New Roleplay

[TechnoFencer]

Hi guys, I'm new here and I'd like to start my own roleplay. It takes place in a post-apocolyptic Earth that is more like the middle ages, with the exception of one group of rebels that uses modern technology (Returners.)

This RP is going to be done in proper written form (that means no ::actions:: or anything like that.) Anyone who wants to join will have to post something that tells us about the character they'll be using. For those of us that are writers, this will be a good exercise.

Any takers?

[Swordsman]

Sure, why not? Character to follow shortly.

[Crin Dalmeiier]

Count me in, but give me time to develop a non-Crin.

Thanks

[Rayen]

I would, but I can barely handle hanging in Arconia at the moment. Gimme at least until Christmas is over to let things settle down, then I'll hop in.

[Iwant2bafencer]

I'd like to, but I'm slowly loosing personal time with choir, and our school play starting. I might try to come up with a small Character, and jump in every once in a while.

------------------------
Carpe Diem
Ad Asha

[Swordsman]

Mike, as his friends used to call him, woke suddenly in the predawn haze. Something, or somebody, was outside the bunker door, doing he knew not what. Didn't sound quite like picking the lock, but he still didn't like it.

Slipping silently out of blanket-covered hammock that stretched between two corners of the small concrete room, he snatched his faithful old Glock from the holster on the crate that served as his nightstand.

Standing now, it was a little easier to make out Sorkun's appearance in the dim grey light that penetrated the oilskin he'd hung over the rifle slot above. He was dark-haired, as one would expect from his Slavic ancestry, with skin darkened more from dirt and smoke than heredity. His eyes, for some reason, were a lighter color, some sort of mix between brown and blue. Long wiry limbs on a lean body were clear evidence of a hard life on the edge of things. His wasn't the weightlifter's defined muscle, but the compact strength of survival that went with the callouses on his feet and hands.

Three steps took him to the small reinforced-steel door on the opposite wall, where he crouched, long fingers curled around the gun's grip. He was glad for the pants he'd found a few weeks ago: they were sturdy and loose, yet still comfortable, and didn't get in the way. And at the moment, they were the only thing he was wearing besides the Glock.

The door began to swing quietly, slowly open out into the early morning. He leveled the pistol at the space. It was already cocked; he in fact never un-cocked it. And then he waited to see what would come around the door.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Next!!

[TechnoFencer]

Oh, i forgot to mention something, you can use more than one character.

[Swordsman]

Now come on, am I the only one with any interest in this?

[Iwant2bafencer]

Gina yawned as she made her way through their small 'village' to Mike's. She had been sent to look for any other civilizations that may have sprung up near by. They made periodical searches every few months just to be safe, and make sure there was no chance of being attacked by murauders (sorry that's bad spelling) or any other surprises. She had been gone for five days, and had seen nothing and no one. All except for the strange necklace. She pulled it out of her pocket, and examined it once more in the poor light. It was a silver chain with a small tear dropped stone. The stone was as black as night, and never changed. What it was for (if anything) and where it came from she didn't know, but it didn't bother her. Unclasping the chain she slipped the necklace around her neck. She glanced down at it, then smiled. It matched her raven black hair, and added a nice touch to her plain clothes. Looking up again she realized that she had passed Mike's and groaned to herself. Turning around she saw his house a few yards back, and made her way there. Just as she was reaching the door she tripped over a loose rock. Falling flat on her stomach and smacking her head on the ground she groaned aloud. Coming to her knees she brushes her shirt off, then when she stood she did the same to her pants. Furrowing her brow at herself she realized that her forehead was beeding. She reached up, and gingerly touched a gash just above her left eye. Rolling her eyes, she pushed Mike's door open as quietly as possibly, and slipped through the small crack. Shutting the door she turned, and saw the shadow of a man crouched next tot he door. She gasped, and began to back up, slowly reaching for her guns on her theighs before realizing that it was infact Mike. She sighed, and relaxed, but he raised his glock higher.
"Mike, put that away" she hissed as she moved towards his tiny mirror on his stand next to the bed. "Gone for five days, and my welcome is a glock pointed at my head." she mummbles.

"Well, you should know not to sneek up here when I'm a sleep." he retorted.

"For Pete's sake I didn't want to wake everyone." she rolled her eyes. "You're far to jumpy" she pulled open a few drawers, then turned to Mike "Where'd your put that first aid kit?"

