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Post by Ekurian on Sept 27, 2010 23:22:28 GMT
Special Event Magpie
It had been simple enough finding the prison, but actually getting in was another thing entirely. From his viewpoint atop a not too distant rock, Magpie watched the seemingly deserted building. He finished the last of a string of three cigarettes and made his way towards the front doors. The place was dangerous, of that he was certain- he just wasn't sure if it was full of zombies, freaks, old traps or all of the above. And all he'd armed himself with was a knife. A knife as long as his forearm, but he doubted it's usefulnes against a group of enemies. It's now, or never, Magpie told himself and began the short walk to the prison entrance.
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Post by Ekurian on Oct 9, 2010 0:21:51 GMT
Special Event Magpie
As Magpie made his way through the corridors, he was shocked that he came across hardly any problems. There was the odd left-over trap, but nothing he hadn't come across on his previous scav-hunts. The weirdest thing was that the place was completely devoid of any signs of habitation, alive or no. Prisons were great to hole up in, and since Harrison had said he'd come from one, Magpie assumed he had the wrong place. Still, he thought, might as well raid the place for anything useful.
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Post by Ekurian on Oct 15, 2010 18:36:08 GMT
Special Event Magpie
He had been wrong in his assumption that he was in the wrong place. Further in to the prison, Magpie found ever increasing signs of previous habitation. The odd thing was, it seemed that someone had come along and tried their hardest to cover it all up. What had probably once been a place to grow food had been trampled and pulled up, marks on the walls and floor had been smudged over with dirt. Someone didn't want to be found, that was for damn sure. He'd found the bags and camera equipment Harrison had told him about in a closed cell. Either whoever didn't want to be found here hadn't found it, or simply didn't know what to do about it. Reaching down to open a bag, he straightened up, now with a video camera in his hand. Magpie stared blankly at the tiny black screen, trying his hardest to remember how to work the damn thing. He'd been a kid when he'd last watched his brother use one, and all of his pre-bombing childhood memories were a little hazy. He guessed it was the big button. The screen blinked on. Racking his memory once again, Magpie skipped back the recordings to the earliest one. He hit play. A much younger Harrison was on screen for a few seconds, followed by shots of London-that-was. Nothing interesting. He skipped ahead, stopping at a crowed of masked people surging past each other, trying hard to get away from... something. He skipped ahead again. More crowds of terrified people. Dead in the streets. Harrison, and some other guy Magpie assumed was this Brian he'd heard Harrison mention. More dead people. He skipped ahead again. A crowded bomb shelter. He held the button down longer this time, just watching the images fly past. Releasing the button, he found himself watching the last few minutes. Harrison and Brian's last great 'fuck you' message. The recording came to an end, now showing a blue screen and blinking white letters. "Shit..." he sighed, pressing the power button. He blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the great big white spot made by the contrast of the light against the dark cell. Returning the camera to it's bag, he decided to take it back to Haven with him. He didn't think it was worth much practically, but as a source of information it could prove to be invaluable. He slung the strap over his shoulder, still blinking away the light spot, which had begun to fade. Only then did he realise that there was a figure standing in the cell doorway.
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Post by Azerate on Oct 27, 2010 11:42:14 GMT
Brian "Zombrian" Zuckerman
Brian was a very slow zombie. His left ankle was broken so he shuffled slowly and his eyesight was shot, barely capable to tell human and zombie apart. In the dark, he could only sense walls with touch and sense humanoid things around him with smell. He was unsuccessful in solitary hunts and was constantly filled with more bile than he needed, oozing and vomiting until empty. What he lacked in physical attributes he excelled in something the undead were thought to never have the capacity to do- Experience simple emotion, even rationally hunt, up to a point. Sure, his brain was clinically dead, and it did not will the rest of his tattered organs to beat or pulsate in any way, except in perhaps surprise or excitement. How was he supposed to know what was exciting, anyway? His brothers in death shared a hive mind, eat the flesh and attack the threats. Those two things were the only things zombies existed for, but Brian had a different purpose in mind. The first year, Brian spent his zombified life shuffling around the first floor. He only then managed to find the stairwell, and began to stumble up every stair, bashing his skull upon the walls and the stair edges. The second year he found the second set of stairs and continued his arduous journey, hunting small rodents with his spitting brothers and facing somewhat of a disappointment when ten layers of acid completely disintegrated nests of rats. He broke his ankle the third year when he journeyed further upward, obsessed with the bottles, boots and clothing that was left from his life as a human. Brian's third trek upwards took months of aimless groaning and wretching, but it was worth it to shuffle through the doors and feel satisfaction, similar to eating something still wriggling in his decayed teeth. Brian's hunting intuition told him something important was nearby, but for the unlife in him, he could not remember where it was and if it was