NATION

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NO MAN's LAND: A Survival RP (IC/ENDED)

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Derelldia
Diplomat
 
Posts: 543
Founded: Aug 11, 2013
Democratic Socialists

Postby Derelldia » Wed Dec 23, 2015 2:08 pm

"Well, I can do more then just hunt. Pest extermination, gun maintenance, rifle training, pest extermination or plain and simple guard duty. It it gives me enough resources to stay alive and kicking I am willing to look into it."

Locust stared at the stranger through the black of the goggles.

"I honestly would have nothing to offer you. That wouldn't be my place within the little group that has, for some reason, seemed to let me stay with them for now. I can point you to the right direction." He spoke calmly as he stood beside the man. "Now, what I can do is point you in the right direction if you really wanted to have people to maybe work for. The lass over there," He pointed towards Ivana who had gone over to a group of people Locust didn't know. "That lass there is someone you'd want to talk to get something to do. You seem like the kind of kid who'd be useful to her. If you need me, I'll be outside." Locust walked off from the bar and went out the door, making the bell ring as the door opened and closed.

Outside the bar, the streets were pretty much empty. Either everyone was inside away from the snow storm coming, or they were in the bar. Maybe both. The snow had begun falling down heavier, or at least it seemed heavier. The wind had definitely picked up, being able to blow Locust's hood off his head letting his long greying hair flow. He brushed his hands through his hair as he looked upwards towards the dark sky. The snow falling and spinning around as it gets blown around.

Flicking his hood back up covering his head again, Locust turned and walked down the street. Stepping into an alleyway to just get off the street as to not run into anyone, due to the limited visibility with the storm coming in. He knocked down an empty trash can for something to sit on. He took off his mask, uncoupling it from the connectors he had hooked on his ears, and set it beside him. He had his head tilted up to the sky with his eyes closed, letting the snow land on his face as he sat there.

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New Grestin
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9500
Founded: Dec 21, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby New Grestin » Thu Dec 24, 2015 3:35 pm

Partially Blind People wrote:"This really is a monumental task." He sighed, "And I don't think there's enough drink in that canteen to manage it."

Jen merely sighed. There was some truth to what he said, but she wasn't hearing it. The task ahead was monumental, impossible, perhaps, but she refused to let him stamp on her plans. The man lacked vision. He'd spent his entire life coddled in some schoolhouse and now, when the time had come for someone to try and reclaim the wastes, he refused to believe it. She took a drink from the canteen, savoring the last remnants of Bill's scotch. Then, she tossed it aside and leaned against the table.

"I never said anything about it being easy, or that it's going to be pretty, but it's going to work."

She slapped her hand down on the table, pointing her finger to Salida. The mere thought of destroying Mackenzie delighted her. It brought thoughts and ideas out of her that she never thought she had. Sadistic, torturous thoughts.

"And," she continued. "I'm starting with Salida. I'm going to break that town and find Mackenzie. God's judgement will be the least of his-"

A gunshot rang out over the landscape. Jen's head perked up immediately, like a trained animal. She swept around the table, grabbing her coat from the chair and sliding inside. Scarf wrapped around her neck and assault rifle over her shoulder, she slid the tent door open and looked back to Thomas.

"Keep an eye on him, please? I'm going to go check that out."

He nodded and, with that, she was gone into the white inferno. Thomas shrugged and flopped down into the creaky wooden chair, setting the revolver on the table. The man was oddly nonchalant, simply removing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket. It lit easily and he sat there, enjoying it as though the world had never ended. After a moment of silence, he spoke.

"So, where you from? Texas? Out east?"

The man laughed heartily.

"Cause' most folks around here don't even know the country we're living in, let along somewhere else."

The snow was utterly blinding. It surrounded her like a swarm of bees, limiting her vision to a mere few feet in front of her. The deafening roar, like that of a great beast, was all that could be heard. The rifle clinked against her dull green trenchcoat, now pasted white in the hellish din. Another shot in the distance drew her attention. Her hands instinctively gripped the rifle and, tentatively, she moved forwards into the abyss.

Another shot, far, far too close this time. It screamed over her head, practically singing her auburn hair. Jen ducked to the ground, frantically searching the white for something, anything. A shadow in the white drew her eye and, in an instant, the rifle shuddered. It kicked against her shoulder like a mule; the shadow stumbled for a moment, then collapsed. A quiet breath escaped her lips as she pushed herself from the ground.

Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the white, but when they did, her heart nearly stopped. It was one of the Vultures, from the Patriot clan, if she recalled correctly. The man clutched at his stomach, shrieking in pain. The round had struck true. The man's stomach was nearly blown open, innards and detritus spilled out over the icy earth. In the distance, she saw other forms. A pair of corpses in other uniforms. An Amazon and a Bullet Farmer, respectively. Jen sighed. The man wept as she knelt over him.

"Why?" She spoke, trying her best to overcome the swirling white around them.

He moaned, coughing a small smattering of blood up. Jen sneered and rose, planting the barrel of the rifle against the man's head.

"Why?" she snarled, finger eagerly moving towards the trigger.

"T-Thomp-son"

The man convulsed, eyes bulging as blood poured from his mouth. Jen looked to the assault rifle. She'd used guns countless times before, but none that utterly destroyed like this. She drew the barrel from the man's head and unloaded the magazine. A wry smile drew across her face.

Hollow points, she thought. Bill, you sneaky bastard.

The man's cries drew her back to reality and she quickly leveled the sights on the man's head. His head exploded inwards, splattering blood over the ground. A light splatter hit her face and she wiped it away, only to scream as a hand grabbed her shoulder. She whipped around, only to find another woman standing there. She raised her hands in panic; Jen sighed and lowered the rifle.

The woman was about her height, slender and clad in a heavy camouflage jacket. A large rifle was slung over her back, constructed piecemeal from all manner of scavenged parts. Jen could've sworn the scope was actually just duct-taped together glass. Jet-black hair was tired into a ponytail behind her head, accompanied by a baseball-cap. Jen raised an eyebrow.

"Who, uh, who are you?"

She mirrored Jen, crossing her arms.

"Veronica. Bullet Farmer. And you're the chick that's in charge now."

"You could say that."

The woman peeked past her to the corpse. Her face contorted in disgust.

"What was his problem?"

Jen looked back as well, shaking her head.

"Not sure, but I think I need to have a chat with someone named Thompson."
Last edited by New Grestin on Thu Dec 24, 2015 5:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Maverica
Minister
 
Posts: 2225
Founded: Jun 05, 2012
Ex-Nation

Caught

Postby Maverica » Fri Dec 25, 2015 3:45 pm

Outside Salidia.
Gared Huntzman


The Lurker's mouth widened and snarled at Gared as the beast lunged at him. With no place to run and no more rounds in his pistol Gared braced for impact ready to fight to the death with his fists. Just then, a stream of automatic gunfire pierced through the air and the Lurker was shot dead in it's tracks landing at Gared's feet. Holy shit, We need to get the fuck out of here. Thought Gared.

He looked around the feild, Lurkers and Mutts completely overan the convoy with only pockets a resistance at the carriage. Then he spotted several more streams of gunfire from the woods killing several mutts and Lurkers untill he seen it, several men who seemed to have military uniforms on came out of the woods in the west and formed a small line and fired into the beasts.
"There's our way out Matt." Said Gared as he looked back at Matt who was laying sprawled out across the ground.

Gared looked at his arms and seen them all scratched up, bloody and dirty. Need to hold on a few more minutes. Untill we are safe. Gared loaded the last of his ammunition into his Colt and hefted Matt on his back. The sound of deathening gunfire and the screams of Lurkers and dieing men closed down the valley. Gared, with strapped to his back by an old rope and one hand wielding a Colt pistol jumped up and out of the ditch into a world of death. All around him Lurkers and Mutts attacked people, but no longer with strategy, now that they broke up the convoy Mutts and Lurkers attacked to claim the spoils. Fuck, need to get going. Thought Gared as he started hauling was across the feild towards the line of men on the west side of the clearing. A Mutt ran at him With it's foaming mouth and rufted up hair only to be shot twice by Gared. Several more Mutts started running after him and started to box Gared in as he ran. Shit, still anouther hundred yards to go. Thought Gared as he get fed across the field. All the running, pulling and lifting for the past few days have finally led Gared to the breaking point. As the Mutts closed in he fire his last round at a Mutt in front of him. The beast tumbled over with a yelp never to get up again. Now the man along the brush seen Gared and started concentrating their fire on the Mutts chasing Gared. He heard three yelps but did not turn to see if they died and instead kept running, as soon as he reached the men he collapsed. Holy shit, I made it. How do I survive these things. Thought Gared as he was trapped by his coat by a man and was pulled back into the woods followed by three other men untill they reached a small creek and Gared was thrown to the ground next to a still unconscious Matt. Gared's mind was full of questions but had his head down most of the time as he was dragged away by one of the men.

"Thank you Gentlemen, I would of died if you did not come along and help me." Said Gared as he lifted his head, his eyes widened and tears started to form as he looked face to face to one of the men. A older looking man who seemed so familiar.

"Uncle? Uncle Jefferson? Is that, you?" Said Gared softly to the old man.

Gared could see the old man's eyes widen also.

"Gared? Why thank God that your alive! Where have you been? I thought you were dead!" Said Jefferson

Gared looked around and seen the other men confused about what is going on. By God, It is Uncle Jeff. He is not dead after all.

"Well I had have my fare share of close calls Uncle. Who are your freinds here?" Said Gared.

"Well these two in the leather caps are Henry and Jimmy and the man in the felt hat is Mike Ridcins.
" Said Jeff with a smile.

Gared quickly frowned and his eyes went on fire as soon as he heard Mike Ridcins. I leave the country but still caught by fucking Ridcins.

"Uncle.. Do you know who the hell Mike is and what he did!? He is a no good treasonous son of a bitch." Said Gared quickly with anger.

"Gared! That right there is Major Ridcins, he is a hero. That man organized a orderly retreat and saved hundreds of lives at the Battle of Lock Haven. You have no right to talk to him like that." Said Jeff.

"It's alright Jefferson. Your Gared here is just a little excited. You see I am sorry to tell you this Jeff but me and Gared have some catching up to do. We have a intresting history." Gared clentched his fists as Jeff and the two other men looked confused.