"Why what do you need?" he questioned.
"To wrap myself as a mummy" she said sarcasticly. "I have a cut, and it needs cleaned." She turned back to the mirror, and whipped a little more blood off, then looked over at Mike, and grinned broadly "Hi!" she said cheerfull.

*Blah! I'm gonna need some practice at this*

-------------------------
Carpe Diem
Ad Asha

[Swordsman]

Mikhail allowed himself a bit of a smile in the moonlight through the door. "Find anything this trip?" Gina shook her head and winced. "Don't do that," he scolded good-humoredly, "you've got a freaking gash! C'mere..." He pulled her by the wrist over to his small bed, and sat her on the edge. "Alright, let's take a look here..." Kneeling before her, he picked his shirt up off the floor and dipped it in the bucket of rainwater in the corner, then started dabbing her forehead off.

A year and a half younger than himself, Gina was like a younger sister to him. They'd met a month or so after the virus had gotten out, and naturally grew closer as time went on - it would have been hard not to, being some of the only humans in the area. Now they lived together in the small bunker; modesty was a thing of the past. A blanket had for a few months surved to partition the place into two rooms, but cloth had quickly become scarce enough that it was needed for more pressing uses. When it came down, one had always stepped outside when needed for purposes - but when the first snows of that winter hit, both decided it was probably better to get more comfortable with each other.

Gina had to have been walking for hours, especially considering the time of night she'd arrived at. Even now, she seemed to be dozing off as Mikhail cleaned the cut on her forehead. When he finished he carried her to her cot and set her in it, tucking her half of the old blanket around her - she never stirred.

Returning to his own hammock and lying down, he reflected on just how different the world was anymore. Not four years ago he'd been a standard high school senior in Grand Forks, North Dakota. School, car, job, college applications. Fiancee, even. He was a small-town kind of guy with no ambition to be anything but a simple, small-town kind of guy.

And then the news came on on that fateful April day - a fire had broken out in the CDC headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia. The entire complex was destroyed, along with most of the pathogens stored and studied there. But one, apparently, liked fire and heat. It had exploded out, becoming the most deadly virus anyone had ever known.

Washington reported cases within three days; San Fransisco in five. By the time Moscow was reporting cases two weeks later, Atlanta was completely dead, and Georgia mostly deserted.

The finger-pointing had begun immediately, and only escalated. Arabs decided it was the Wrath of Allah, and huge numbers decided to go on one last, pestilential jihad. Israel struck out at every one of her neighbors with everything but nuclear weapons. North and South Korea never got the virus - they killed each other off faster than the disease could reach the peninsula. China overran Japan with sheer numbers; it was said one could walk straight across to the islands over all the troop transports. America and Canada banded together to fend off the Russians. The various -stans in eastern Europe/Asia all fought each other and anybody else handy; western Europe was basically one big collective explosion. Rumor had it that nuclear weapons were used, but by then there wasn't enough left to be able to tell.

Within three months of the start of hostilities, nothing was left that could really be called a "country". With the anarchy in full control of the world, things just turned to slaughter.

The first thing Mikhail did when the virus hit the northern midwest was to sell his car, and virtually all of his belongings. With that money he bought two Glocks, an M-4 Carbine, and as much ammunition as he could, split between the two. When the rule of law failed to hold any longer in Grand Forks, he simply took as much as he could carry.

The city became a war zone, and it was every man for himself. And every woman... Well, he took it as his personal mission to protect them any way he could - which usually involved the execution of an attacker. In the span of six months he went from having never been into a fight to having more kills to his name than some Navy SEALs. He survived because he stayed at school: The huge limestone building was a natural fortress, and he knew every back hallway and hidden staircase there was to it. He simply waited, hidden and protected, until most of the ruffians killed each other off. Then he came out and killed a few more, establishing some respect for himself. As one of the small number of people inexplicably immune to the virus, the goods of the city - stores, food, personal effects of the deceased - were there for the taking. He stockpiled weapons, ammunition, and supplies in a small bunker to the northwest, out in the middle of nowhere, then moved in. For a while a number of people stayed with him, but one by one they died off of infection, other diseases, hunger, or "personal differences". And now it was just himself and Gina. For a long ways around. For the past three years they'd just been surviving together, foraging, trying some crops. The hunting, at least, had gotten remarkably better with the passing of most humans. And searching. He wanted to find more people, and he wanted to find a missile silo - it would be even more secure, and much larger.