living or inanimate. He wandered the third floor, a sore thumb standing in the hallway, a stark contrast to his acrobatic stalking brothers, which seemed to stick to the ceiling at times. Finally, he had found the cell, but what he really found was much more than he was expecting. Brian had spent the majority of his death on a quest, and it seemed that he had been beaten to his bounty, which was irritating to say the least. It didn't seem to matter anymore, as Brian was mesmerized by the tiny bright white screen in the hands of the human inside of the cell. The sharp light threw the shadow of the bloodbag tall against the wall but in an instant, the faint sound of his old voice was gone and the screen blacked. It occurred to Brian, as he stood menacingly in the doorway, that his cover was blown. What to do? This human made it through the prison easier than Brian ever did, and certainly knew what he was coming here for. This treasure was virtually unknown to mankind except for two, and one of them took the secret to their grave. So it must be Harrison demanding the treasure. Was Brian defeated? Hell no. The human wasn't moving, as he seemed unsure of what to do, completely cornered. Brian inhaled the air and the stagnancy allowed him to begin identifying the smell of the human. Acrid body odor, sweaty fear and musty cigarette smoke clinging to threadbare, dirty clothing. Anymore reconnaissance and Brian would be slaughtered, so he slowly shuffled down the corridor, away from the cell, as if he had never noticed the human at all. If there was anything Brian remembered, it would be Harrison. Half the clothes smelt of him, half the boots fit his foot, half the empty bottles were casualties of Harrison's alcohol abuse flaring up. Harrison was the only goal, the camera just a decoy. This human was worth more alive than devoured in the cell and Brian would follow him until the ends of the earth to reach the ultimate prize. The first thing to was to get out of the prison, because the human was going to flee the prison the first chance he was afforded. Brian needed to be on the ground floor before the human was. Surprisingly, it was easier to descend the stairs than to climb up them. All it took was a teetering unbalance from his left ankle and he tumbled down flights of concrete stairs, cracking ribs and oozing bile and congealed blood everywhere he made impact. It would take time to recover from each tumble and to locate the next door down, maybe too much time. Brian felt such an anxious knot to reach ground level that he was puking wherever his head happened to be pointed, annoying many of his spitting brothers.
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Post by Ekurian on Nov 24, 2010 20:58:23 GMT
Special Event Magpie
Magpie had stayed rooted to the spot for the few split seconds that the zombie had been in view. He remained stock still even as the undead thing moved away. Wait, moved away? What the hell? The fact that he wasn't now either having his face dissolved or his neck being chewed on was unnerving. That thing had caught him by surprise, it had had plenty of time to attack. But it hadn't. Shaking his head and wondering if there had been something weird put in his cigarettes, it occurred to him that the zombie had not been just and 'it', but a 'he'. And it seemed familiar. But he couldn't figure out why. The light had been too dim for him to see what would have been left of His face, and now He had, for some reason, fled. Confused, and very nervous, Magpie decided to get the hell out of the prison before more weird stuff started happening. Delaying no more, he left the cell and walked briskly through the corridor towards the stairs. Taking no notice of the extra blood and bile now covering the stairs, Magpie descended the stairs as quickly as he could.
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Post by Azerate on Nov 26, 2010 19:30:23 GMT
Brian "Zombrian" Zuckerman
Zombrian tumbled down the second flight of stairs to the ground level and startled his spitting brothers as his foot crashed into a pile of wasted bottles. There was no time to play "who was more acidic," as he still had urgent business to take care of. It was as if Brian could feel the bloodbag moving above and moving down the stairs. No time to waste. Zombrian pushed his brothers out of the way and continued towards the last stairwell, throwing himself down the stairs to reach ground level at last. It seemed to be so long ago that fires had been lit here to keep watch over the front door, cook a can of beans, illuminate the books Harrison stole for his own amusement in the quiet dark of the prison. Now Brian could only reassemble himself and head for the front door, his bum foot dragging behind him more viciously than ever now that his ankle was definitely broken and only still attached by muscles and skin. In a moment he might chew it off or incinerate the fleshy bond with the acid, but his first goal was to push the door open and wait around the corner. So that's what he did- Leaning all of his weight on the door he finally broke the vacuum seal and staggered forth, into the dusty twilight of England's wasteland. He turned left and headed for the corner of the prison, out of sight but definitely within clear view of the door and soon, of where his bounty will be. Once safe, he leaned against the side of the building. Brian looked down to his ankle for a moment, noticing how it flailed uselessly against the rigidness of his shin. His pale green complexion, marred with pocks and gashes of red wounds, was fairly pretty in comparison to the congealed black and red of his foot, which was swollen to such a weird proportion that in all honesty, it was entirely possible that Brian would never walk as well without it. There was no time to take it off, however, as Zombrian needed to watch the door for the white haired smoker and his camera.
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