"You see Gared, first of all Susquhanna Confederation still stands. After you let the whole militia retreat this making us lose the battle of Lock Haven and you ran off. Sunbury was burnt to the ground but we soon rose up and defeated the barbarians and installed President Andrew Batric as our leader of the Second Confederation, Andrew knowing your treasonous acts at the battle sent me and a platoon of men to hunt you down and bring you to justice. After two years of hell and only two men left out of forty, I have found you. I Major Mike Ridcins announces Militia Corprol Gared Huntzman under arrest for treason." Said Mike with a smile as he waved for Jimmy to get a hold on Gared.

Gared stood shocked as his supplies and weapons were taken from him and his hands bound together by rope.

"Your a madman Mike! There is no goverment here, no laws no civilization! Do you think you will get me all the way back to Pennsyvannia alive?" Said Gared as he tried to shake Jimmy off him.

"Gared.... there is a large reward for your capture.... dead or alive. Now be a good prisoner and tell me who your freind is?" Said Mike

Gared looked back at Matt who was covered in dirt and grime. That there is Matt, he is a freind of mine. Please take care of him he got a nasty wound on him. Take his weapons of you like, bind me in every rope you have just tend to Matt's wound." Said Gared.

"Fine, we are headed to Salidia anyway." Said Mike as he waved at Henry to pick up Matt and started walking towards Salidia.

A sigh of relief came over Gared. At least Matt won't get killed. Today is just not my lucky day. Thought Gared as he was led along the path by Jimmy.

To his left Jeff came along and looked at him.
" I am sorry Gared, I joined only a day ago after I left Aspen, I agreeded to be their scout and guide. They claimed to have been sent to make contact to other nations. I will talk to Mike to try to get you released."


Gared just nodded and put his head down.
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The Lowlands and Saxony
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 486
Founded: Aug 14, 2015
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby The Lowlands and Saxony » Sun Dec 27, 2015 4:03 am

Derelldia wrote:"Well, I can do more then just hunt."Now, what I can do is point you in the right direction if you really wanted to have people to maybe work for. The lass over there," He pointed towards Ivana who had gone over to a group of people Locust didn't know. "That lass there is someone you'd want to talk to get something to do. You seem like the kind of kid who'd be useful to her. If you need me, I'll be outside."


William nodded. "Thank you kindly."

He looked towards the appointed women and studied her for a bit. She looked differently from the others. Her appearance had something Slavic about but he couldn't quite place it. One thing must be said though: Even though William didn't really like short haired women, you could do a hell of a lot worse in comparison with this lady.

He finished his beer first before he did anything. You can't let a gift go to waste now can you? It sure has been a long time since he has had a beer. It felt like just a handful of people in this world know how to actually brew beer. And then he didn't even speak about the quality of it. He gave the bartender a nod of appreciation for the surprisingly good beer and stood up.

He then calmly approached the lady and waited for a good moment to speak. She seemed a bit occupied at the nearby table.

"Sorry to interrupt miss. Let me introduce myself: My name is William Deynoot and I just arrived here in Salida. I have heard you could use a riflemen for a certain job and I am interested if this is the case and what you would have to offer for a job."
I serve His Royal Highness Frederick-Henderick van Gilze-Rijen, Archduke of The Lowlands and Saxony.

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Partially Blind People
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1211
Founded: Jul 12, 2012
Ex-Nation

Postby Partially Blind People » Sun Dec 27, 2015 6:00 pm

Tommy Paine, in the bandit camp

New Grestin wrote:"I never said anything about it being easy, or that it's going to be pretty, but it's going to work."


Tommy simply sighed- Jen was having none of it. She genuinely believed that she could turn that bunch of murdering savages and their crumbling city into some sort of empire, a jewel in the wastes, on sheer willpower alone. She was delusional, he was sure of it. Whether she was ill or malnourished or something worse, he could not tell, but she was almost certainly dangerous in her current state given her violent methods in the past.

She jabbed her finger at the map, pointing at Salida.

"And, I'm starting with Salida. I'm going to break that town and find Mackenzie. God's judgement will be the least of his-"

A gunshot cut her short. She shot into attention immediately, he hardly flinched- he'd been waiting for death for days now, every gunshot seemed like his last. This one, however, was not his last, leaving Jen to gather her clothes and rifle quickly before heading out to investigate. She gestured to the man as she was leaving.

"Keep an eye on him, please? I'm going to go check that out."

With that, she disappeared into the snow. The man, far more relaxed than Jen, sat down in the chair, leaving his revolver on the table. Tommy watched him as he casually lit a cigarette. Tommy eyed the gun occasionally, wondering whether it would be worth escaping into the night. He came to the same conclusion as he had for hours now- if the bandits didn't finish him off, the storm certainly would. He slumped in his chair, disquieted at his informal prison.

"So, where you from? Texas? Out east?" He laughed before continuing, "Cause' most folks around here don't even know the country we're living in, let along somewhere else."

Tommy smiled, giving a soft and articulate reply.

"I'm from Detroit, Michigan though I don't think it's as rough as it used to be." He laughed slightly, "Well, I suppose it's murder rate might be higher than the old world in the uncivilised areas, but our bits are lovely now. Heck, even Toronto's not as nice as parts of midtown. Whereabouts do you hail from?"
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THE END

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New Grestin
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9500
Founded: Dec 21, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby New Grestin » Thu Dec 31, 2015 7:08 pm

Partially Blind People wrote:"I'm from Detroit, Michigan though I don't think it's as rough as it used to be." He laughed slightly, "Well, I suppose it's murder rate might be higher than the old world in the uncivilised areas, but our bits are lovely now. Heck, even Toronto's not as nice as parts of midtown. Whereabouts do you hail from?"

Thomas chuckled, taking another long draw from the cigarette. The matte green tent fluttered like paper in the wind around them, only barely keeping the outside elements at bay. He couldn't recall if the weather had always been this bad. Ash and fallout had rendered the skies dark long before he'd come to Colorado. The radiation wasn't as bad as it was in Arizona, though. He still had nightmares about Tonopah. Letting the silence fill the room for a moment, he questioned if he should lie or not. Not that there was any reason to, he thought. The man was probably going to be dead anyway. Might as well service him with the truth before he receives the brunt of the Empress' machinations.

"Chicago. Used to be a cop way back when. Bugged out when it all started."

Snubbing out the cigarette on his boot, the man continued, his voice betraying some trepidation.

"Bounced around the country for a while until I settled in here."

Looking out through the entrance flap, Thomas admiring the swirling, dazzling show that was the blizzard. It danced in the darkness like a thousand revelers; delight in the ashes of a dead world.
Jen and her compatriot moved through the camp, slowly gathering up a small squad as the Patriot's section came into view. The rest of the army laid sleeping, most paying no mind to the occasional scuffles and gunfire and Jen's force moved into the camp. Anyone in a Patriot uniform was captured, restrained and moved to a storage tent on the outskirts. They would be dealt with later. As they moved, the crew found the corpses of those the Patriots had killed. They had been indiscriminate in their efforts, even slaughtering the wounded with a kind of efficiency that she hadn't anticipated.

The cold steel of the rifle gave her some solace as the others continued to move up. The Patriot's main tent had come into view, silhouetted in the darkness of the blizzard. Those among her were a mix of the different tribes; Bullet Farmers, Amazons, even a few that the rest referred to as "Diggers". Clad in jumpsuits, matted with dirt, they were a quiet folk. Most wore masks, usually gas masks, and spoke little. She'd been warned about them by the others, though. They had an unpleasant habit of kidnapping other bandits; an activity only tolerated by the late Emperor for their impeccable weapons craftsmanship. Most curiously, they rarely came out during the day, leading most to believe they were merely legends. She tore her mind from the thought and continued forwards, motioning to Veronica. The woman watched her motion to a nearby tree. She nodded, then slinked away into the darkness to prepare.
"This is gonna change someday, ya know? This is like the Dark Ages. Nobody thought things would ever be different, but they got better. It took time, but they did get better."

Thomas sighed once more, watching his icy breath hover in the air for a moment. Then, it was gone.

"Nobody ever notices when things get better, they only notice when they get worse."
The flap to the Patriot's main tent flew open, blasting cold air into the room. Those within jumped to their feet, weapons at the ready. Some wore simple military fatigues, accentuated with coats and scarves and helmets. They wore the dessicated corpse of the former military, whose only remains were now the dirty camouflage clothes these men and women wore. A few among them wore Riot Control equipment, usually helmets and vests. They weighed down on them as they raised their weapons on the interlopers.

They watched as a young woman, their "leader" stepped inside, assault rifle in hand. Alongside her, a pair of Amazons and a Bullet Farmer, carrying crossbows and a makeshift submachine gun, respectively. The Bullet Farmer scanned over the room, slowly passing the barrel of his duct-tape and scrap metal implement past his former compatriots. Those among Jen knew loyalty was the path to further survival. Anything otherwise meant death, either by the elements or by those that decided to take her side.

Jen's grip tightened on the rifle as she spoke, anger dripping from her lips.

"I'd like a word with Mr. Thompson."
Let’s not dwell on our corpse strewn past. Let’s celebrate our corpse strewn future!
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Peace Loving Warlords
Diplomat
 
Posts: 999
Founded: Jul 14, 2015
Ex-Nation

The Coming Storm

Postby Peace Loving Warlords » Fri Jan 01, 2016 11:01 pm

Church of the Golden Dawn//Salida// Colorado

"I'd be inclined to believe you Father, if it weren't for the talk of your townspeople."

Mackenzie stopped walking, eyes locked forward as he listened to the man behind him.

"I hear that the new Empress harbors as much love for you as Bill did - which, obviously, isn't much."

Mackenzie's face turned into a frown that gradually grew into a scowl as Wolfgang approached him, seemingly doing his best to push every one of the preacher's buttons. He reached Mackenzie before continuing.

"She'll be a threat to you, your ideals, and of course, your vision."

Mackenzie's eye twitched, whether from Magnusson's prodding or a reminder of his misjudgment of Ms.Paulson's character that lead to this whole mess.

"Salida already has a strong leader in you; however, words are but one piece of a successful regime. You're going to need an army, Father."

So that's your angle. Mackenzie sighed as he took a moment to calm himself as Wolfgang continued his bargain. The last thing he needed was to be goaded into handing over to much power to some mercenary that he hadn't even known for an hour.

Still, it wasn't like he was in much of a position to turn down more bodies to throw into the grinder of his ambition.

Mackenzie tuned the man back in as he seemed to be closing his pitch, practically growling like some animal hungry for his next meal.

"Grant me your support, and I will help you seize your glory, Mackenzie. All I need are recruits, equipment, and your blessing."

Mackenzie took a moment to think over the man's offer, torn between his need for absolute control and finding a way to correct the increasingly obvious fact that many of those directly commanding his fighters weren't up to snuff. Mackenzie sighed as he came to a decision. A small smile formed on his face as he looked to Wolfgang.