But for the meantime, he wanted to sleep.

[arcon]

Zorr finally returned to his underground home. In his other life before the great fall of society and its infastucture when he bore another name and life hed owned the only underground home in his area. Having no family now he lived a nomadic gypsy type lifestyle that took him many hundreds of miles away at any given time. Hed managed to dig and build more than a dozen of these small underground habitats through out a large area. In each one he had gathered together all kinds of technical equipment he was salvageing for future use or sell. This trip out had been lenghthy and he was weary and ready for rest. He turned the key off of his black Goldwing removed his full face helmet and removed his black full lenght leather jacket . It was time for a bit of brandy and
a cigar. Before the great change hed never smoked but before in his other life there were many things hed never done. The past decade had seemed like a lifetime. And the man he use to be seemed liked part of ancient history. He pulled the dusty door open to his hole in the earth and entered the darkness as sure
footed as a cat on the darkest night.

[Fencing Angel]

A Sniper lay in the tall grass on the side of the hill above the bunker. Looking down through the 20x scope that was mounted on the top of his modified M-4 carbine, he saw someone come up out of the bunker, shouldering the rifle he took a closer look.
A Man walked out of the bunker, and lit up and started smoking in the morning light. Zooming in on his face and comparing it to the drawn picture that he had.
They bore no resemblance.
Contented that this was not the person he was looking for, he started scanning towards the other side of the village.
Simply wishing that he would have brought along his M650 with night-vision, and thermal imaging because it was now getting dark and it would have been more useful.
Grabbing in his front pocket, he took out his GPS and marked his perch. But making a mental note to go up the hill a little more to get a better vantage point tomorrow morning, so if he did have to take a shot he would have more time to get off the hill before anyone got there.

After packing away his carbine, he started the slow movement back to his hutch.

[Crin Dalmeiier]

Chisel Malloy looked exactly as though she had walked out of a Gap ad, which was certainly an admirable feat what with the lifestyle she lead. Her hair and face had recently been scrubbed, despite the fact that most of the water in Goshen was scummy and infested with unpleasantness. The clothing she wore like a uniform was relatively clean, as well. In actuality, nothing she owned was actually Gap clothing; she had scrounged for the toughest, most supple clothing at the ransacked Goodwill clothing store, practically the only building left in her hometown. The fact that these were a flaired pair of jeans and a grey, hooded sweatshirt bearing the word "Arizona" were irrelevant. They were all the Goodwill had to offer, and she did not care that she could pass for a fashion model.

A lot of the virus-survivers had shacked up in Goodwill, banding together in order to survive through the cold winter. Once spring had hit, the band of homeless had already split into two groups in a bitter feud. Chisel had joined the Fury, running wild with the underdogs and memorizing the series of back alleys debris from the bombs set off had caused. For awhile, she had even slept with the leader of the Fury, until the moment of true caliber came for the Fury and she had been left with a dead boyfriend.

The Fury and the Sound were gone by now, most of them by her hand, but Chisel did not care. There was one Fury member left besides Chisel.

If Chisel had anything to say about it, that would not last long.

She crouched now, hand sneaking up beneath the hem of her jeans leg, fingers curling about her knife hilt. Her target was not in sight, but Chisel was not one to take chances. She moved forward through her old, empty turf, feeling very foreign in the dead shelves of old clothing and shoes. Her combat boots--military issue--made no noise on the debris-scattered ground.

"Who's there?" a voice demanded thickly out of the darkness. Crin's eyes narrowed as she bent, sheathing the knife effortlessly. She reached instead to the small of her back, where she kept her pistol, and removed that. Holding it beside her head, she crept forward. "Hello? I hear you! Don't bother trying to hide!"

"Fat chance of that," Chisel muttered soundlessly.

"Chisel Malloy! I know you're there! Show yourself!"

She could see her target ahead, facing away from her and shouting to the suit jacket line. She had left a cat there to make noise, ensuring that Wes Matheson would not see her as she sneaked up. Right now, Chisel could see him silhouetted against a faint campfire, his broad shoulders only seeming wider.

"C'mon, Chis. Stop playing these games. We know you don't to kill me."

Chisel snorted very, very softly and aimed her pistol.

