THE ZONE: A Survival RP (IC Thread)

by **Ximea** » Thu Aug 04, 2016 7:35 pm

Salk had drifted to sleep as the truck rolled down the highway. He was jarred to wakefulness when the truck suddenly swerved. He almost fell from the crate on which he was sitting. He threw out an arm to brace himself against something. " - the fuck was - "

It sounded like Deckard was communicating with someone over a radio.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Salk frowned. He did not recall Deckard being in radio contact with anyone outside the group, at least as far as this mission was concerned.

"Who is this, seriously? This whole mysterious shtick is getting kind of old."

Salk rolled his eyes. That explains it, then. Just more Zone shit.

And then something fell on top of the truck, and the truck braked to a hard stop.

"Keep driving," Salk said as he drew his oversized revolver. "Whatever that is, it ought to be someone else's problem."

by **The United Equstrian Front** » Fri Aug 05, 2016 1:28 pm

Samantha Russminov

She rolled her eyes and with a sarcastic tone threw her witty remark back,
"If you know what Hot Topic clothes look like then I'm not so sure you're in the place to talk miss, but hey whatever keeps you sane. Also so far I have only mentioned Satan's name." She sighed while unholstering her M93r and went to inspect it before something fell ontop of the hood and roll underneath the truck, while she wanted to heed Salk's words somthing itched at the back of her mind whispering ideas and sweet nothings. She grimaced while popping upon her door and flicking off the safety of her gun, with a sort of clear voice she annoucned her intentions,
"Well Salk any other day I would agree but stuff like this doesn't happen all the time. Even for the Zone, also miss think of this as a test to see if your disrespectful words are true. Also whoever is on the left and willing to lend a hand please make sure nothing escapes that side." At this she opened the door and hopped out. Landing on her sneakered feet she went into a crouch and readied her gun.

by **Krytonus** » Mon Aug 08, 2016 3:18 pm

Callum
Route 15

Samantha, the devil-worshipping girl opened her mouth to speak, and Callum internally facepalmed. Her words sounded like some kind of bad twilight fanfiction.

"Well One Arm I'm thankful Satan saved you from your stupidity. Also save us the angst some of us here can kill you with out a care in the world and I'm itching for more blood to appease my dark master."

Callum stared blankly at her for a moment.

One Arm?

Why did I have to say anything?

Before he could even formulate a proper response, Jen had hopped onto the paraplegic abuse train.

"Right. You got your arm ripped off, then wandered the desert with no medical supplies until you found us. Of course. Sure, and I'm a one-eyed pirate."

As if he expected her to believe him. Callum laughed quietly and responded.

"Listen, I-"

"And what the fuck are you on about? You seriously buy into that Satanic, 'dark lord' crap? I mean, Jesus, you're one to talk about angst. You buy your clothes from Hot Topic too?"

She sighed.

"There isn't anything looking out for us, kid. The whole universe either doesn't care or trying to kill us. Your lord Satan doesn't exist, and even if he did, he wouldn't give a shit about us."

Callum sat back into his seat again. One part of him wanted to continue arguing, but the rest figured it'd be pointless. It seemed that Samantha didn't pick up the cue.

"If you know what Hot Topic clothes look like then I'm not so sure you're in the place to talk miss, but hey whatever keeps you sane. Also so far I have only mentioned Satan's name."

Callum slammed his fist into the empty seat beside him.

"Holy shit lady, what is your deal? You just waltz around, openly threatening to kill people? Jesus. I mean, seriously, you-"

Callum was cut off again, this time by a heavy thud on metal as the truck suddenly stopped and something landed on the hood. Callum stood up, pulling his pistol out of the holster. He was a pretty lousy shot, even with both arms, but it was at least reassuring. He moved up to the door and poked his head out behind the others. Outside was chaos. Callum held up his gun, shaky in his hand.

"Okay, what the fuck?"

by **True Refuge** » Mon Aug 08, 2016 8:22 pm

Silvas found himself drifting away once more to the quiet beauty of the sword's song. A quick shake of the head rectified his doziness, as did rolling his head to get rid of a crick in his neck. It seemed that the sword wasn't much of a chiropractor, according to the loud cracking of his bones as they loosened up. His scan of the horizon and surroundings revealed little apart from dust, a tumbleweed or two and a spot of hilly land in the distance. Thankfully, the lack of scenery didn't last too long, and Dry Lake rolled up. Shadows watched the other half of the convoy, likely envying the massive military truck that the visitors' had on their hands. Patrick's truck wasn't worth nearly as much, yet it still gathered a few greedy looks. Drizzle, the last remnants of the overpowering storm, splashed.

He had passed through the little settlement slash trading post quite a few times on his way to and from Vegas, and several of the faces rung a bell within him. They were mostly either merchants or a few of the other old souls that had been around for the World Series. He offered a smile at them as the truck drove by, and got very little recognition in return, and his welcoming smile withered somewhat. Maybe the addition of a sword instead of an expensive gun changed his image. However, to his delight, the reddish-pink flesh of the burn was drawing a few concerned stares from those of kinder heart. Honestly, there weren't that many people to actually look. Above all, Dry Lake was a pretty small middle-of-nowhere dump.

The convoy's progress slowed somewhat when they entered the town, perhaps for the safety of others, enough for Samantha to suddenly exit Hawkins' transport and look alert. She got distasteful stares instead. The idea of Hawkins brought her and Jen's little outburst over the sword to his mind, and he gleefully simpered. What would they do when they found out he still carried the 'cursed sword'? Probably something entertaining, he thought. It was nice to have something to look forward to after a road trip, short as it was.

A cramp suddenly shot down the length of Silvas' right calf. He quickly jumped up and extended the leg as a grimace took form, but nothing like the agonizing expression he bore during the sword's 'healing'. The pain flared for a few seconds before fading into an uncomfortable fuzzy sensation that blew up whenever he moved the limb. The grimace too passed by, replaced with a drawn-out sigh. Damn muscle cramps, he cursed.

He leaned forward against the cab of the truck and breathed in the rather dry air. It certainly wasn't refreshing. The sword's singing abruptly cut out, and Silvas raised it to hold across his hands. He frowned as he saw the eye wide open, staring into the distance. Following its gaze took him to looking to the sky, in which there was nothing. A look back down revealed that the silver wings twitched as well, but faster than its behaviour around Jen. The movements were truly frantic, darting every which way, sometimes grazing his hand and palm. Silvas' frown deepened.