"You ask for a lot for a man who've I've only met today, but I think we can reach a compromise. But first, I want to show you something."




Patriot Command Tent//Outskirts//Salida// Colorado

Father Thompson sighed and rubbed his temple as he listened to the distant sounds of gunfire sounding off through the storm. He took another swig of his whiskey as he finished another silent prayer, hoping against hope that his radio broadcasts had made it through the storm to his fellow believers in Denver and beyond. Around him his flock busied itself preparing for their coupe against their new empress, some trying to broadcast their own messages for those left behind while the rest armed themselves for what was to come.

Thompson smiled at the absurdity of it all as he stroked his long white beard. These bandits he'd embedded himself with who had been some of the cruelest beings he had ever known in his long life, had for what ever reason decided to bend their knees to a former slave who could barely be called anything more than a child. A child who in killing Bill and the bandit's tribes leadership had unwittingly tossed command of the patriots to an unwilling old man.

"Father!"

Thompson was shacked from his musings by one of his subordinates. Thompson looked the man over, he was barely into his twenties and looked as though he were in a panic. Father Thompson rose out of his seat and tossed his red coat over his portly form as he turned to address the boy, Patrick if he remembered his name correctly. Despite the growing sense of dread in his belly, Thompson put a kind smile on his face as he spoke to him.

"What is it my son? Have the others awoken to the devil in our midst?"

The mood in the room seemed to drop as many of the men in the tent paused in the frantic work to listen to Patrick as he took a moment to compose himself.

"No, they are as blind as ever Father and I'm afraid some of our more vengeful have already resorted to trying to purge away the deceived."

Despite himself Thompson swore under his breath, he was hoping that the gunfire had been some skirmish with Salida not some fools attempt at premature regicide. His efforts to try and reveal Paulson's treachery and have her removed as peacefully as possible from power were for nothing now. It was only a matter of time before Bill's campaign turned on itself fully and the camp would erupt into complete chaos. Father Thompson turned away from Patrick to address those in the tent.

"It seems we must prepare ourselves to strike early my children. Let us hope that our compatriots will come to realize the truth of their false god's sins and join us in our holy purge of her filth. Arm yourselves my children, our time of reclamation is at hand. May god grant you his strength."

"And to you."

The tent replied in unison before redoubling their efforts, Father Thompson caught Patrick by the arm before he could join the others in preparation. He spoke quietly to the boy as he looked him sternly in the eyes.

"Patrick, I have a favor to ask of you."




Church of the Golden Dawn//Salida// Colorado

Mackenzie and Magnusson stood in the doorway of one of the church's back rooms. A lone body layed on its bed, several red splotches staining the cloth that covered it.

"This is what's left of Sheriff Jack Norman, he died from his wounds earlier today." Mackenzie looked at the body, a small frown on his face.

"He was wounded trying to stop some panicked refugees from trying to flee with stolen supplies." Mackenzie's frown only grew as he turned to look at Wolfgang.

"Several of my now former followers were with them when they escaped, maiming and killing several more guards at our western gate at the time." Mackenzie shook his head and looked back at Norman's body.

I suppose my point in showing you this is just to prepare you for what you're going to be in store for if you except what I'm going to offer you."

Mackenzie closed the door and looked the giant of a man next to him in the eyes.

"I'd like to give you a trial run overseeing the mercenaries I have working in town here."

Mackenzie started walking back towards the main chamber of the church with Magnusson walking by his side.

"I already have a candidate for sheriff in mind, but Norman always did complain about trying to juggle his attention between the town watch and our mercenaries. That's part of the reason why I'm giving you this opportunity, so do try not to disappoint me.."

Mackenzie smiled as he looked over at Wolfgang one final time as they entered the church's main chamber, ushering him towards the church's doors.

"Hopefully your involvement should make his replacements transition that much easier. We'll discuss you and your friends involvement here more tomorrow. Now if you'll excuse me..." Mackenzie looked back into the church's pews towards Mercer, who appeared to have fallen asleep waiting for the priest.

"I have an appointment to keep"





Patriot Command Tent//Outskirts//Salida// Colorado

Father Thompson wasn't surprised by the Empress's arrival. The two groups stared down the barrels of each others weapons as an uneasy silence filled the tent, the only sound heard being the blowing of the frigged storm outside. The tense air made Thompson grateful that at least Patrick had left to carry out his mission. Unsurprisingly, the Empress was the first to break the silence, her growling demand punctuated by the rifle in her hand.

"I'd like a word with Mr. Thompson."

"That's Father Thompson to you traitor." One of the Patriots growled in reply to their Jenifer's demand. Before things could escalate further however Father Thompson spoke up as he started to walk out from behind his compatriots, his hands hidden under his robes as he began to move forward.

"Please Mr.McGrail, that's no way to talk to company."

Father Thompson met Jenifer's eyes for a moment, starting the most important sermon of his life. His kind voice began to grow colder as he spoke, his eyes going to the bandit's at Jen's side.

"Even if she killed our Emperor in cold blood, and the heads of your gangs." Thompson's glare went to Jennifer's eyes once again as he inched closer and closer to her. Thompson knew that if he was to survive the next few moments he would need to play to his colleague's fears.

"Isn't that right Ms.Paulson? That is your name, isn't it? Or did you change it AFTER THAT HEATHEN IN SALIDA SENT TO TO KILL US LIKE A CANCER FROM WITHIN!" Thompson's chest was pressed against the barrel of her rifle as he began to scream practically in Jen's face, his already rosy red checks growing redder by the moment as he continued his accusations. He looked to Jennifer's lackey's again, his voice calming only slightly as he began to mix just enough of a truth into his lie to convince them.

"I'm sure you remember that hit squad that bastard sent for us? I was there for their interrogation, and how those cowards sung like birds!" Thompson looked back at Jenifer, a jolly smile growing on his face.

"Turns out that we missed one of them! One of them kept babbling about how they were sent out to kill Bill with some crazy brunette named Jenifer Paulson, so isn't it a strange coincidence that just as Bill mysteriously dies that somebody that looks like our missing assassin with the same first name just happens to take the throne? I may be old Ms.Paulson, but I'll be damned if I let some cancer like you ruin everything we've ever worked for!"

Thomson's face grew into a shit eating grin as he played his final bluff.

"So go ahead, shoot." Thompson gestured to the radios behind him, his smile growing ear to ear despite the gun at his chest.

"We have already spread the Lord's truth to the masses from here to Denver and beyond! So go ahead and make me their martyr, and may god have mercy on your retched soul!"




Elsewhere//Outskirts//Salida// Colorado

Patrick trudged his way through the blizzard back towards grand junction. He walked calmly past patrols of the men he may have once called friends, having long since replaced his Patriot garb in the heavy jacket and clothes of an unfortunate bandit he moved about them without fear. As the ring of gunfire that rang out from behind him grew dimmer with every passing moment, Patrick was filled with determination to fulfill his mentor's request. To ensure that their message got out, that whether or not the storm had masked their message over the airwaves that the truth would be revealed. All he needed to do was find a man who the Father had said owed them the favor.

A man who went by the name of Sasquatch.

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New Grestin
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Ex-Nation

The Purge

Postby New Grestin » Sat Jan 02, 2016 1:30 am

Peace Loving Warlords wrote:"We have already spread the Lord's truth to the masses from here to Denver and beyond! So go ahead and make me their martyr, and may god have mercy on your retched soul!"

Jen let the man go through his rant, slowly cracking a smile as he practically threw himself onto her gun. When he was finished, she looked to the soldiers on her side, then slowly back to Thompson. Her finger slowly moved to the trigger, cold steel beneath her hands as her smile grew.

"Your god is dead, Thompson. I'll make sure he stays that way."

Then, she pulled the trigger. The gun kicked against her, blood spurting from the man's chest as he fell to the ground. The soldiers opened fire into the tent, bullets screaming through the enclosed space as Jen ducked to the ground, leveling her sights and firing again. This time, McGrail found his skull burst against the wall, spraying blood and viscera like a macabre painting. The Bullet Farmer moved forward, raking his machine gun over the tent. Bullets merely bounced off his armor as Jen slid forward, knocking one of the radio tables over and bracing herself against it. Diodes and machinery scattered the floor as she rose, firing blindly into the maddening din.

It felt like hours, yet in reality, mere seconds had passed before the entire tent was cleared. The wounded laid about, shrieking in pain as Jen's troopers slowly moved through, executing them with mechanical precision. Some of them had known these men, yet the realization that Jen might find someone to kill them for hesitation kept their fingers on the triggers.

As the massacre carried on, Jen stepped over to Thompson, kneeling down over the man with a leering smile as her gloved hand met his face. She gripped it tightly.

"You don't seem to understand this, so I'll make myself clear. Everyone in that town is going to die. Everyone you know, everyone you love, I'll make sure they're killed. Every single traitor you've influenced is going to die. Everyone they know is going to die."

Her grip grew loosened as she rose, turning to Veronica. Her jacket caked in snow and dirt, baggy cargo pants accented with rounds of sniper rifle ammo; she looked like a small army compared to some of the others. Jen smiled to her, then to Thompson.

"Restrain him and bring him to the storage tent. Move the others to the ditch and line them up."

Veronica nodded, then shoved Thompson over, tying his hands off and moving him out into the storm. Jen watched the pair leave closely, taking a deep breath. Her eyes scanned over the carnage, the blood and viscera. The Father said that she was the cancer. No, they were the cancer, and she would cut it out. Her bluish-green eyes eventually met with a book, on the table. An old leather-bound bible. She picked it up, admiring the craftsmanship for a moment, then let it drop to the ground. She withdrew a box of matches from her coat, lit one, and dropped it on the book.

It burned, slowly, as she stepped back out into the darkness.
After a certain point, the sound of human suffering stops bothering a person. That was what Jen mused upon as the remaining Patriots were being gathered along the ditch. Below laid what remained of the remnants, their bodies preserved in the icy dark. It started slowly, the shooting. Slowly and methodically. One of her soldiers moved up the line, taking but a moment to plant his pistol against a Patriot's head and pull the trigger. As the Patriot dropped, another soldier would make sure their body fell into the ditch. It was precise to a mathematical degree and Jen couldn't help but smile at the efficiency. Death, suffering, it all melted together after so many years. Her father had gripped at his own morality and spent his life for it. Jen refused to do the same.

She watched the purge continue with a certain sense of awe; awe at how quickly the ditch had begun to fill, primarily. That was part of the plan.