Wes suddenly swung about and looked hard at the patch of darkness she was shrouded in. "Planning to shoot a fellow in the back, are you?"

"You shot Vic in the back, why can't I shoot you in the back?" Chisel's hand did not move, but her green eyes were wide and angry. She knew that Wes could see her--he had always had better nightvision than he had let on. When the Fury was still together, he had always been in charge of being the night lookout. Too bad the enemy had struck from within their midst...

"Because I had to shoot Vic in the back. The bugger wouldn't die." Wes's eyes were trained not on the gun but on Chisel's face. They drifted down her shoulders, to her arms, and finally to her missing finger. "He would have killed you." He reached one gigantic arm out, but Chisel's gun twitched and his arm dropped to his side.

"He wouldn't."

There was no emotion left; Chisel would not cry over a wound that had been scarred over. "You're lying," she said, her voice confident. "You lied to me the night before you killed him, and you're lying to me now."

"Don't shoot me," Wes said quietly, as though just realizing that Chisel was perfectly capable of killing him in cold vengeance. "You don't want to do that."

"Why? Guilt? There's nobody around to hear it. I'm not interrupting some little brat's sleep with nightmares of gunfire." Chisel's smirk was cold and unfeeling. "Because we're the only ones left, or didn't you realize that when we wiped out the Sound and the other Fury? Funny, because now it's only the leader's girlfriend and his one-time best friend left, and the girlfriend's coming back for vengeance."

"We would all be dead if I hadn't killed Vic."

Chisel's eyes narrowed into dangerous green slits. "I don't believe you."

Wes's eyes widened, the only warning she had. A piece of cold steel found its way to Chisel's throat, and a low voice purred, "Well, you really should, my pet."

Chisel stared at Wes, or, more accurately, at the end of his gun as he pointed it at the person holding Chisel hostage. "I knew scum like you never die the first time, Vic."


_---___----____-----

Well, everybody, meet Chisel, Wes, and Vic. That's Anna, Wesley, and Victor, but call them that and reap the consequences.

[Darion McNair]

“There it is.” One of them said as the group of five crept through the thick coniferous forest. “Dilon told me his boys already hit this place earlier and grabbed a few things. The place is like our personal mini-mart, only we take whatever we want.” The others looked at him with crooked smiles, knowing what was ahead. The rag tag bunch of men had weapons of all sorts, two had guns and seemed to be in charge while others simply had close combat weapons.

“You worried about the kid?” asked one of them.

“I know him.” offered another, obviously younger. “Before it started he went to my school. He’s a scrawny wuss. You stick a gun to his head and he’ll go hide under his pillow crying.” They let out a good laugh but kept walking.

The worn house up ahead was their target. It was small, but the five of them didn’t care, they hit everything. Who was going to stop them? The more than half the police force was killed off by the pathogen. The few that were left were quickly overrun by the chaos that ensued soon after. They had started their own gang, it was the only way for survival. Five heads were better than one. From what they’ve heard, this was a high class joint. The now dead father was a high ranking military officer or something and brought in a respectable living.

“Okay, Todd, Mickey and Cade, you guys take the front door. Kill the kid and signal us when it’s over.” The three nodded reluctantly. They’re expressions seemed to say “Who made you the leader anyway.” The three of them crept on toward the front door. One with a pistol, another with an aluminum bat, and another with a meat cleaver.

They reached the front door. Mickey walked up and in one swift motion pulled the door open and ran in. He felt his foot nearly trip over something, looked down and saw a string snap. Looking back up he saw the shotgun on the floor mounted upward.

The thunderous blast caught him right in the chest and set him vaulting backward into his comrades. Blood went everywhere.

“Oh god, Mickey!” Screamed Cade, his dead buddy now collapsed on the floor. Mickey’s blood spattered bat left his lifeless fingers and rolled slowly across the porch. Todd and Cade quickly knelt to examine Mickey. The blank stare and gaping hole in his chest told the story. “This place is booby trapped man, I ain’t going in there!” Todd whined, his pistol at his side.

Suddenly a burst of fire came from through the doorway. His left shoulder was stung with pain and he too hit the ground. But he soon realized he was still alive. The wound above his arm was mixture of red blood and . . .yellow paint?

Cade looked down at Todd with confused horror as he screamed in pain.

“Take your friend and leave.” a new voice ordered. Cade was now face to face with a young man who wasn’t there to seconds ago. A paintball gun leveled right at Cade’s head.