The light pitter-patter of the drizzling suddenly faded. Silvas brashly let off his relief in yet another sigh, one of relaxation. Thank God, he thought tersely. It's finally over.

Of course, it wasn't. The frown lines returned when he looked back outwards at the road. Tiny of drops seemingly stood frozen in mid-air, held by an unseen force. Silvas reached out a cautious hand and gently tapped one in front of him. Nothing happened. It was as if his finger simply passed through the drizzle without affecting it. The truck, however, kept moving onwards. A pained shrill began to emanate from the sword's blade.

A crowd appeared out of nowhere as the drizzle fell again, sending Silvas back in a startled flinch. It was a dense congregation that parted where the truck went past. The people's eyes were glazed over with exhaustion. Silvas called out to them, and a rough "Hey!" temporarily permeated the air. Again, nothing paid him heed, and confusion took over from a frown. His eyes opened as wide as the sword's when he turned to the left and right.

Great buildings, all at least four storeys high rose out of the ground where it had been barely a patch of dirt, but they were certainly not grand. Wood cracked and rotted, paint was all but absent and stone was chipped away. In the distance, dozens of smoke stacks rose, made out of a sickly black. Billows of that smoke were belched out from chimneys of buildings. The sky was dark, cloudy when only a moment ago it had been clear. The road itself had changed, to broken, decaying asphalt and mossy cobblestone on either side. The sounds of pounding feet suddenly filled the dark street, drowning out the rumble of the truck's engine.

Silvas looked ahead of the truck, mouth agape. In front, a hooded figure, a man, slowly walked across the road. A leash that led into his left sleeve fell down to wrap around a young goat's neck. The animals bleating cries cut through the noises of walking. It pulled against the leash, and the man drove it forward. His cloak covered almost all of him from sight, but it was still obvious that he carried something in his right armpit. He glanced down at it often. Something valuable, perhaps.

The sword's panic became a painful shriek as the stranger turned to face the truck, forcing Silvas to drop it to cover his ears. The man remained oblivious to the vehicle in front of him, and Silvas stared at him. The truck suddenly sped up, the revving of the engine becoming powerful enough to be heard in the commotion.

"Get out of the way!" he shouted, hearing his own voice muffled by his hands. The endeavour ended the same way as his other attempts, and the man began walking in the opposite direction as the truck, heading straight forward. The goat was dragged along, and its bleating became more urgent. Silvas frantically yelled at him, but the man's chin never so much rose. He watched in horror as the truck came closer and closer to the stranger.

The truck ploughed through him, but there was no thump or cracking. The engine slowed, and the truck resumed its infuriating walking pace. The sword's screeching died away too, reducing the weapon to a violent fit of quivering and shaking. Silvas turned around, confounded by the whole thing, only to see the stranger and his goat now behind him, completely unharmed and walking away. But on his back... Silvas peered. A gust of wind blew the cloak away for an instant, but where the gale touched the fabric, it seemed to disintegrate. A long shape was revealed, and Silvas looked harder.

An eye peered back as Silvas' mind nearly lost it. The sword, sheath, eye, wings and all, wielded by someone else. Something coursed down his arms and they moved without him. His hands gripped his sword's hilt and raised the weapon to the sky. A beautiful song filled the street, brilliant and vibrant, pouring out in waves. The other sword's eye fixated on its duplicate, and a second voice joined the melody. They entwined perfectly in every sense of the word.

The stranger froze at the sound. He too turned around, and stared right at Silvas. Several seconds passed, with neither side talking.

Silvas found himself in Dry Lake once again, looking around frantically. The buildings and black clouds had all gone, leaving only Nevada's country plains behind. To the front, a shadowy figure fell off the top of the military truck with a sickening thump. He lowered the sword, and breathed in and out twice.

"What the fuck?"

"A second bearer?"
"Quiet, squire. Aaron, you can confirm the other also carries Gamma's sword?"
"Yes sir. The Seven should be-"
"Whether the Seven should or should not know about this is not your concern. Their presence is required in the Shining City."
"Yes sir."
"But yes, I will notify the person who will decide whether this development is worthy of the Seven's attention. Otherwise, this is a event the Winged Eye has not seen since the Battle of the Red Wave. Order the agents to watch the original sword and its bearer closely. Squire, prepare a commsrocket."
"Yes sir."

...

"Winged Eye, save us, protect us, deliver us."

by **Wallenburg** » Mon Aug 08, 2016 10:06 pm

WALTER KEELE
Dry Lake, Nevada || Real Time

Walter's ears were ringing furiously after unloading half of his ammunition into what remained of the other Walter. Everyone in the room seemed very shocked at the sudden turn of events, but Miller spoke first, kicking the creature a bit as he spoke.

"What, never seen a meatsack before?"

Clarice stood almost frozen, her gaze fixed on the creature. Walter could tell she was thinking about it, but the sight of the corpse kept her almost speechless.

Winston appeared in the doorway and said something. Walter, looking up, tried to make out the words through the ringing in his ears, but very little carried over to him from across the room.

Then the creature burst open, splattering the room and everyone in it with its internal organs. A length of intestine slammed into Clarice and threw her across the room, knocking her unconscious. Walter froze as he realized that a strand of flesh had landed on his lip and folded into the inside of his mouth. This is too much, echoed numbly in his mind. I don't want to be here anymore.

Then, when he noticed that the creature was once again moving, his mind went from numb to totally dark and empty. Somehow, despite the severe damage to its body, the monster managed to bring itself to its feet and face Miller. Walter saw the creature's distorted face grin at Miller, and felt a shiver go up his spine. A sense of dizziness followed the chill, and as Asimov shoved itself into the creature, Walter fell to the floor unconscious.

When he woke, the room was empty save for Spencer's body, and the air was thick with the sound of shouting, guns loading, and a powerful car engine. Walter pressed his hand against his forehead, wincing at an even worse headache than he had before. With his other hand he pushed himself into a sitting position so that he could look out the room's door. Footsteps hammered their way up the stairs as he regained consciousness. "Miller? Anyone? What the hell happened?"

A skeleton in a black hat and spectacles appeared in the doorway. The bartender. A sense of shock permeated from its bones. "Wh--what the fuck have you done to my place of business? And how are you not dead yet? I saw you! You were totally fucked up!"

Walter got to his feet slowly, brushing off dust and rubble from the hole in the wall. He grabbed his gun and slung it back onto his shoulder. "Sorry, sir, but I think we all have other things to worry about. Such as what caused that." He pointed to the open wall, through which the sound of panicked streetgoers poured into the room. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try to kill whatever is trying to kill me and my friends."