At the same time, she watched as a small pile had begun to form near the ditch. The other soldiers, now beginning to take on a new uniform, were piling up any bibles they could find. They wore simple coats and helmets, often accentuated with belts and vests for additional ammo. Many covered their faces with gas masks to avoid the ever increasing stench of rotting corpses and burnt paper. Jen did as well, using her scarf to cover her mouth. She had finally found her enemy in God, however, if there was any silver lining to the Purge. Her years of reading had led her to a conclusion that only now seemed relevant. The world survived by producing a scapegoat, something that could be blamed for people's ills. Now she had manufactured her own in the form of a long dead deity.

Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty corpses filled the ditch before an end was in sight. The pile of books had grown in size, now forming a large pyre of scorching literature, words now turned to dust. Betrayal had filled the hearts of those under her rule, along with terror. These men and women, their friends, had turned on them. Now at least sixty people were dead and little had been accomplished. Hatred flowed amongst them as they turned their gazes towards Salida; the reaper of their friends. Jen had found a vein to tap and her control had begun to take hold.

After some time, she retired to the storage tent. Boxes of ammo and materials laid around, scattered amongst what remained of the dried food. In the back laid Thompson, tied down to an iron chair. She slid her coat off, then her shirt, leaving her with a simple grey tank-top beneath, stained with years of blood and dirt. She slowly walked past the man, grabbed a pair of pliers from a box of tools nearby, and wordlessly grabbed his face and forced his mouth open.

The metal met warm flesh and she pulled, blood spurting as she admired her work. A white tooth, with a bit of nerve left on it, coated in blood. She slinked around the man, forcing his drooping head up with a single gloved hand.

"Now that we have the foreplay out of the way, tell me what exactly you did."

Her hand released him and she tossed the pliers aside, snatching up a hammer from the box. She grabbed the man's hand, slammed it against one of the boxes, and held the hammer over it. The message was clear. Jen's wry smile began to make it's return. She knew what she was doing, yet she couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline. A sick, strange enjoyment out of tormenting this creature, this subhuman that dared to oppose her. It was like tearing the wings from a butterfly, yet magnified tenfold.
Last edited by New Grestin on Sat Jan 02, 2016 1:30 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Partially Blind People
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Ex-Nation

Postby Partially Blind People » Sat Jan 02, 2016 4:16 pm

Tommy Paine

The man took his time in answering, taking a long drag from his cigarette and almost deliberately leaving a silence between the pair. The weather seemed to have gotten worse. The wind howled in the distance, a stalking predator threatening them from afar, whilst the tent came under assault by the storm's icy downpour. The storm was a good one, stronger than most Tommy had seen though it did not compare to some of the harsher ones he'd experienced in Detroit and Toronto. It would throw its worst at them but ultimately it failed to disturb him. He snapped back from his nostalgia as the man spoke.

"Chicago. Used to be a cop way back when. Bugged out when it all started." He paused to snub out his cigarette, "Bounced around the country for a while until I settled in here."

He paused once again. Tommy didn't reply instantly, it felt as though the man had more to say, like a drawn out monologue rather than a conversation.

"This is gonna change someday, ya know? This is like the Dark Ages. Nobody thought things would ever be different, but they got better. It took time, but they did get better. Nobody ever notices when things get better, they only notice when they get worse."

Tommy raised an eyebrow, the man had appeared almost one-dimensional to him before, one of Jen's lackeys, little more, willing to do her dirty work and put a gun to a man's back for some unknown, perhaps unexisting reward. He leant forwards slightly, stroking his hand along his chin before giving his reply,

"Chicago huh? Uncle Henry wound up there at the start." He sat back in his chair again, stretching as he eased his tense, tired muscles, "I suppose it will change, but I can't see it in our lifetime. Ain't many of us that know the old world, you lived it, I was educated on it, but the masses weren't. Heck, I'm not even sure how much Jen knows and she's trying to build something like it. We've forgotten what it was like, what civilisation truly was. How many of those fuckers outside want a return to liberty and democracy, to modern life as it was. They'd much rather rape and pillage and fill their stunted lives with as much stolen pleasure as they can. And we think things are going to get better anytime soon?"

He sighed slightly and shook his head.

"This is the New Dark Ages, and it's going to be this way for a long time. If the likes of the New Colonies, Boston, whoever those fuckers in Seattle are and whatnot are at their fucking limit trying to cling to basic human decency, what chance do the Vultures of Colorado have of switching things around?"
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Vulkanas wrote:And so, after many months of fighting, squabbling, and not doing much else, nothing was accomplished.
THE END

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Beiarusia
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Stormy Night

Postby Beiarusia » Sun Jan 03, 2016 12:36 am

Year 27, Day 104
October 28


Sera Tallow // San Isabel Bed & Breakfast, Colorado

The wind was howling. A pained and hollowed sound tearing against the ruined structure, like that of a banshee bemoaning the bitter arrival of a bleaker, and much darker time, striking a terrible chill that cut deep to a person’s very core. A storm, relentless and unforgiving, blinding the world in magnificent white and whose gale showed no signs of coming end. Winter had come full force.

A day’s travel had been cut short, the runaways driven to seek shelter amidst the onslaught of the sudden and merciless blizzard. Barely had they made it onto the 285 when the roads became near impassable for horse and cart. A bed & breakfast had offered itself as shelter. Broken and rundown, and yet a safe haven, an island in a sea of trouble, but one that was perhaps too close from where they had since come. All things considered, they were lucky to have made it this far, let alone with their lives. Their escape from Salida had run into almost immediate conflict, and while this matter was swiftly dealt with an even worse obstacle soon showed itself: Lurkers. By either skill or chance they all had weathered the attack though at the lost of several potential compatriots, consumed or merely abandoned in the chaos, as well as two of Sister Mary's Zealots. Those remaining had pressed onward to where they were now.

Sister Mary. Her son, Cain, and his friend Sera. The zealots, or at least the two that were left. The husband and wife, Hugh and Lauren, and the body of the eldest daughter. Foley and his wolf cub. The man in the red coat and his bodyguard.

These few were all that had got out.

Sera was sitting in the main lobby of the former establishment, barren now after years of scavenging, her back against a wall and her knees drawn up to her chest. The cart, unable to fit through any of the doors, had been emptied instead, its contents safely stored in a side room alongside the horse, the animal having only just managed to fit inside the building itself. Sister Mary was tending to the poor creature while the others secured the inn, wary of any surprises that may well show themselves when least expected. Sera, still injured and half frozen, had been left alone to wait their return.

Waiting was something that Sera was good at. It was a time where she could allow her mind to wander, to daydream, and to generally come to terms with the day’s happenings. And while these sporadic instances were much welcomed, recently that had become burdensome. The lost of Aspen and her family weighed heavily on the girl. As did the feelings she could not easily explain. The former tore her heart to shreds while the latter gave her a headache.

Sleep, once a savior, was now equally at fault.

Caught alone and with these turbulent feelings, Sera did the only thing she could: she sulked in the corner until the others finished with what needed to be done. Then, maybe then, she could distract herself.
Last edited by Beiarusia on Mon Jan 04, 2016 11:38 am, edited 2 times in total.

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The United Federation of Terrans
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Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby The United Federation of Terrans » Mon Jan 04, 2016 6:16 pm

Joseph Foley; San Isabel Bed & Breakfast, Colorado

"Sam!!!!" Foley wasn't sure why he shouted her name no matter how many times he relived the moment, but he always did. Her name became intermingled with the double taps of his AK and the roars of the infected. Foley wasn't sure why he had decided that day out of all the others to break their rule of staying off the interstates, nothing hinting at the events of that day jumped out at him.

The pair had woken up from their camp within the remains of an abandoned RV; the previous owners Foley had dispatched with his old Ka-Bar and stacked them outside. Foley remembered the slight smile she gave him when he presented her with a rare treat; a package of cinnamon oatmeal that was different then their usual affair of cold canned products and military rations. The sun battled with the crisp air giving a warm day with a cooling breeze that Foley had come to appreciate throughout his constant walking; Sam walked ahead, her MARPAT jacket distinctive and seeming to clash with the tan cargo pants and hiking boots she had gathered from the remains of a sporting goods store. She clambered on top of a sedan and turned to Foley to give a wave urging him forward as she used to do when his leg injury was still new; now it was an inside joke that cast some humor on this world as Foley gave a small smile and picked up the pace slightly. Sam's grin grew wider as hopped down off the wreck and readjusted the tactical pack she wore before making that the Glock holstered in a hip holster was still there. She turned to Foley the smile still present before her features turned into one of alarm and her arm swung up to point at something behind Foley; he turned as the first infected hand found purchase on the guardrail and hoisted itself over the side, quickly followed by more and hands and heads pooping over the obstacle.

What followed was a blur in Foley's mind as everything blended into a cycle of putting two into the chest of an infected person, and shifting target's as he backed up with Sam's hand on his shoulder, reassuring him she was there. The roar that broke the groans of the infected was where it came into focus as the large hulking shape bulldozed through the crowd of infected towards the pair; Foley reacted first pushing Sam down and away as he spun out of the path of the charging creature to the side of the highway. Foley was still reevaluating the situation when he heard a gasp from his right followed by a yelp. Foley turned as he watched a hand reaching over the guardrail pull Sam's small frame over, who eyes were ride as she fell over the side and tumbled the seven foot drop to the ground below.

"SAM!" Foley had cried as he shouldered his rifle and decapitated the infected who had pulled the girl over the side and the next one advancing on her. However Foley could see more advancing through the trees and the sudden roar and pounding of feet from behind as Foley try to escape the massive hand that wrapped around his collar and sent him flying into the hood of a pick-up. Foley felt pain but he fought through it as he found himself lying back down on the hood of the truck with his AK still secured to his chest as the Brute roared again as the infected horde approached rapidly behind the beast and formed a living wall between Foley and Sam as some spilled over the side at the girl. Foley clambered to his feet and switched the AK to auto as he let rip with the remains his magazine that took the BRute along the chest and caused it to stumble back. Foley took his opportunity to run and sprinted away his rifle swinging in his arms as he reloaded smoothly with machine like precision as the groans of the horde echoed behind him as the brute's roars faded into memories.

Foley stopped when he couldn't hear them anymore after he wound up off the highway amidst the trees. He found himself leaning back against the rough bark and the tears prickling his eyes as he thought he heard a scream resound across the forest. Foley closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall back as the weight of his failure fell onto his shoulders and he added Sam to his mental lists of those who he had killed.Just before the stench of bad breath and body odor hit his sense as a warm hand arrived on his shoulder.