“Wait, wait! Don’t shoot!” cried Cade. “Eli, it’s Cade. You remember me from school right?”

“Yeah, you’re a punk, you think you’re all that and cussed me out when I tried to say ‘hi’ in the hallway.”

“Naw, man. I was just having a bad day that’s all.” Sweat dripped down his face, he tried to swallow but his throat went bone dry.

“My gun’s speed is maxed out, I shoot you, I leave a hole in your head. Take your friend and leave.”

Cade hurried to grab Todd and struggled to get off the porch. There was nothing he could do for Mickey.

Elijah watched as the two left, his gun still leveled. He spotted the other two in the distance looking on. He wanted to fire a warning shot in their direction but restrained himself. Waiting till they were far gone to drop his semi-lethal weapon, he looked down at the dead body. He’d bury him in the back later, he was just glad his trap had worked.

Going back inside, he shut the door behind him. Walking into the den he placed his gun on the end table and went back to resent the trap.

He had been alone for some time. Nearly everyone he was close to had been wasted away by the pathogen. Family and friend all. He could still remember getting that frantic phone call from his girlfriend’s mother. In his panic, 60 in the 45 zone was as slow as he could go. His 95 Chevy S-10 didn’t corner well but he didn’t care. The vision of Danielle’s lifeless body lying on her kitchen floor stuck in his mind like a thorn. About the only thing he had left was his faith.

His truck had since ran out of gas and his only transportation was his feet. He had been staying at his house for the past three of four months. The trap reset, Eli stood back and surveyed his workmanship. A moment passed and he shook his head with disgust. He knew he couldn’t stay here and keep this up. His ammo would’t last forever. The two rifles and shotgun that his father owned could only sustain him so long. Eli only kept his modified paintball gun around because it was easy to use and a lot lighter than the other weapons.

He needed to get out of here. Head to the city and get some food. He wanted to link up with others, he wasn’t exactly the strongest guy in town and would appreciate someone watching his back

He packed what little food was left, a waterbottle, his knife, and his Bible in his former school bookbag. Hiding the rifles in the attic, he grabbed the shotgun. His paintball gun had a shoulder strap thankfully.


Burying the body in the backyard, he said a prayer, grabbed his stuff and left.

[Iwant2bafencer]

Nicely Done Darion, the first part reminded me of Home Alone, and made me smile

I'm a little busy tonight, but I'll see if I can get something in. If not I'll try to write tomorrow.

-------------------------
Carpe Diem
Ad Asha

[Iwant2bafencer]

Gina slept through the rest of the night, and half of the next day. Opening her eyes she quickly closes them again from the harsh mid-day light. She streached her arms up above her head, and tightened up her legs, and everything else in her body. She was more than stiff, and regreted the fact that there were no more massage Therapists. Slowly she let each individual muscle relax, easing the tension in her lower back. Risking the light she opened her eyes once more, then swung her legs over the side of the bed. She squinted over at Mike, and smiled.

"Good Morning" she said rubbing her eyes, then brushing her hands over her forehead, and racking them through her hair. She grimaced as the ring on her left hand scratched the gash she had given herself last night.

"More like good afternoon" he replied. "You've been asleep almost all day."

"Wonderful" she replied grogily. "Did I miss anything?"

"Nope" he replied "Dead as a door nail."

"Good" she grined, then floped back onto her cot.

"Hey aren't you gonna get up?"

"nope. why you need me for something?" she asked with her eyes closed.

"nope" mike replied. "Just curious is all. Kinda boring here. Alone. No one t talk to. but you get yoursleep. I'll find something."

"Ok" she smiled, then began to try and fall back asleep again.
(yup needs some work)

-----------------------------
carpe Diem
Ad Asha

[Swordsman]

Fencing Angel - Check your post against mine.

1. It's pre-dawn; it's not getting dark, it IS dark, getting slowly lighter.

2. Mikhail never came outside; Gina walked inside. Mikhail was also waiting around the corner, and thus never would have been visible even through the doorway.

3. Petroleum production/refining has been shut down for almost four years now. Where's the gas/oil/maintenance for the Hummer?

4. It's up to you, but why would a sniper, concealing himself, drive something so noisy as a Hummer - especially when there won't be any kind of background noise to mask it?