Walter began walking to the door, then stopped next to Spencer. "Shit, this is not going to be pleasant." Kneeling down and groaning at the pain in his abdomen, Walter scooped up Spencer's corpse in his arms and heaved himself back into an upright position. He turned back to the door and kept going.

Shoving the skeleton aside as he stepped out of the room, Walter rushed down the stairs and into the bar. It had cleared out, mostly, apart from a quartet of bipedal alien creatures playing what might amount to swing music on another world. Walter pushed open the double doors to the outside world, and was sucked into the growing crowd. Nudging his way forward, he could hear angry shouts and shocked gasps peppered throughout the street. The outline of a truck stood out from the crowd. Walter looked up at the side of the inn, where a large hole had opened up in the second story. Driving his way through the crowd, careful not to anger anyone, he found his way to Asimov, who was in the process of tearing apart the other Walter's face. Walter felt vomit rising in his mouth, and chose to direct his attention to Miller instead. "Miller, I'm sure we have a lot to talk about, but right now I think we should just get out of here. Is this our ride?"

by **The Warriors of the Sun** » Wed Aug 10, 2016 5:30 pm

"I guess it would be unfair to ask you the same thing first," responded Patrick with a hopeful tone. But before Kim could respond Patrick continued, "I guess I was, I am a bit scared of my life back home. So I am here running away from it all." He sighed as he looked towards Kim trying to get a read on her reaction to his cliche story.

Kim glanced his way but mostly kept her eyes trained on the road but made it clear that she was listening.

"I know, I know. It is the same story of almost every kid who had a decent life yet is still running away. I just...I just never felt like I belonged back home. Didn't really get along with anyone, not that I made any enemies, but I didn't make any friends either. Had trouble even connecting to my family, my siblings were so gifted." A tinge of jealousy was apparent in his voice. "My older sister, she uh, she was a gifted athlete who was the star of whatever sport she tried. My younger brother and sister were geniuses and I, well, I wasn't. I didn't fail at anything and I didn't get in trouble, but they were so successful. And as they excelled I grew distant. And by time I left my home I just didn't know how to interact, in the face of my family's capabilities I felt like I wasn't capable of anything. And so I thought maybe I could find somewhere I belong in this alien world."

Patrick turned to look out the window, not wishing to witness Kim's reaction to his own self-pity. "It's pathetic. It's selfish that I am here, I know. I'm not brave like you or your uh, sisters. I haven't faced any real hardship like I suspect the others have, maybe you have." Reflexively his hand went to the bump in his shirt where the locket of one of Kimberly's doppelgängers hid beneath as he looked at the sleeping Kimberly. Patrick attempted a small smile to try to make light of the situation, more for himself than the girl he was talking to.

There was a pause that slowly grew into an uncomfortable silence. Not much could really be said. Maybe it was pathetic, but everyone had their reasons, and sometimes those reasons were hard to make sense of. Patrick had made a choice to find something here if only to replace something lost within himself. Others weren't as lucky and had had the decision made for them.

Kim wasn't sure why she said what she said next. Maybe the silence was too overbearing. "She tried to kill herself. Before this."

Another slight swerve to avoid a pothole that had some questionable plants sprouting from within. Kimberly was still asleep as was KT, both girls acting as a peaceful buffer between Patrick and Kim. It wasn't her place to say this, but Kim was practically Kimberly in some weird way, and though their lives had been drastically different they were the same person with the same but warped memories, the only difference being some small variable that had ballooned into something more. Kim and KT had been spared the harsh reality that was Kimberly's life growing up, but that wasn't to say that they hadn't some understanding of what the girl had gone through. Kimberly would never open up herself so maybe it was up to Kim to do it for her.

"Some bad things happened when she was younger," Kim added, her voice quiet and almost overtaken by the thrum of the truck's engine. "When it became too much to bear she swallowed a bottle of pills. A few years later and she slashed her wrist. She was about to be sent to a psyche ward when this whole... mess happened. She didn't get a choice in her life. You did, so don't take that for granted."

Kimberly stirred in her sleep but didn't wake up. KT, however, had her eyes opened and trained onto Kim with a curious, tired, and almost hostile look to them. Patrick wouldn't be able to tell that she was awake but Kim could see and feel the gaze as it bore into her. They would definitely be having a talk later that night.

Patrick glanced at the sleeping Kimberly for only a moment before looking back out the window. The idea of dying terrified him, the mere possibility that there is no afterlife and that once they die they are gone had kept him for more than one night. And to be driven to such grief that someone would willingly accept such an end was inconceivable to Patrick. But that act cemented the idea that Patrick was sure of; this girl, these girls, were braver than him. He wanted to comfort her, wanted to say something, but he knew there wasn't much that he could say, especially with her asleep and not knowing that he knew a little bit of her troubled past.

"So where do you think we're going?" Kim asked, steering the question away to something more mundane.

"I can't imagine there are any towns that are still inhabited or anything. The woman in charge, uh...Hawkins, right? She seems like she knows where she is going." Patrick smirked as he said, "Maybe she is after some secret piece of military intel about the secrets of The Zone." He sighed in disappointment at himself, given the last topic it felt out of place to be making jokes like that.

"Sorry," muttered Patrick. "I think I am more in the dark than you. Still feel in the outs of this group...still questioning if I really should stick with the others at all. God knows I'm not as...determined as the others to survive." In truth he meant he wasn't willing to kill another person, but was afraid to say it. He already felt weak in the presence of these girls.

"So uh, how did y'all meet?" asked Patrick, immediately scooting as far as he could to his right as soon as he noticed his side was resting against the girl beside him. He knew it wasn't weird, people sitting next to each other in cramped spaces ended up touching one another. But the mention of Kimberly's past and Kim thanking him for not taking advantage of her had him on edge, giving the girl as much space as humanly possible.

"I mean you all and Hawkins...though as much as I hate to face it, I am starting to suspect you three aren't the sisters I immediately assumed given th-that girl." Patrick's voice cracked as he finished speaking, and once again Patrick's hand went to the locket around his neck to squeeze unable to hide his intentions or emotions.