Foley awoke with a jolt as he grabbed for his rifle hurriedly to fight off the long dead infected; but found no one but his newly gained companions. Frowning, Foley shook the sweat from his his forehead as he felt a presence missing and realized that it was the warmth of the pup that curled into a ball against his right leg when he slept. The old man stood slowly and stretched, his makeshift camouflage having been abandoned on the side of the road after Lurker blood had splattered the white cloth. Then he hunted for his companion; he found it belly up as Sera absentmindedly scratched it's stomach. Again Foley was strike by the resemblance and shook it out of his head as thoughts of failing Sam's daughter assaulted his head.

"How you holding up?" Foley asked as he tried to sound concerned. However he knew he had run out on her, albeit he thought he had been dying of infection but he still left without anyone knowing until after the fact.
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Peace Loving Warlords
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Ex-Nation

Provocation

Postby Peace Loving Warlords » Tue Jan 05, 2016 5:39 pm

New Grestin wrote:"Now that we have the foreplay out of the way, tell me what exactly you did."


Father Thompson looked up from his chair at Jennifer and despite everything that was happening to he smiled before laughing, which was cut short as it quickly turned into a spasm of labored and bloody coughing. As he sat in his chair spitting up more of his own blood than he'd ever seen, Thompson thought it was funny how under any other circumstances that surviving as long as he had would have been considered a miracle, but looking into the gleeful eyes of his tormentor he could only wonder just what god's plan was in keeping him alive if only for a few more hours.

If Jennifer doesn't kill him first for what he's about to say that is.

"I already told you Child, I spread the truth of your deceit to all who could listen. Or did you forget that when you were to busy killing your betters?" Thompson looked past her and her hammer out towards the storm that still raged outside.

"It is a shame you feel the need to castrate everything that Bill spent his whole life building in the span of just a few hours, such a senseless waste of life." Thompson smiled as he looked Jennifer in the eyes again, his bloody smile staining his once white beard as he prepared to goad her into killing him. Eager to take his secrets to the grave.

"I'm sure your father is so proud of you watching this, or do you think he's nothing but skeleton picked clean by the very men who once called you their slave?"
Last edited by Peace Loving Warlords on Tue Jan 05, 2016 5:41 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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New Grestin
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Ex-Nation

Postby New Grestin » Tue Jan 05, 2016 6:59 pm

Peace Loving Warlords wrote:"I'm sure your father is so proud of you watching this, or do you think he's nothing but skeleton picked clean by the very men who once called you their slave?"


Something snapped. Rage flooded her veins, her heart thudded in her chest. Without a thought, she swung. Fist connected with flesh and a loud crunch filled the room. Blood flowed freely through Thompson's shattered nose. Adrenaline filled her and she swung again, only pausing to speak.

"You don't get to talk about my father."

Another swing and the man, along with the chair, clattered to the floor. Jen stopped, reason trying to calm her rage as she stood over the injured man. Rage finally won, throttling any semblance of reason as she raised her boot, then slammed it down on the man's head. Over and over again, she slammed her foot down, until the wet crunch of broken skull and brain matter filled the room. As the man's gurgled death rattle slowed and the room became quiet, Jen slid to the ground.

She sat there for some time, staring at her work. Gray matter, bone and blood laid splayed across the floor. Her boots and pants were practically coated in the disgusting mess. God, she thought. I'm going to kill Mackenzie. She pushed herself off the ground, snatching up her coat and leaving one of the guards outside to clean up the mess. From the sound of the man's dry heaving, she hadn't picked the best person to do the job.



Partially Blind People wrote:"This is the New Dark Ages, and it's going to be this way for a long time. If the likes of the New Colonies, Boston, whoever those fuckers in Seattle are and whatnot are at their fucking limit trying to cling to basic human decency, what chance do the Vultures of Colorado have of switching things around?"

Thomas shrugged at the man. Even after so many years, there was still some modicum of optimism in his mind, even as the world did it's best to destroy it. He snubbed out the cigarette on his boot, then tried to get comfortable. His tone was calm, almost cool as he set his vest aside and grabbed the gun.

"I don't think Jen wants liberty and freedom. She's no George Washington. Stalin, Pol Pot, maybe, but not like the people the country was founded on. I don't even think she's interested in rebuilding society."

The man slipped his boots off and flopped onto the bedroll, eyes planted on the ceiling as he spoke.

"One warlord for another, I guess."

As if on cue, Jen stepped inside. Covered in snow and blood, she looked like a angry specter, come to haunt the pair. She looked between them for a moment, then sighed and tossed her coat and shirt onto the table. Wordlessly, she slipped her bloodied pants off. Thomas couldn't help but admire her for a moment. Even if she was peppered in blood, she had curves in all the right places. She wasn't a tall woman by any stretch of the imagination, but he guessed she must have been around 5"5. As she turned to slid into the bedroll, he caught a glimpse of a branding, along with a dozen slashes up and down her back. He hoped they were just claw marks.

Just as Thomas began to lay back, a pair of guards stepped inside. Both wore heavy coats, a bandolier of bullets across each one's chest. In their hands were crossbows. The first, a woman wearing a respirator, sat down at the table. The second simply leaned against the wall, lighting a roll up cigarette. The smell of burning tobacco filled the room as the man watched Tommy closely. The woman went about propping her feet up and reading, all the while keeping a hand over her makeshift pistol. It was an aging model, one of the earliest the Bullet Farmers had been able to manufacture. Six barrels in a loop, bolted together and holding a single 9mm round each. The grip, dull plastic covered in duct tape, poked out of her jacket as she thumbed through some rotted tome whose title was long torn away.

"Don't worry about them." Jen's voice filled the room. "They're just security. Try and get some sleep, Tommy."
Let’s not dwell on our corpse strewn past. Let’s celebrate our corpse strewn future!
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Wallenburg
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Democratic Socialists

Three Legs in the Twilight

Postby Wallenburg » Thu Jan 07, 2016 1:10 am

Lauren Garmany || 28 October 2042 || Old Salida: San Isabel Bed & Breakfast

Lauren stared out of the window onto the frozen desert of Colorado. Only a month ago she had been scrambling on foot to find shelter and food, to avoid the murderers and raiders, to arrest her illness and find treatment. Her husband and daughter had rescued her from death. Now her only daughter was dead, stowed away in a crude wooden box. Hugh had given up on bringing her back home. For all they knew, they would be trapped in Colorado for the entire winter. The snowfall certainly threatened such a grim prospect.

Hugh was out with one of the Salidans, digging a hole near the old building. She shivered and stood up, uneasy watching the snow bury her, its white, ghostly fingers wrapping around her throat. The door was over there. She hobbled over to it and shut it behind her as she exited the room.

Walking down the stairs, her footsteps creaked loudly on the ancient floorboards, and the staff she carried to support her bad leg knocked like a small clap of thunder on every step. At least, it felt like that to her. The last month had reeducated her on the value of silence, yet her current disability made clandestine movement impossible. And this building had taken a beating. Perhaps in just a few years, the wood would give way under a stranger's foot. Already, it protested even the lightest weight. She ran her hand over the peeling, faded wallpaper--or what was left of it--and noted the long dead light bulbs. It was nothing new to her, but the power of decay never ceased to intrigue her.

She stepped into the lobby. There was Sera. Lauren's leg bit at her, urging her to return to stay still, but Lauren walked forward. The old marine--Foley, if she remembered him correctly--had already joined Sera, so Lauren sat down next to them and set her stick on a nearby table. She winced as her muscles tightened in her wounded leg, but she buried the worst of the pain and managed a decent, "Hello, Sera. Hello, Foley. May I join you?"
Last edited by Wallenburg on Thu Jan 07, 2016 1:12 am, edited 1 time in total.
While she had no regrets about throwing the lever to douse her husband's mistress in molten gold, Blanche did feel a pang of conscience for the innocent bystanders whose proximity had caused them to suffer gilt by association.

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Beiarusia
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Broken

Postby Beiarusia » Thu Jan 07, 2016 1:31 am

Year 27, Day 104
October 28


Sera Tallow // San Isabel Bed & Breakfast, Colorado

The wolf cub squirmed as footsteps approached where Sera sit. The girl didn’t look up to greet the old man, and his words barely registered with her at all. After a long moment she offered a small shrug as if this was enough to satisfy him. If was a simple question but there was no simple answer. Tired? Upset? Hollow? Sera felt like all three and then so much more. She wanted to lay down and to not get up, for a little while at least. Even more so she wanted to forget what had happened over the last few days. She wanted things to go back to how they were.

Her hand continued to scratch absentmindedly at the little animal until he, too, grew tired and wandered off to his master, sniffing around Foley’s boots and yipping softly. The girl scratched at the scuffed wood for a moment more before drawing her hand into her lap, staring out at nothing, rocking ever slightly, a movement that was only just noticeable and only to those who watched intently.

More footsteps and soon Lauren was there as well, her injured leg troubling her all the while. The woman struggled but soon joined them on the floor.

Wallenburg wrote:"Hello, Sera. Hello, Foley. May I join you?"


Sera didn’t look up. Her voice was tired. “Hello.”

That was all she said. What was there to say. Someone else she had known was dead, being buried even now as the three sat in the fleeting warmth of the building. Had Sera been close to Rebecca Garmany? Not really, but each loss felt like another nail driven into her heart. Rebecca had been alive the last Sera had saw, and just like so many others the woman was now gone.

For so much of the girl’s life the concept of death had been a foreign affair, but now it was an accepted part of who she was. And there was no gaining that innocence back.
Last edited by Beiarusia on Thu Jan 07, 2016 1:32 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Jersey Republic
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Ex-Nation

Postby Jersey Republic » Sun Jan 10, 2016 4:22 pm

colorado freeway
Kyle headed towards the freeway and hiked with his dog, today was when he would join a faction. His suppressed pistol prepared for the enemies
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Sarejo
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Founded: Sep 01, 2014
Father Knows Best State

Postby Sarejo » Mon Jan 11, 2016 1:01 am

Westley returned to where he and Lucia made their lodging. Already the wind had begun to blow intensely and the snow fell heavily. The door slammed shut behind him as he entered the hotel, and many residents huddled inside the inn's restaurant just for warmth by the fire. He made a b-line for the staircase and entered into the room. He felt the chill and as entered, and found Lucia under a multitude of blankets of varying styles and colors.

"Hey Babe!" came the muffled voice of his wife, which caused him to grin as she looked very silly in her situation.

"Hello beautiful," he replied, "I see you took it upon yourself to raid the hotel for blankets." He said chuckling.