[Fencing Angel]

New form of Bio desel... or propane.

didn't say how far away it was either.. :P

OOps about the her comming inside.. Read that backwards.. i'll work on editing it..

[Crin Dalmeiier]

"I knew scum like you never die the first time, Vic."

Chisel felt as though her entire body had been plunged into the Arctic as Wes's words echoed about the lifeless Goodwill. She gasped, and Vic's arm tightened even further, causing her to choke. Surreality had sprung and had taken her cold world away; Vic was back! She felt his arm around her neck, colder against the frigid heat. She felt his very presence behind her alive. Breathing. Talking. A solid wall of warm, living flesh.

Alive.

With one arm around her neck.

Choking her.

Chisel didn't think; she acted. Immediately, her heel drove into his foot, causing him to wince in pain. Her body slammed backwards into his while she pitched forward, using her momentum to slam him over her shoulder. He landed at Wes's feet, visibly stunned.

The Chisel of three years ago would never have thrown somebody four inches taller than she was.

Wes hauled Vic to his feet and pushed him into the wall. From somewhere, he unearthed a pair of handcuffs, and threw those onto Vic's wrists. "So, Vic, back in town? Hell not enough for you?" he demanded, his voice surprisingly bitter.

Vic's laugh was hollow even as he struggled against the handcuffs. "Had unfinished business. My girl's still here. You know how it goes."

"I see." Wes was rapidly pulling weapon after weapon off of Vic, and tossing most of those to Chisel. He pulled out a wallet and passed that to Chisel as well. "Care to elaborate?"

"Don't see how it's any of your business," Vic replied smoothly. He turned and looked hard at Chisel. "I'm sorry I couldn't have returned sooner."

"Sure you're not." Wes snorted. "Wanna tell Chisel what really happened the night I shot you, or should I?" Chisel was now looking from one to the other in utter confusion; what were they talking about?

"Humor me, please. You remember it better than I do." Vic smiled without mirth, and Chisel took the opportunity to study him for the first time. He hadn't gotten taller, but she had grown an inch just after her eighteenth birthday, so it seemed that she had less of a distance to gaze up into to meet his eyes. They had been brown, but now they were the strangest shade of blue. They almost seemed to glow from within with their own luminescence. The angular cheekbones seemed sharper, and he had definitely broadened. Brown hair lay sheared close to his skull in a military fashion. It was completely opposite from Wes's shaggy-haired look.

Wes's eyes unfocused as he looked at Chisel. "We need to sit down. This way." He pushed Vic, at gunpoint, over to a living area of some sort, with Chisel following behind the pair suspiciously. She checked over her shoulder, her increased night vision searching the shadows for any of Vic's friends.

There was a sunken sort of couch in front of a fire pit, with a hammock strung up nearby. Chisel raised an eyebrow at the hammock, but Wes’s attention was focused on Vic’s face. “Now, wanna tell Chis here who really killed Kyle and Roxy?” Wes demanded in his quietest voice. He cocked the gun directly at Vic’s head. “You made four years of my life miserable. I’m not hesitant at all to shoot.”

“If you kill me,” and Vic looked at the two in a manner that suggested that he knew something they didn’t, “they’ll know.” He sat in the middle of the couch, with Chisel perched restlessly on an armchair nearby and Wes on the arm of the chair.

“Who killed them?” Wes pressed. “I don’t care if they’ll know—your death would bring me no greater pleasure. Tell the audience who the big bad traitor was.”

“I killed Kyle.” Chisel’s eyes narrowed; Vic’s tone had no inflection of guilt or even feeling in it. He met Chisel’s eyes with open emptiness in his own. “Yes, I killed Roxy, too. The Sound were a bunch of incompetent potheads—if you wanted somebody dead, you had to do it yourself.”

Roxy had been Chisel’s closest friend, a strong girl with a temperament as wild as her curly hair.

“Stop making him lie, Wes,” Chisel whispered, so soft that she could barely hear it. “He’s lying, he has to be. It’s the gun—I know it’s the gun. It has to be.”

“I’m not lying.” Vic’s eyes were once again impassive, their strange blue lighting up the room alone. He looked at her and Chisel shivered; she knew what was going on inside his head. She knew what he was doing to her inside his head, and she didn’t like it anymore.

She had been used.

