but I think we should move the bodies. It's just one pile, and the noise would rouse anything alive and bring it to our attention." Glancing over at Stan, she lowered her voice some, as not attract any of those said bodies that may not have yet succumbed to rigor mortis. "Whether we go down this stairway or feel around the hallways, we're going to be more or less in the dark. Those floor strips aren't going to help us see any--and at least in the stairwell nothing can pop out of any doorways that we can't see."These guys weren't talkers. She didn't expect her appeal to be acknowledged by anyone but Clay--the only one who seemed to have a clear head on his shoulders (who, conveniently, also seemed to be infatuated with her, god bless him)--but she stood strong. Metaphorically, anyhow. In reality, she was flexing her fingers over the bat's grip anxiously, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and concentrating solely on keeping her disquiet from manifesting itself any other way. These men were going to do what they wanted, and at that point she could only hope that it was the walkers that ended up killing her. cassie at atf.
^^^
0 User(s) are reading this topic (0 Guests and 0 Anonymous Users)
0 Members:
DealsFor.me - The best sales, coupons, and discounts for you

TOPIC OPTIONSPages: (3) [1] 2 3  LOCKEDNEW TOPICNEW POLL



Hosted for free by zIFBoards* (Terms of Use: Updated 2/10/2010) | Powered by Invision Power Board v1.3 Final © 2003 IPS, Inc.
Page creation time: 0.2006 seconds | Archive