"Naturally," she said, "it was absolutely freezing in here!"

"Then why not go downstairs and warm up?" He said.

"Fat chance on that," she said without disguising her disgust, "you've seen the way some of the men look at me. No way I'm going amongst them alone."

"True, but now you're not alone. So come along now before you suffocate under your mountain of fabric, my love. Terrible way to spend a honeymoon you know." He said, winking. She dug her way out of the blankets and accompanied her husband to the restaurant for warmth from the fire and a hot meal.
Cheers mates.

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Partially Blind People
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Postby Partially Blind People » Mon Jan 11, 2016 2:31 pm

Tommy Paine, in the bandit camp

The man snubbed out his cigarette before moving to get more comfortable, taking his time to slip off his boots, but still retaining his calm tone that gave Tommy the impression of wisdom. He seemed so out of place in the bandit camp. He had obviously had to fight and was willing to do what he needed to do to survive, but he was a man of a different time, an era that valued liberty and sanity and his voice reflected it. What he was doing with Jen was a mystery that bewildered Tommy more than most.

"I don't think Jen wants liberty and freedom. She's no George Washington. Stalin, Pol Pot, maybe, but not like the people the country was founded on. I don't even think she's interested in rebuilding society. One warlord for another, I guess."

Tommy went to reply but was interrupted by the arrival of the dictator herself. She was covered in gore, like some sort of horror movie villain, and she strolled in with the rage of the storm that continued to howl behind her. He sat expressionless as she undressed. She still seemed small to him, though that was likely because he was at least a foot taller, but he couldn't help feeling a sense of vulnerability coming from her. She slid into a bedroll, blood still flecked across her.

A pair of guards entered the tent, leaving Tommy tense as he turned to face them. They did not, to his surprise, murder him, instead they sat and relaxed, almost casually for a pair that had come in armed, armoured and unannounced. He eyed them suspiciously, his hand instinctively sliding towards his now missing sabre. He snapped round as Jen spoke, on guard for any threat.

"Don't worry about them.They're just security. Try and get some sleep, Tommy."

He smiled almost sarcastically, he didn't trust her, he didn't trust the man, and he definitely didn't trust the security.

"I think I'll pass," he replied, "I'm sure your friends here can provide entertainment for the night."
Generation 34 (The first time you see this, copy it into your signiture on any forum and add 1 to the generation. Social experiment.)
Loyal World of the Imperium of Man
The unfortunate truth of politics:
Vulkanas wrote:And so, after many months of fighting, squabbling, and not doing much else, nothing was accomplished.
THE END

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Wallenburg
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Democratic Socialists

An Icy Farewell

Postby Wallenburg » Mon Jan 11, 2016 6:19 pm

Hugh Garmany || 28 October 2042 || Old Salida: San Isabel Bed & Breakfast

The frigid metal beak of the snow shovel scraped against the soil, plunging into the freezing earth and pulling up chunks of brown and white. Hugh grunted and grimaced with every lift of the shovel. The ground was unforgiving upon his aging frame, and even his several bundles of mismatched clothes did not protect him from the fierce bite of the winter wind.

Digging the hole had been laborious, even with the help of one of the sister's zealots. Hugh's bones protested, wailing against the cruel abuse of the work and weather. But he knew things would only become more difficult if he waited. With every night would come more snow, less sun, less warmth, and less food. He would weaken and the ground would lock with ice and frost. The shovel was cumbersome and difficult now, but at least it worked. He could not expect that to remain the case in the next week.

But worst of all, time would demand even more from his daughter. Now she was beautiful, peaceful, solemnly preserved in her box. But even in this damned desert, the worms and parasites would get to her. They would glut themselves with her flesh. It sickened him. He knew that any funeral, any grave, even the knowledge that she would not become a meal for some devilish creature, that these were all great gifts, and that his past hopes to return her to Louisiana had been foolish. To worry about a few worms was ridiculous. But something about the dead, about loved ones lost in the old world...something stuck with him. He couldn't bear to see her corrupted by the forces of nature. He wouldn't allow it.

"That's good enough, Mr. Garmany," said the zealot, tossing his own shovel to the side. Hugh nodded and dumped one last heap of earth onto the pile next to the hole.

"I think I'll get my wife now," said Hugh, exhausted.

The zealot grunted--perhaps in approval--but said nothing. Hugh stared at him for a moment, then opened the rear door to the building, making his way to the lobby. There he saw Lauren on the floor with Sera and Foley.

"Honey, you're up!" exclaimed Hugh, his eyes snapping between her eyes and her injured leg.

"Yes. Are you done, Hugh?"

"Yes, Lauren. Excuse me, Sera, Foley. We have something important to do."
While she had no regrets about throwing the lever to douse her husband's mistress in molten gold, Blanche did feel a pang of conscience for the innocent bystanders whose proximity had caused them to suffer gilt by association.

King of Snark, Real Piece of Work, Metabolizer of Oxygen, Old Man from The East Pacific, by the Malevolence of Her Infinite Terribleness Catherine Gratwick the Sole and True Claimant to the Bears Armed Vacancy, Protector of the Realm

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Mizrad
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"Battered Not Broken"

Postby Mizrad » Mon Jan 11, 2016 9:29 pm

(A joint post by Mizrad and Maverica)
Gunnison, Colorado
Year 27, Day 104
Matt and Gared


“Come on now! Move it before I kick you again.”

Henry shouts as he kicks Gared to the ground. He falls with a loud thump and a groan to the ground. They had been walking continuously since he was captured and Henry was not the type of man that one would wish to be their captor.

"Get back up or I will kick you again.”

The man yells once more. Gared slowly gets back to his feet and starts walking again. His hands and wrists glow red with marks from the rope and his feet ache badly. I would love to get my bloody stinking hands on your little worthless throat thought Gared to himself. In front of him are Jimmy and Uncle Jeff carrying Matt on a small homemade stretcher made of what seems to be an old tarp. Matt's head sways to the left with eyes closed showing that he was still knocked out.

“Henry! Be less rough to the prisoner, he needs his strength to get back to Susquhanna.”

Hollers Mike from the front of the line of men waving his M4 in his hand.

“Yes sir!”

Yells back Henry as he continues to walk behind Gared at gunpoint.

“So Jefferson, you say you’re a gunsmith right?”

Jimmy asks.

“Yes I was back when the Confederation was just starting and when I came to Aspen. Then those marauding bandits came and razed the place.”

Says Jefferson.

“Alright I see, what do you think of your treasonous nephew’s friend here?”

Jimmy questions, motioning to Matt who is laying belly up on the stretcher. Jefferson pauses and lets out a sigh.

“I could not tell you Jimmy, he seems like a fine fellow but his wounds are pretty bad. But from what Gared told me about the wounds they are much better now. As for my nephew, I can’t see him doing such a thing that Mike claims he did. Gared has always had a thing for going in fights smartly and winning them but him or the militia causing a city to get destroyed seems unlikely. However I was not at the battle, what was the battle like anyhow?”

Asks Jefferson not noticing Matt’s eyes opening slowly.

“Well Jeff, you know how the barbarians of the north invaded Susquehanna Confederation. Settlements in the north were being decimated and called for help from southern settlements. An army of about a hundred militia, twenty five Guardsman and about a few lancers left Sunbury and marched north. We arrived in the small walled settlement of Jersey Shore and split our army in two with sixty militia and fifteen Guardsman to march to Lock Haven and the rest to march to Scranton. We soon arrived in Lock Haven and our scouts reported a small barbarian force on the heights camped. So General Andrew order the militia to attack while the guardsmen held back in reserve. Here is where it gets confusing, the militia attacked and pushed back to barbarians but then a large force of barbarians came in and counter attacked. This surprised the militia and being in the open were cut down in the dozens. In an attempt to help them the guardsmen attacked the flank but then the bloody militia routed and ran letting the barbarians surround us and kill most of us. I was one of the few survivors, we lost half of our army that day and with that let Sunbury open to attack and was sacked. It was Gared’s falt that we lost. He was the most senior officer left and ordered a retreat that turned into a rout. Luckily Mike over there collected some of the militia and broke a hole into the line letting some of the guardsmen escape.”

Explains Jimmy.

“Woah….. so that’s what happened.”

Says Jeff silently.

“That’s a lie Uncle! I was the one that led the counter attack that saved the guardsmen! Mike was one of the first men to run awa—uhhggg!”

Yells Gared until he is whacked hard in the stomach by the stock of Mike's M4.

“Gared! I thought I was treating you nicely but you seem to not appreciate my kindness! One more problem from you I will have your friend over there dumped in a ditch for the wolves!”

Shouts Mike pointing to Matt who is finally waking up despite nobody noticing.

"I understand sir.”

Says Gared as he looks pleadingly to Uncle Jeff. Matt, after being stuck in the lifeless state that was a coma for a few days, finally opens his eyes and takes a conscious look upon his situation. The first thing he spots is Gared being kicked by a man wielding a military grade assault rifle. Matt slowly regains enough strength to lets his hand slowly drift down to his holster. To his disbelief he finds it empty. Instead he decides to use his words.

"Wh-"

He stops to cough before continuing in a shallow voice.

"Who the hell are you people?"

His voice now begins to get a bit more anger in it's tone yet remains weak.

"And where is my stuff?"

The weak but determined voice startles the men as they all turn around and see that the man finally woke up. Gared looks up at Matt showing his beaten up face and lets out a soft, quiet plea for help to Matt until he slops back to the ground. Mike gazes at Matt and cracks a wide evil looking grin.

"Well well well, look who has a bigger mouth than his head. I would show some respect unless you want to end up like your traitorous friend."

Jefferson watches Matt and then turns to Gared to start tending to his injury. Mike returns to Gared and, seeing this, unleashes a loud devious laugh.

"Leave him be old man! He don't deserve it!"

Says Mike

Matt takes a moment to come up with something. Getting loud and angry or yelling in fear would only hurt his lungs even more. His usual go to of acting witty also wouldn't work as trying to laugh would send pain through his body and sound terrible. He instead turns his gaze to the laughing man.

"I didn't ask you to look at my mouth. I said who are you?"

"Well, I guess you win this round. I am Mike Ridkins, an officer of the Susquehanna confederation. I am sure your friend told you about me and his crimes."

Mike walks closer to Matt who is still being carried on the stretcher. As the group starts moving along again Mike paces alongside Matt's stretcher and his head drops down to get a sight of him.

"Did Gared ever say anything about his crimes?"