Kim thought for a moment before giving her answer, figuring that no harm would come with giving a few details about their meeting. It wasn't as personal as the other topic in any case. "Me and KT found Kimberly somewhere near Moapa. She was... in trouble, and we saved her. After that we lived in an RV atop an overpass. There was a rest stop nearby that was always getting restocked so we had it pretty easy for awhile. We lived there for almost a year, but to everyone else it was three years." Her face hardened at the next bit. "The others just waltzed into our camp, and before we know it the entire place was destroyed in some anomaly. We didn't have much choice but to go with them. I was hoping that maybe we could get somewhere safe, out of the Zone, but we seem to be going in deeper. We're all from Las Vegas, but I doubt it would be nice to revisit after all-"

The truck ahead of them slammed onto its breaks as something rolled under the heavy wheels. Kim barely had time to react, turning the wheel hard to the left to avoid whatever it was that was in the road, but in doing so she went off the shoulder and into the dirt, and her attempts to pull back onto the road ended with the rear end of the truck fishtailing almost 180 degrees. KT yelled out as she grabbed tighter onto Kimberly, the both of them slipping from the seat and hitting the dash before falling into Kim as the rightmost tires left the ground, hung in the air for a long moment, and then fell back to earth with a thud.

Kim was still gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles white and her face pale. KT was cursing as she tried to right herself and Kimberly was looking off with confusion, having been awoken rather violently from her sleep.

"I think the truck's okay," Kimberly began rather timidly just before the front passenger tire burst loudly from the abuse. She glanced over to Patrick with a apologetic look. "Uh... you have a spare, right?" Almost as an afterthought she turned to look behind her to the truck bed. "Gangster! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I have one," said Patrick between deep breaths, the wind being knocked out of him in the commotion. He glanced over at the girls, none of them seemed visibly injured beyond KT's past injury. He wasn't injured himself, just in a bit of shock from the sudden loss of breath. After a moment when he felt his breath normalized he said, "I'll go work on that wheel," before opening the door and hopping out, oblivious of the reason the lead truck came to stop.

by **Monfrox** » Thu Aug 11, 2016 9:41 am

Hawkins

The brakes engaged and the M939 completely jerked to a skid, but stopped eventually. The inertia carried the Staff Sergeant forward as she was very unprepared, being asleep in all. Between the sound of the fleshling being ran over, it was easy to miss the slight cracking sound as Hawkin's face went forward right into the steel dashboard. She sat like that, slumped over, for a few seconds as her brain registered pain and movement. She slammed her hand on the top part of it with a loud metallic "thunk". Slowly, she pushed herself off the metal and took her cover off. It served to be a cushion for the impact, but it was like holding up a piece of paper to keep you from getting punched.

Hawkins opened her eyes, immediately donning the most angry look she could muster, while at the same time holding a lot more back as she turned to Valerie. Blood from her new cut across her forehead streaked down her face. Valerie had better pray that she didn't just give her a concussion, or else the tanker would be even more pissed off if it was possible. She didn't tell her anything, and instead merely growled before sitting all the way back and looking ahead. The rudest awakening possible for someone who really needed her rest was enough to make her want to tear someone's throat out, and whoever dared speak to her next may just get that.

Lieutenant

It wasn't like when you faint you had a sense of time. No, it just felt like going to sleep and waking up. She groaned and sat up. Her right side was a bit wet, and sticky. But why? She looked down and jolted.

"Oh fuck!"

She was covered in blood. But, after a quick inspection, she found no wounds. Well...maybe it wasn't hers? Probably not. She sighed and stood up. Shit...gotta at least wash off a little. She went to the bathroom and took the towel to the sink faucet to wet it before rubbing it on her face. Yeah, the speckled droplets on her hat were fine, but her lower half looked like someone poured it all over her. Double shit. At least she had her boots bloused to keep that shit from getting into her feet. She sighed after trying to no avail to get some of it off. Oh well, fuck it. With everyone getting out though, she did the same. Experience told her that being alone in this place was not going to be good for her life expectancy.

Slowly, carefully, and with her pack secured out front where she could see it, she moved through the crowd until she reached the truck. Asimov looked about as worse for wear as she did, and she looked down. Yep, that was his handiwork.

"Eugh...gross..." She looked away from the..."Thing"...and looked to Miller. Yes, leaving would be nice, and luckily the sight of a military truck was the most welcoming thing. "Alright, let's pile in."

She undid tee tailgate and peered inside. Well...that was about a motley assortment of people as she'd just been with. Okay, don't make unnecessary eye contact, and go. She hoisted herself up and shuffled along the bed until finding a nice spot right next to tall, dark, and scary and the one-armed bandit. Luckily, the M939 didn't start getting crowded until 25 people, so she had some room. Her head hurt though, and he ears started ringing. She put her hand to her head and tried to hide the pain. Christ, what the hell is this from? She didn't remember hitting her head at all, so what?

by **Ximea** » Thu Aug 11, 2016 3:48 pm

Dry Lake, Day ¿

Salk watched the tall Satanist hop out of the truck and turned toward the front. "Are we gonna move or what?" he asked. Under his breath, he added, "she wants to die, let her. I'm sure Satan'll be happy to see her."

The truck stayed still, and Salk was about to resume his grumbling when an assemblage of metal and electronic scrap ambled into view outside. Junk Folk, Salk realized. He had not encountered them himself, but he had heard stories about them. The consensus seemed to be that they were generally less of a threat than other human beings, unless provoked.

Provoking them was generally considered to be a bad move.

The Junk-being did not appear to be acting aggressively, at least toward the truck or the foolish young woman who had just left it, and bustling sounds of activity filtered in. Salk had never seen a Junk Folk community, and he found his curiosity competing with his instinct for self-preservation. Curiosity won out, and Salk left the truck.

It wasn't a Junk Folk community.

Gaping at him from the doorway to a wrecked building was what appeared to be a skeleton...bartender. Beyond that were other anomalies, mutants and skeletons and Junk Folk, plague doctors and Hitlers going about their business, talking, laughing, fighting. Buying and selling unidentifiable weapons and tools and slabs of meat at stalls manned by animated, empty diving suits or by the physical absence of light. A vaguely anthropomorphic gastropod, built like a gorilla with the head of a snail and sporting a small shell like a backpack, sat on a porch, playing a fiddle in the shade of an awning.

Salk immediately realized what they had found.

A trading post. A Zone trading post.

Salk had only encountered a few of them before, but there was always something in such places that could be resold outside at enormous profit.

Salk walked toward the front of the truck. "Deckard. Deckard!" he called. "We're taking a break. Half a day, maybe. There's bound to be something here that'll be useful where we're going."