The knowledge struck hard within the battlefield of surprises and shocks that had been thrown at her upon Vic’s arrival to the land of the living. The man she had loved, or supposed that she had loved, had killed her best friend, and her best friend’s lover, as well. He had killed the people he had sworn to protect as the leader of the Fury. They had obviously gotten in his way, and he had killed them in cold blood.

He would have killed her, too. He would have killed Wes, and the rest of the Fury, if Wes hadn’t shot him.

And Chisel had spent three years hunting Wes down in revenge, when it really should have been Vic.

Vic was now looking at the pair with the smile that only the predator could hold. Chisel did not like the gleam in his eye as he stared at them. “They’re coming now.”

“Who? Who’s coming?” Wes demanded, one of his eyebrows arching up.

“They are.” Vic smirked. “Any second now. They’ll attack, and the pair of you will finally be done with. I had hoped to recruit Chis, but now that she knows the truth…” His smirk grew deadly, just as Chisel felt her body grow cold once again. Something was about to happen.

Why didn’t I shoot Wes when I had the chance? was the last thought she had before an explosion rocked the Goodwill and she was sent tumbling into the man she had loathed for the better part of three years.

[Darion McNair]

Eli was entering the city now, or at least what was left of it. The ghost town of rubble and refuse showed no life at all. His pack was getting lighter, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The twenty mile march into town had taken a day and a half. During which time his food had dwindled to only a small bit of bread and a piece of beef jerky he’d been saving for a long while. His water would hold out longer, he hoped.

Heading down the sidewalk, he looked for somewhere he could get some food. Coming to a four way intersection, he looked to his left and spotted a gas station. On the building read “Quick Stop”. Perfect! he thought as he made for the station.

He pumped the shotgun and entered through the shattered glass door with weapon ready. The place had already been ransacked and most all the food was gone. Going down one aisle, he listened quietly for anyone else. He came to the end of the aisle and turned to his left. In the back corner of the room he saw blankets and a dirty pillow. This was someone’s home.

“Well whoever they are, they aren’t here now.” he told himself. Sitting down, he opened his pack, took out what food he had left and started eating. He had yet to find someone, anyone who was friendly. It seemed kindness was a rare commodity in this post apocalyptic wasteland. A verse he had read months ago still echoed in his mind. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.” he whispered the rest in solemn reverence “I will fear no evil for you are with me; your rod and your staff they comfort me. Psalm 23:1-4”. The verse was one that had been very overused but Eli knew that if this was not “the valley of the shadow of death” then nothing was.

He stood up and inspected the shelves that once were stacked with goods and treats of all kinds. There was nothing left, absolutely nothing. He was starting to worry where his next meal would come from, or if he would have a next meal


“What are you doing in here!” yelled a disgruntled looking girl as she stood in the doorway. Eli was caught off guard and didn’t hear her coming. “I live here, get out!” She didn’t look much older than Eli himself. She grabbed a stray metal support from a broken display. “If you don’t get out, I’ll break both your legs and DRAG you out!.”

“I’m sorry, I was just looking for something to eat. I’m not here to hurt you.” He told her. She looked down at his weapons. “Those are for my own protection.” he said before she could ask.

“There’s nothing here to eat anymore, and if there still is it belongs to me.”

“Well at least let me rest a while. I’ve traveled more than fifteen miles since yesterday.” She thought a moment, looking at him with the most critical eyes Eli had ever seen.

“I guess there’s no harm in it.” she said, finally. “But your not staying any longer than you have to.”

Eli relaxed a bit and sat back down again. He took out his beef jerky and took a small bite. “So how long have you been here?” he asked after he swallowed.

“Not long.” she replied. “I claimed this place about two months ago. I almost lost it when this bunch of six losers showed up. They bruised me up pretty bad. I think they probably would have killed me if he didn’t show up. This guy came from down the street. He had a gun and he told them to leave me alone. They jumped him but he killed half of them and fought off the other half. He made sure I was okay, then he left.”

“He? Who?”

“He said his name was...” she struggled to remember “Mikhail I think. Listen, I know it sounds corny but he was kind of a knight in shining armor, only without the armor.”

Eli shrugged. “There seems to be a shortage of kind people lately.” he said.

“Yeah and I almost forgot, I’m not one of them.” she said, a smile shadowed her lips but she was serious. “Now get you stuff and leave.”

Eli nodded. “All right. I said I would leave and I will.” he stood, thanked her for letting him stay and left. He needed to find a source of food somewhere, after his last meal he had none left.