After hearing what the officer had to say Harley becomes puzzled. Obviously somebody wanted Gared but from what he had seen Gared had done no wrongs. Even if he was once a criminal he had obviously changed. However comitting an outlawed act would help to explain why he had come across the entire country. Matt is quick to realize Gared left something out. Why else would a team of kitted out soldiers come this far for him?

"No he didn't. All he said was that he was here for his uncle."

Matt "Harley" stops to catch his breath. He is coming to the realization that he may have punctured a lung or at least damaged one. An advantageous stance is taken on this though as he uses is to give him more time to think what to say. Even if Gared is a bad man Matt owes him and tells the truth; that he knows nothing.

"So to recap I have no idea what you're talking about or why you hate him so much. All he has done for me is good."

Gared looks over at Mike and Matt trying to hear what they are saying. What the hell is Mike saying to Matt now. That bastard is just trying get him to betray me thinks Gared. Mike turns and spots Gared looking over at them and responds with a threatening look to Gared which makes him quickly hang his head. Mike then goes back over to Matt and sighs.

"So he never told you that he betrayed his country by ordering a retreat of the militia that destroyed the entire army. He is wanted for suspected treason, cowardence and murder by the military. His actions cost my nation's capital."

Matt looks up to the officer walking by the stretcher. He wonders what he had been before the outbreak. An owner of a big farm? A teacher? Maybe a town official? This Mike Ridkins speaks with authority and intelligence yet not in the same tone a soldier, cop, doctor or somebody who was used to staring down death.

"Officer Ridkins is it? Dear Lord I haven't addressed somebody with that title in a long time. It almost feels weird."

He pauses.

"What did you do before the plague? The wars that followed? What did you do to survive those first dark years?"

Matt asks. He has the intention of turning the non-pertinent question back into the subject but first wished to know who this officer truly is.

Mike looks at Matt with suspicion and glances down.

"Well I originated from Springfield Massachusetts if you must know. I was a soldier before all this shit happened."

Matt stops himself from laughing out loud to save him pain from both his ribs and whatever Mike would do.

"You were a soldier? From Massachusetts? I was a Marine before all this and was for a long time after. I was from Massachusetts too. How did you end up in Susquehanna? Where were you when the Battle for Chicago happened or when the Remnants took power?"

Mike's face suddenly changes and expresses worriedness. Gared, seeing this, creeps a little closer to hear better.

"Yes, I was an Army Ranger. Battle of Chicago, I was there and shit happened. When the Remnants came to power I joined their version of the Army Rangers until their downfall and traveled to Susquehanna hearing they established a safe area to settle."

Said Mike as Gared kept a close ear to what he was saying.

Catching the change of expression on Mike's face, Matt digs deeper. He knows that few men talked about their time in the Remnants and even fewer tried to imprison their comrades for making a tactical decision with little experience.

"I heard the Army's SF guys did some real messed up shit in Chicago. They killed a whole lot of civilians. The Remnants? Well they were a whole lot more brutal. I don't remember many of the men I served with ever being open about working for them after they collapsed. What did you do in Chicago and where did you serve in the Remnants?"

Matt was just about ready to wrap up his argument. While Mike might not be lying, he was sure as hell an even bigger coward than Gared. For him to have lived through all he said he did than he would have had to retreat and get people killed far more times than Gared did. Only thing left to do now is tie it all together and call him out Matt thinks. By now Mike's expression is deeply worried and Jefferson, Gared, Jimmy and Henry are listening to the talk. The walls of Salida come into sight leaving only a few more minutes to go.

"Uhh... no that is just propaganda from the rebels. The Navy was the ones that did shit like that. Chicago I served with a company of Rangers to secure the docks for evacuation of civilians."

Mike explains with concern. Matt stares straight into Mike's eyes as if he can see right into his soul. This man is attempting to deceive him and he does not take kindly to it.

"The Navy had little to do with Chicago. The place is built next to Lake Michigan not the ocean. The Coast Guard were the ones ferrying people out. You weren't there, were you? I was. I saw the kind of things that people did. I watched husbands slaughter their wives after being infected. I saw looters kill kids for food. I had to shoot a man that was bitten right in front of his family. The pistol that you took from me? That was my officers. He gave it to me so I could end his life before the plague took it from him."

He stops once again. This time not from the pain but from the emotion running through him.

"The Rangers weren't even in Chicago either, the only tier one unit from the Army was the Green Berets."

Seeing that he was caught in the attempt to cover up his past Mike's eyes turn red with anger and frustration. He was never in Chicago in his life, he used it only to cover up a greater shame. The men around him could see this but they keep quiet.

"Matt, I had about enough of you. I knew you were from Boston since I met you. That accent, and your hat gave it away. Boston may be friendly to Susquehanna but I say otherwise. You are all a bunch of thieving pirates who exploited other groups for years. You have no respect or anything. If the Remnants.... ughh... Matt I would like to let you know you are officially under captivity of Colonel Mike Ridkins of the Susquehanna Confederation."

Mike makes a motion at Jimmy who quickly took Matts hands and binded them together in rope. Gared and Jefferson stare in shock and fear.

"Consider being able to still be carried by the stretcher a token of good fortune."

Said Mike who turns away from Matt and takes the lead of the line of men. Matt's eyes drift up to the sky from Mike as he assumes the front of the line and Matt picks up speaking where the officer leaves off.

"The people of the Massachusetts Bay Colony are no thieves. We have fought hard to hold our ground and continue to help outsiders. There's a reason nobody looks down on us. You say you are from Springfield, and if what you say is true then you are from the Bay Colony too. So then you are either just like me or a coward who ran away to Susquehanna. Considering that you lied about being a soldier you're probably lying about that too."

Matt looks to the man lacing rope around his hands and starts talking to him.

"If he's from Massachusetts than that must mean he came running from the trouble up north straight into your settlement right? This outsider lied to you and now he's led you across what is left of the country to arrest a boy less than half his age and a wounded old man. From what I can tell all he cares about is himself. If we get attacked on the path back he'll leave you to die. Do you even know where we're going right now? I've been on this side of the world for months if not years and you've just showed up. Who are you going to trust to get you back to your family? Me or him?"

Jimmy hearing those words looks at Matt and back to Mike who is leading the column.

"Look, uhh Matt. I was drafted into this I was told we were to set up a radio station to communicate with west coast nations. Mike is a very rich and powerful man back home who controls large amounts of supplies in his little wooden fortress. He dragged a forty man team here we are all whats left. Rumors say that he participated in really fucked up shit in Boston during the rebellion and came south to Susquehanna when we were just getting started. Most of us try to stay out of his way"

As Jimmy finishes the woods at last stop their sprawl across the land and leave only a small area to cover until reaching Salida's gate. Gared eyes Matt who had stopped talking to Jimmy and he turns to Jeff.

"Matt is a good man, I just hope he don't get himself killed."

"Well Gared, once in Salidia we will be safe. They will have to turn in their weapons so you will have more freedom here." Replied Jeff.

Jeff replies.

"There's five of us and one of him. Kill him right now. Nobody will know it was you and you'll go home as heroes. If anybody in Salida asks we'll say he was working for the Vultures. Kill him. Do it. There's only one scenario in which you get out of this alive and that's if you end this right here."

Matt says quietly yet very seriously, eyeing each man in the group in an ominous way. Jimmy looks forward at Mike.

"Matt, I will make you a deal. Me and Jefferson don't like Mike but Henry believes in Mikes ways, When we get to Salidia we are staying at a tavern. At night we will kill Mike and Henry release you and Gared and go from there. Sounds like a deal?"

Matt sighs.

"That deal won't work. The second the guards in Salida see two men you walked in with dead, they'll come for your head. It's now or never."

Jimmy nods reluctantly and moves away over to where Jefferson and Gared are walking.

"We have one chance, Jeff I know you know little of Mike but he is ruthless and crazy. He is no hero either. Its just two men in our way home, to peace and saftey."

Gared's eyes light up and quickly nods in agreement while his uncle Jefferson acts reluctant.

"This is cold blooded murder, yes I want Matt and Gared free but this is not the way. If you must though I won't stop you."

Says Jefferson as Gared nods to Matt in support of the idea. Gared watches as Jimmy walks up to Mike and unsheathes a small pocket knife out of his coat pocket. The blade glistens in the light and is then splattered in blood. Jimmy stabs Mike repeatedly and pushed him to the ground. Henry, who is next to Gared is shocked and quickly reaches for his knife. With his hands tied Gared lifts his fists over his head and slams them into Henry hard in his head sending him to the snow. Jimmy jumps from Mike to Henry and cuts open his neck.

"Well that was quick. Now untie us so we can get us some dinner."

Says Gared to Jimmy and Jeff who quickly unties both Gared and Matt.

Matt, being carried by Jeff and Henry, falls to the ground after the scuffle kills Henry and Mike. He wiggles around in pain on the snow. Matt slowly clambors up to his knees and crawls to Mike. Grabbing the man's head he turns it so his eyes lock with those of the dead.

"Homo Homini Lupus you evil son of a bitch."

He mutters while searching him for anything valuable. Matt quickly comes up with his weapons and any other item that had been taken off of him. However all but a handful of .45 rounds remained. His search also discovers a magazine half full of 5.56 ammo and Mike's M4.

"Gentlemen I won't be of much use with any of this. All I want back is my stuff. Anything of their's is all yours. So with that being said."

He goes into a coughing fit before finishing off his sentence.

"Let's get to Salida."

"You alright Matt? I may have tea leaves in my bag if i can find it will help with the cough."

Gared exclaims as he rumages through Mike's stuff pulling off a Tomohawk, some coins and the militia felt hat with the Keystone badge on.

He puts the felt hat on and the coins and tomohawk in his belt.

"Here is your stuff."

Gared states as he handed over Matt's stuff and picked up his own bag. Gared, seeing Henry's Springfeild 1903 rifle with a bayonet on lay in the snow, picks it up and places it across his back.

"Alright! Lets go, the gate is only through those trees."

He yells as the group starts walking with Matt hanging on Jefferson for support.

"I would appreciate that along with my things being returned. Take their bags, their clothes, their boots, everything. We'll need it. Place it on the stretcher with me and we can go into Salida by night. I'm sure we can barter for useful items with them. Once I am healed up we can make headway in figuring out what to do next."

Matt proclaims. With that the now four man strong group gathers everything together and Matt returns to the stretcher in an arduous process. The small gang trudges through the snow and they rapidly arrive at Salida. On their way there however the sights and smells reminiscient of war arise.

"The Vultures must have just attacked. Looks like they didn't make it though, the walls are holding strong and the Zealots are standing their ground. Thank God for that."