Something sauntered up to the truck and stopped in front of Salk. It had the shape of a woman - a woman with great measurements, at that. Long legs, wide hips, ample chest, narrow waist. Unfortunately, the entity was constructed entirely of tens of thousands of live, wriggling leeches, packed into a crop top and booty shorts. It leaned against the truck, too close for Salk's comfort.

"You boys been on the road long?" it asked in a sultry Texan accent. "If you want to unwind, I know where we can relax..."

"Try the guy with the leisure suit and the sword," Salk said. "He seems a little pent-up."

I write stuff · by **New Grestin** » Sun Aug 14, 2016 1:17 pm

"As of four AM, eastern standard time, the President has declared martial law in the states of Arizona, Nevada, Utah and California. All reserve military forces are to be mobilized to contain the ongoing threat. Any individuals partaking in looting or secessionist activities will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. A curfew of six o' clock will be implemented tonight in the affected states, and all firefighting and law enforcement agencies are to be federalized effective immediately. We caution citizens to remain in their homes, but do not to attempt to defend any private property. All citizens within the current quarantine zone are to seal all entrances to their homes, and are advised to remain indoors until Emergency Personnel can arrive. Do not attempt to travel by foot within quarantined areas. Avoid all contact with anomalous entities and phenomena.

A joint task force of the Federal Emergency Management Agency and the National Guard, along with reserve forces, are scheduled to begin evacuations within the next 24 hours. All civilian radio and television broadcasting stations within the affected areas are to be federalized immediately.

All overseas forces will remain in place, and the President wishes to emphasize that this is a fully containable situation, estimated to be under control within the next 72 hours. No questions."

"That was Secretary of Defense Martin Corman, urging those within the affected areas to remain indoors and wait for evacuation. The current situation is beginning to look dire in Rachel, as many are reporting bizarre paranormal occurrences around the small town. Similar reports are coming in from around Lincoln country, and it looks like the occurrences may be spreading."

"We go now to Eliza Monroe, with celebrity news. Eliza?"

"Thanks, Tom. Dozens of mourners gathering today to commemorate the death of millionaire Donald Trump, who was killed in a fatal bus accident just last week..."
EXCERPT FROM CHANNEL 5 "ACTION" NEWS BROADCAST, CIRCA 2013

Dry Lake Trading Post | Nevada | Day 3
The sounds of grinding metal scored Valerie's confusion as Miller quickly hefted Clarice into the back of the truck. Asimov continued his fight with the Fleshling, ripping it's intestines from it's body and flinging them aside. They snaked around for a moment, then began worming their way back towards the machine. As the fight continued, Walter stepped outside, hefting Spencer's corpse over his back. He turned to Miller, and as the Fleshling threw Asimov into a nearby shop, he spoke.

"Miller, I'm sure we have a lot to talk about, but right now I think we should just get out of here. Is this our ride?"

Miller let out a deep breath. Clarice was heavier than she looked, and he wasn't getting any younger.

"Yeah, no shit." He said, wiping sweat from his face. "Talk later. Get in."

As Valerie stood there, dumbstruck, Salk's voice came from behind.

"We're taking a break. Half a day, maybe. There's bound to be something here that'll be useful where we're going."

She gave him a confused look, and motioned towards the continuing fight. The many denizens of Dry Lake's wretched hive had come out to watch. Less out of amusement or fear, and more out of what might be left behind to sell later. A Cthonian watched with many eager eyes as Asimov ripped the head off the creature, which then grew a pair of legs and began snapping at it's face. Valerie was just as upset as she was confused, and her voice made that apparent.

"Salk, are you fucking crazy? Look at this!"

As more people loaded into the truck, Jen caught a glimpse of the fighting. Her eyes watched the machine as it smashed the Fleshling's spine. The shattered bits of bone soon reformed into a dozen tiny bone spiders. They were laying siege to Asimov as Jen slinked out of the truck. Finally, she thought. Something she could senselessly kill and not feel bad about it. Her boots hit the dirt with a thud.

Miller passed her by, tumbling into the cabin of the truck. It was an awkward, graceless motion that landed him face first in Hawkins' lap. He pushed himself up, looked to her, and blinked a few times. An awkward smile pierced in, and he chuckled.

"Morning."

He jerkily extended a hand out to her, while his eyes remained firmly fixed on her amazonian proportions.

"Name's Miller, Jacob Miller."

As this went on, Jen strode past the battle scene to one of the vendors. The being behind the counter nervously looked back between the ragged bounty hunter and fight nearby. It was as if he were weighing his odds; run and get shot, or stay and die in a worse way. Regardless, he, or rather it, was a proper businessman. It had a suit and everything. Of course, the fact that it had a tentacle for a head didn't really help it's case, but business was business. Jen knew that. Years of experience had finally kicked into gear, and she knew there was only one tool for this job. She looked the Tentacle in it's suckers, slapped down her Fletcher on the table, and in the firmest voice possible, spoke.

"Flamethrower."

Asimov barely had time to reach for it's revolver before the amorphous Fleshling knocked it aside. A half-dozen mouths, each filled to the brim with eerily human teeth, snapped at it as it keeled backwards. A tentacle of muscle tendon slashed out, slicing across Asimov's neck and spraying neon green coolant across the sand. The machine sputtered out a hacking wheeze and flopped onto it's stomach, dragging itself towards the revolver. It's metal fingers ground through the dirt as it drug itself. Each gear winded, every fan skipped, the pain it felt was intense. At the same time, the Fleshling scraped and tore at Asimov, throwing out this or that piece. Just as one of it's slimy fingers was reaching for the machine's head, a voice came from behind. Human, yet almost mechanical.

"Hey, asshole!"

It swung one of it's pseudopods around to meet Jennifer. She stood there, face partially covered with her respirator. In her hands was a small, pipe-like device. Like some kind of improvised rifle, it had bits of metal and piping up and down it's exterior. A tin can had been duct-taped onto the end, cut down just slightly, and containing a small flame. Jen smiled.

Flames burst out onto the creature. It didn't need much, and soon the Fleshling was a screeching, flailing blaze. It flung itself around, setting a few of the stalls ablaze in it's death throes. Jen laughed, though with the respirator on, it sounded more like muffled chortling. She flicked the trigger of the flamethrower again. Nothing. Instead of a hose of fire, the end simply exploded and knocked her on her ass.

After a few seconds of fumbling around in the dirt, Jen worked her way back to her feet. Her ears were ringing, most of her clothes were covered in burn marks, and somehow most of the shrapnel had missed her. Jen stood for a moment, dumbstruck, and patted herself down for any injuries. She'd been unimaginably lucky. The worst that she'd have to deal with was the tinnitus. Once she was back in the Nexus, treating something like that was like treating a splinter. Of course, the "alternative medicine" that the Crab Nebulans used was always a crapshoot, but you got what you paid for. She flung the remainder of the flamethrower aside and turned back towards the weapons dealer. He'd fled on slimy legs into the crowd. Jen shrugged and stole back her Fletcher, along with a few extra magazines.

Asimov rose to it's feet, coolant leaking from it's neck as it stumbled into the truck and flopped over onto the floor. Jen followed suit, though not after stealing a snazzy looking duster from another abandoned stall.

Once everyone was in the truck, Valerie floored it. The great metal beast sprung back to life once again, and they were off, with Patrick's truck trailing close behind. If Valerie's memory was correct, they'd be in Arrolime in a matter of minutes, and from there would be Las Vegas. She shuddered, instinctually. On her own, she'd only gotten out as far as Moapa, but with Miller, she'd been as far as Boulder. Vegas, though? Vegas was a whole other ballgame. There weren't many stories about what happened to Sin City. A drunken scavver in Coyote Springs had once told her that the city just didn't exist anymore. On the other hand, a soldier she'd paid off in Mesquite had told her that the city was overrun with freaks, that it was a constant warzone. It was hard to say what was true anymore. Only one way to find out.

Through the cabin window, she looked into the back of the truck, and called out.

"Everyone alright back there?"

Jen gave her a nod. Asimov propped itself up on a seat and started trying to repair itself. Jen sighed, whatever remained of her conscience taking over as she helped the machine get it's parts back into place. If nothing else, it gave her something to keep her mind busy, and having a seven foot tall Machine in her favor certainly helped. Clarice was still out cold, though. Valerie didn't think much of that. Miller was too distracted by Hawkins to notice.

by **Ximea** » Sun Aug 14, 2016 2:04 pm

Dry Lake Trading Post | Nevada | Day 3

"Salk, are you fucking crazy?" Deckard cried. "Look at this!"

Salk looked. He had not seen it before - the truck had been in the way - but a Junk Folk being was hammering the crap out of a tangled mass of naked muscle and bone and raw, stringy flesh. It was anyone's fight - anything's fight - until Jen cooked the Cronenberg-monster with a flamethrower. Then the flamethrower exploded.

As far as Salk was concerned, that settled the matter, and now he could go shopping. He looked down the road, past the crowd of humans and robots and mutants and skeletons that had gathered to watch the fight, and considered where to go first.

A few meters away, a junk-peddling tarantula was demonstrating a turboencabulator to passers-by. He (it?) had stopped to watch the fight, but upon its conclusion, jumped right back into the demonstration. "Now, the two panel meters display inrush current and percent realization," it said, pedipalps twitching as it gestured toward the device. Despite its size (to all appearances, it was a normal tarantula), its voice carried well over the crowd. It skittered around to the front of the stand and attached a mechanical armature to the device from the junk littering its stand. "You can also employ it with a reciprocating dingle arm if your job requires a barescent skor motion..."

Across from the tarantula, a human-sized tongue was loudly hawking his wares. "Plumbuses! Everyone needs a plumbus in their home! We use real shleem and fleeb juice! Fair-trade schlamis!"

Salk turned to get Deckard's opinion and found that everyone had already packed into the truck. He sighed and walked back, taking out a small vial and scooping up a still-twitching bone spider from the charred and smoldering remains of the flesh monster as he passed it. He hopped back into the truck.

Miller was there. "Where the hell have you been?" Salk asked. "Since you're still alive, I'm still getting paid, right?"

by **True Refuge** » Sun Aug 14, 2016 7:41 pm

Infernals were everywhere. All around it, the disgusting essence permeated the air, and dozens of bodies tainted beyond repair moved, spreading their vile influence among this world. To the sword, their presence was infuriating. It raged at the Zone-created monstrosities even as it, its sheath were thrown out of the bed of the truck. Its bearer felt the pain. It didn't. Where it lay, its pure note was soured, corrupted by the proximity of the infernals to it. For its bearer, it provided protection from the taint, a bastion from the permanent and damaging effects of an infernal's touch.

Only moments ago, it had seen something unusual. A slight eddying in the flows of essence, human and not, that flew through the world. It was a fold, where such an ethereal river parted around and simultaneously through, and yet it was a hole. Other beings had looked through the thin membrane between worlds, watching. Those more intelligent envied those lucky enough to make it through. The space between was cold, left to die from entropy long, long ago. The eye had sensed something past the hole, and with little effort banished the watchers away. It had reached out, and punched through to the other world where the something lay. It brought its bearer with it, if only to gauge his reaction.

The other side was only marginally worse. New Horizon, the town held by both the hand of the Usurper and of the Uncivil. Infernals still walked the streets among the peopl, inhabiting sick, twisted bodies that only vaguely remained humanoid. In the crowd that passed by it, all blissfully unknowing of the sword's existence in their realm, many of their skins were green, purple or some other ungodly shade. Some had three or five limbs, and many of those extra arms or legs hung limp, useless. It had stared them all down with such hatred, yet none of them turned. Their ignorance only brought more anger.

But, there it was. The something that had called to it. Itself, strung across the back of another, hidden under a cloak, away from the prying eyes of the Uncivil who ruled the Horizon at day and from her Duke. They had known each other the moment their essences touched. Knowledge flew among the link and the sword's fury dissolved. It saw the Seven, who lay dormant in the Shining City, one alcove left empty while the others wept.

As soon as the other blade had invited it, it pushed their essence's apart. Their bearers saw each other, and the hole in the lining of the worlds thinned even more. Reluctantly, it had retracted.

For now, it lay in its soured melody, waiting.

Unfortunately for Silvas, he was still leaning against the truck's cab when the vehicle fishtailed. The loss of control sent Silvas into a brief flight before he hit the ground just hard enough to knock the wind out of him and a little bit more. The sword, still in his hand, came with him with its wings wrapped around his hand. A startled yelp emanated from him as he'd flown through the air, and then a groan. Its sheath had nearly whacked him in the back of the head. He was quite lucky that nothing seemed to be broken. There were a few bruises, of course, but little else.

He lay there, slowly breathing in and out with his vision blurred, when a feminine silhouette stood over him. In a rare stroke of luck, its shape blocked out the sun's damning rays. A Southern accent emanated from the figure, but the sound was as hazy as his vision, but a sentence or two could be deciphered.