Exclaims Matt. They soon come within range of the guards and Matt speaks up again.

"Gared, would you do the honor of making an introduction for us?"

"Why yes, I am sure they would like hear me talk to them.... Hello! We are travelers and wish to gain entrance to your town! We saw the attack, is everyone alright?"

The young man shouts as the four men stand beaten and battered, far from home in front of a mysterious town in the once proud state in the once proud country of the United States of America. Ironically only God or some other benevolent factor can help them now.
"No good decision was ever made in a swivel chair" -George Patton
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Nosy little fucker aren't you?

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New Grestin
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Founded: Dec 21, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby New Grestin » Fri Jan 15, 2016 3:27 pm

Partially Blind People wrote:"I think I'll pass," he replied, "I'm sure your friends here can provide entertainment for the night."

The first guard eyed Tommy closely, noting the man's tenseness. She kept her hand close to the revolver, while the other guard took to meandering the tent. They had their orders. If Tommy tried anything, they'd beat him within an inch of his life. He'd secure his spot with the morning's executions. Thomas was the wildcard, though. At least in Jen's mind. She didn't trust him. She didn't trust anyone at this point. With any luck, he'd fall in line like the rest of them.

The guards were the begginings of her new apparatus. The right arm, or boot, of her rule. Finding sadistic individuals amongst the Vultures was the easy part. They would keep the others in line as long as the food and bullets kept coming, and she intended to most certainly provide.

After a few minutes, her eyes finally closed and sleep embraced her.
Veronica watched the funeral pyres of literature burn with a certain sense of unease. Not full terror, just a nagging sense of disquiet that refused to leave. The fire crackled with life as the others watched too. Some willingly tossed their tomes into the flames, others tried to fight for their belief. They were silenced and their books taken just the same.

With a shaking hand, she rose a flask to her mouth. Just as she did, her eyes caught a splash of red across her palms. Veronica jumped, the metal container clanging to the ground as she scraped at her hands. The blood wouldn't come off. It wouldn't go away. How many people were in that tent? How many were in the trench? Their children? Their husbands and wives? How could she go back and look them in the eye when she'd been an instrument in their undoing?

God, why wouldn't the blood come off?

She scraped and wiped and peeled, praying it would go away. Then, like that, it was gone, replaced with her own ragged palms. Yelping in pain, she quickly wrapped the wounds and snatched her flask from the earth. She downed the entire thing.

"You alright?"

A man's voice made nearly made her jump out of her skin. Whipping around, she found a man standing before her in heavy jackets. Beneath was a scavenged Remnant vest, coupled with a improvised rifle slung over his back and a pair of ragged cargo pants. The rifle itself was a miracle of post-outbreak engineering. The receiver was constructed in a manner similar to that of a revolver, with twelve rotating barrels kept together with duct-tape and hope. Along the barrel were obvious weld marks. Aesthetics were not an important part of apocalyptic weapons. What mattered was that it fired, and it most certainly did, if not very accurately.

The man looked past her, to the burning pile of the old world, then to Veronica.

"Y-Yeah," she stammered. "I'm alright. I think."

He nodded, moving to stand next to her. The two stood for a moment, simply watching years of religious literature go up in smoke. The smell of burning paper hung low in the air, the flames casting ghastly shadows across those around them. Soldiers would occasionally dump another pile into the fire, unleashing a torrent of red hot fire.

"I'm Andrew, by the way."

"Veronica."
There she was, all over again, standing in the Emperor's throne room. A thousand leering smiles hung over her. Those dead by her hand watched her intently. A slaver with half his head missing, buckshot peppering his corpse. A woman with her throat slit, her only crime being in possession of food they'd needed. Even Bill himself made an appearance, smiling intensively at her with most of his face missing. Peels of flesh hung low, while a hanging popped eyeball dangled from his face.

A low gurgle drew her attention to her feet.

Her father laid there, throat gouged open. Blood flowed freely from the wound as the man twitched. His eyes moved to something in her hands. A long, serrated combat knife. Just as the horror had begun to well up in her, a voice, cool and feminine, came from everywhere around her.

"Do it."

She looked up. A woman, about a foot taller than herself, stood before her. Her appearance was almost fluid, the only consistent element being her bright auburn hair. Not unlike her own. The woman looked down, and they both sat and watched her father bleed to death.

Then, the woman placed her hand on her shoulder. She smiled and pointed to her father's corpse, now replaced by a desiccated skeleton.

"You know what you have to do, don't you?"

Of course.

"Then don't disappoint me."

She jammed the knife into Jen's stomach.
She awoke, sweat pouring from her quivering form. Jen quickly rolled on her side. Staring at the mundane, poorly maintained material of the command tent, she tried to recollect the dream's events. Yet, they eluded her, despite their distinct nature. She sighed. Stay the course, she figured. We're already in too deep. No point in changing things now.

The first guard, still watching Tommy closely, spoke. Her voice seemed to fill the room, yet Thomas had long gone to sleep. Jen tried her best to do the same, but couldn't help but listen in.

"You wanna make this difficult?"

The contempt in her tone was poorly disguised.

"Or can you just play nice until morning?"
Let’s not dwell on our corpse strewn past. Let’s celebrate our corpse strewn future!
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New Grestin
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Founded: Dec 21, 2013
Ex-Nation

Postby New Grestin » Tue Jan 19, 2016 2:21 pm

Chandler, Arizona | 2031 P.O

The air was warm and dry as it scraped past Thoma's face, seeming to cut straight through his shemagh. Clad in a duster and wide-brimmed hat, he resembled something out of an old western. As though Wyatt Earp himself had fought through the ages to see the world's collapse. With a sniper rifle in hand, he trudged along through the dusty city streets. Everything was abandoned, yet to a degree he had not seen before. Cars were just left in the middle of the road, windows shattered and dried blood covering most of their interiors. The windows of the buildings were all similarly shattered and their guts torn out, often spread out across the streets. He stepped over piles of long rotted groceries and scrap metal on his approach. Just as he began into the downtown proper, the rhythmic humming of a helicopter drew his attention overhead. A pack of helicopters, harsh and black against the pale blue sky, hummed over towards, he could only assume, Phoenix.

There had been rumors back in Roswell of a military fallback to Phoenix, but this seemed to confirm them. All the more reason to avoid downtown. As though he needed one. He turned his attentions to a small, quivering light in the distance. Thomas paused, watching it closely. His mind finally drew the conclusion and he ducked behind a car. A bullet whizzed past, striking a shop down the road.

Thanking his intuition for keeping his brain in his skull, Thomas peeked out from behind the wrecked Mercedes and scanned the horizon. The flicker was gone, but it's residence, a large building of steel and mostly shattered glass, still remained. Taking a deep breath, he slipped his bag onto the ground and leveled the rifle on it.

Dull green polymer gripped in his hands, Thomas planted his eye on the scope and took aim.

His lack of knowledge on sniping betrayed him, however, as a figure appeared in one of the windows. He squeezed the trigger. The rifle cracked harshly and he watched the tell-tale flash of a missed shot. The figure ducked away.

"Fuck." He whispered under his breath.

For the better half of an hour, he sat there, watching the building like a hawk. The cat and mouse game went back and forth. His oppressor would take a shot, then he would, then back again. Finally, after another hour, the figure ducked out to fire. Thomas was ready. He squeezed the trigger and the round struck true, causing the figure to double back and fall. The body fell from a third story window to the ground below with a harsh crack that he even he could hear, yards away. Gotcha, you son of a bitch, he thought triumphantly.

When he finally got to the body, his blood ran ice cold.

A young girl in a hoodie, once gray but now stained deeply with blood. Her legs were completely shattered, along with her stomach. Even still, despite all reason, she was still breathing. Thomas watched in horror, any semblance of joy at his tormentor's death disappearing as she tried to stammer something out. Blood came with her words as her breathing began to slow.

"You would have... I-I didn't have a choice."

Thomas sighed. Neither do I, he thought. Heart hardened, he raised his pistol and pulled the trigger. There was no guilt anymore, no fear. Killing was a daily routine. Like taking out the garbage or doing the dishes, he'd spend good portions of his day being forced to end other humans. He couldn't even enjoy it. Nobody could. You either dealt with it or you ended up on the receiving end. At least, that was the best way he had to reconcile it now.

A crunch of dirt behind him drew Thomas' attention and he swung, bringing the gun around and pulling the trigger. His eyes moved down to find an older man, his face mangled from the bullet. His body twitched a bit, then stopped. Blood poured from the man's skull and face as Thomas knelt down. Instinctive terror gave way to tired bitter resignation once again as he slid the pistol into it's holster.

"I'm sorry." He muttered, looking to the girl again as he thumbed through the corpse's pockets. With any luck, the man wouldn't have died in vain.

Thomas didn't bet on it.
Let’s not dwell on our corpse strewn past. Let’s celebrate our corpse strewn future!
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Sarejo
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Founded: Sep 01, 2014
Father Knows Best State

Postby Sarejo » Tue Jan 19, 2016 11:04 pm

Bremerton Washington; 2039

"FIND SOME FUCKING COVER NOW!" screamed Petty Officer 1st Class Joel Haverson to his troop of marine infantry whilst bullets slammed into the dirt around them. Serveral men dropped motionlessly, whilst others screamed for medics. A young Ensign looked looked shell-shocked at the sight as he saw from the alley he hid in.

"Sir, what do we do?!" yelled PO1 Haverson. "Sir! SIR!" the man screamed in the Ensign's face. "GODDAMNIT! He's lost it!" Haverson said to Seaman Nick Andrews. "Where the fuck is the army anyways? Or hell even some naval shelling?" He said to no one in particular. The Ensign sat blubbering on the ground, cradling his rifle while the Marines traded sporadic fire with the machine gunners down the block. A young boy ran over to Haverson, holding the rank of Midshipman. Great, just my luck. Another Junior officer halfwit. he thought to himself.

"Alright boys my name is Midshipman Turner. I'll take 'sir' for short. Now since it seems Ensign Boyle here is sucking on his thumb like a boot out of his mother's womb, I'm in charge. You," he said pointing at Andrews, "are you any good at shooting?"

"Uhh ye-ye-yes sir." he said stammering as chips of concrete splintered off behind Westley.

"Great, you're our sniper now. Get into this building and take out that gunner. We'll distract him and draw his fire so he doesn't see you until your bullet is in his head, got it?" Westley ordered.

"Yes sir!" said the young sailor who followed the order. Westley then turned around and began plinking with his rifle, hoping to hit somebody.
Last edited by Sarejo on Wed Jan 20, 2016 2:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Cheers mates.

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