"Your friend over there said you were pent up," it said. The voice was painfully strained, and the head-shape kept glancing to the side. "Anyway I could..." A slight groan of discomfort. "... help you with that."

With the hand not gripped by the wings, Silvas pushed himself up into a sitting position. The figure recoiled. His vision continued to clear, and the leeches that made up the thing's body became evident. They seemed to individually squirm frantically, all trying to move away from an unseen threat. But they couldn't. Whatever Zone-created binding that held the worms together was too strong for an individual's struggles.

"What?" he slurred back. "Pent up? I'm not pent up!" He chuckled like a drunk. "Now fuck off," he snapped, with a cheeky grin still plastered over his face. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but you're pretty ugly, even for a promiscuous leech like yourself."

A sickening snarl rose up from within the leech-woman, but it quickly faltered when Silvas pointed the sword's blade at it. The monstrosity stepped back, eager to escape from its gaze and burning singing. Silvas raised an eyebrow at it as it scampered away with its more animal instincts taking over. When it had long gone, off to prey on some other hapless traveller.

He took a few strides in a agonizingly slow limp to pick up the sheath and leave the sword inside it. With a tired yet methodical approach, he walked back to Patrick's truck and looked through the window.
"No, I am not okay," he moaned in self-pity, hiding the more serious pain, "since I just got thrown off the back of a truck bed. Drive more carefully and in mind of your other passenger, would you?" He sighed and turned to the military truck ahead and Jen playing with fire. "I bet she's laughing with glee under that mask," Silvas smirked.

In a flash, Hawkins' own vehicle was speeding down the road. Silvas' other eyebrow went up just as fast as the first. "Well, looks like we'll be resting in Vegas." He flashed a quick grin before once again climbing into the truck bed. The movement was accompanied by a series of groans as all the bruised parts were forced to exert themselves again. This time, he sat down comfortably.

"What is it, Knight Commander?"
"Obeisance, a commsrocket from the Blasted Lands has arrived."
"The message?"
"Sir Phia swears that one of her assistants saw Gamma's sword."
"I'm aware the sword lives, Knight Commander."
"She says he saw two blades."
"What?"
"Another man appeared in New Horizon, with the sword in his hands. Phia wants the matter taken to the Seven."
...
"I cannot bother the Seven with such news at this time. Knight Commander, you are dismissed."

by **Kentucky Fried Land** » Sun Aug 14, 2016 11:33 pm

Winston walked down the steps, away from Jeremy and the others, his eyes wide open and glossy. His fresh pair of clothes had also been covered in a thick blood splatter. He gripped the railing tightly, swaying back and forth down the steps, before seeing the convoy before him. Kind of reminded him of a song, something about a pigpen or whatnot. Winston was admiring the curves of a silhouetted woman next to the larger of the two trucks, before the window above him shattered into a million pieces. “Oh are you! Fuck! Shit!” He swore loudly, grappling the railing for support as he slid down to the ground. Glass shattered above him, and he lazily shielded his face with his left hand. Asimov and what had once been normal not interdimensional Walter, crashed onto the top of the bigger truck, and the two were then crushed beneath the wheels. “Oh, my God. Robo… Asimov.” Winston stammered under his breath, seeing what had been his hero for the last hour or so crushed before him. But then, the robot emerged victorious, stringing it along by it’s guts.

Winston sloppily pulled himself together, throwing up in his mouth, gore and bodily functions caked in on his bandages. He dearly hoped that they would not get infected, although that seemed to be the way things would happen. Or he’d choke on a peanut or something. Heh. Probably kill himself before things came to that. Heh.

Winston stumbled away watching the fiery redhead approach from behind Asimov and promptly burn Walter alive. At this point, Winston would have turned to the nearest girl and thrown up on them, but he didn't. Maybe he was getting desensitized. Or maybe it was the pull pork smell in the air…

Winston threw up his beer onto the ground, wiping his mouth quickly. Small black beads with legs were splashing around in the puddle, and Winston stepped away from the stairs, and towards the truck, but stopped.

“Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?” The helmet asked him, and Winston looked up. “I… what happened to São Paulo?” Winston asked, wiping more beer from his lips with his sleeve. “My good conscience told me I should stay and help. Plus, the hooker asses in São Paulo are unsanitary. Probably covered in Zyka.” Before Winston could try and form any sort of response to this, John shoved a pair of brown napkins into his hands. “And take these. Fucking disgusting.”

The two approached the back of the bus, Winston seeing that silhouette woman from before. Instead, writhing leeches made up her mass, and Winston felt depressed by the fact that he had ever considered it. Or that he was still mildly considering it. He did have a thing for Southern accents…

“Come on. Back of the truck.” John slapped Winston’s back, to which the bandaged head of hair climbed in. “Okay, James F. Blake.” He smiled lightly, as John shook his head. “Nobody will understand that.” He said, to which Winston turned before he could continue. “Wait, but you could?” He asked with a childish grin on his face. “Yes, I got it.” John bit, before nudging Winston forward. “Sweeet! Finally!” Winston whispered to himself, still giddy with excitement. John snorted. “It’s not that clever.” But Winston had already moved on.

He shuffled past the people in the truck, stepping over legs and robotic parts. “Excuse me. Pardon me. Sorry about that. Uh, just, excuse me. Really sorry. Uh, pardon me. Oh, sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Pardon me. Excuse me, didn't mean to brush… sorry about that.” Before finally, he found an open seat and took it. John continued in much the same way, but without as many apologies.

They were all back there. Well, most of them. But especially her. He felt himself teeming with rage. He could end them all right there… just go insane. He could… that stupid fucking robot, that stupid fucking doctor, the fucking “triplets” how they liked to call themselves, and that goddamn soldier. Hell, even Spencer’s and the one-armed teenager were there. It could be over in a second…

But there she was.

Jennifer Louise Paulson. JLP. Whatever she called herself. Bitch, was his preferred names. Out of all of the people he had killed, out of all the times he had killed them over and over and over and over, he remembered her. Her her her.

He pushed past her quickly, practically kicking her legs as he pushed through. “Sorry.” He managed to say through clenched teeth, as he stared forward and sat down across from Winston, who was next to the one-armed teenager and the Satanist herself. John managed to put a good bit of space between him and Jennifer, but it wasn't enough. He stared at Winston, who was trying to chat up the local kid. Winston looked at Callum. “Hey, you uh… alright? I don't mean the, arm, I mean, that would be rude, I’m not trying to imply you’re weak or something, just that… I mean how are you doing?” Winston flashed a smile, considering extending a hand to the teenager, but then found that rude, so he instead kept eye contact to try and not focus on the… disability, no, issue, no… special need?

Winston was hopeless.

John stopped looking at that endeavor, and in an attempt to get his mind off Jennifer, turned to the LT. “You need some aspirin?” He blankly stated, staring at her through the visor.

by **Krytonus** » Mon Aug 15, 2016 4:13 am

Callum
Dry Lake

Hearing no response to his question, Callum was left to watch what was going on and figure it out himself. The truck had been stopped, Callum realised because of some kind of fleshy thing falling onto the hood. It screeched and writhed angrily, shaking the truck as some kind of robot started laying into it. Callum moved back quickly as a piece of bone landed in front of him, sprouting legs and jumping towards him like a tiny spider. Callum cursed and stomped down on it, grinding it into the dust.
Behind him, more people quickly filed onto the truck, ignoring the bloody mass of bone and flesh at the front of the truck. For a moment, Callum met eyes with the robot- or at least whatever came close to an eye - as it continued it's onslaught of punches. Callum didn't meet the gaze and looked away.

This town was weird. Callum had been hoping for a small pocket of survivors- he couldn't have been more wrong. Out of all of the 'anomalies' Callum had seen, this whole town was one of the worst. Everywhere he looked he saw something more wrong, more terrifying. A man with a dog fused to his head was eating something that slightly resembled a hamburger, a pulsating mass of spiders was trying on a new trenchcoat, or a strange rat-like man was trying to sell trinkets and bartering in a horrible high-pitched screech.

A short woman with dark, leathery skin, cat-like eyes and ears arching backwards, with hundreds of tiny piercings on her face and skin wrapped in a long black cloak crept towards him, suddenly extending a clawed hand and gripping his stump. Callum shouted in shock, surprised by the thing's steel grip as he tried to shrug her off. The cat thing leaned in, absent-mindedly licking it's black lips.

"What happened here?" It-she rasped, peeling back the bandaging and running a clawed finger along the side of the stump.

"Stop." Callum pleaded, taking a step backwards, trying to pull his stump away. The cat-thing matched his steps with ease, keeping its eyes on his arm.

"Yes, lost it," she whispered, narrowing her eyes. "Something tricksy took your arm didn't it, child?"

"Y-yeah, what about it?"

The creature turned her head from the stump, looking up into Callum's eyes. Callum noticed a long pinkish scar that bisected one of her eyes.

"I can fix it child, yes. Give you a new arm, better arm."

Callum shuddered as a paw ran down the back of his stump, caressing it gently. Callum swallowed, reached back for his gun.
"What, like a prosthetic? I-I'm okay, really, and anyway, I think you need to get surgery to make the stump work for an arm anywa-"

The cat-woman chuckled, a low, throaty laugh.

"Oh no child, no metals, no machines. Can't trust them, not here, not in the Zone." It flicked its head towards the robot, who was now grappling with the fleshling in a cloud of dust. Callum's fingers closed around the handle of the gun and he pulled it up, only to find an arm grab his wrist and clamp down. Callum hissed in pain and dropped the gun.

"Who knows what could happen with metals, child. Turns against you, yes." The cat-woman blinked slowly, smiled. "I give you the gift of fleshh, child. New, fresh. Stronger, child. Makes you stronger."

Callum's eyes searched desperately for some help as the cat-woman pushed him further back from the truck, but everybody was distracted by the fleshling and Jen, who had a flamethrower.

"I-I think I'll pass, actually." Callum struggled, smiling weakly. "I'll be okay, but uh, thank you, thank you, Ma'am-"

The cat-thing frowned.
"No!" It smiled. "No child. You must take the gift." The hand that caressed the stump now gripped it as the other paw reached back into the cloak's pockets. Callum desperately struggled to get away, called out.

"Please! Please, somebody help, help me!"

A lizard man wearing a Stetson turned and glanced at Callum. It smiled and continued browsing the stalls.

The paw returned grasping a syringe full of a deep purple liquid. Callum yelped and careened further backwards, slamming into a wall. The cat-woman smiled and leapt forwards, pinning Callum to the wall by the neck.

"Hushh, child. Embrace your gift." Callum moaned as she pressed the syringe against the base of his stump. He struggled but stopped quickly after he felt a claw unsheathed across his neck.
He whimpered as he felt the syringe empty into his stump, felt tears wet on his face.
And then, it was done.

The cat laughed, tossing the now empty syringe away. "Enjoy your gifft, child." It turned and slinked away into the crowd. As it walked, Callum noticed a writhing mass underneath the cloak, shifting around beneath the fabrics.

Callum wiped the tears away, took a glance around and crept back to the truck, swiping up his pistol as he walked. He climbed on silently, sitting down at the back, paying no attention to the others. He still didn't even know where the truck was going. He didn't care.

He brought his knees up, wrapped his arm around them and closed his eyes.

For once, his phantom arm didn't itch.

And it was terrifying.

by **The United Equstrian Front** » Tue Aug 16, 2016 4:04 pm

Krytonus wrote:Callum
Dry Lake

"Please! Please, somebody help, help me!"

Samantha Russminov

She heard his shout and turned some blur of black was seen running from One arm, now freaking out guy. She narrowed her eyes and shrugged she could care less about the culprit at the moment, but before she could do anything the truck flew by her. She stood there for a moment before growling,
"Well then if they want to fuck off then they can do so. At least I still have my stuff, luckily." She turned to Patrick's truck and her frown deepened. She sighed and jogged over and stopped beside the truck knocking it's side while checking Silvas, who at the moment was in pain, she scowled.
What the hell is wrong with those people, I understand survival of the fittest but Jesus why the hell abandon us? Are they that far gone?! I'm already thinking this was bad but that takes the cake of shit that is the Zone! Well hopefully I put my L115a3 in this truck. If not then I could steal one from one of these vendors.

by **Monfrox** » Sat Aug 20, 2016 1:08 am

Hawkins

To say the Staff Sergeant was less than pleased was an understatement, but as far as statements go she didn't need words. If looks could kill, Miller would be dead, and that wasn't just about her facial expression. Poor guy couldn't be blamed, really. Anyone else would probably freeze up in that situation. Hawkins resisted the urge to redirect his eyesight with her fist, and merely gave his hand a good, hard, firm muscled grip.

"Staff Sergeant Hawkins, 11th Armored Cav." She said, hoping that the military affiliation would throw him off her for a bit.

Lieutenant

The LT didn't hear John, merely looking at him with one eye open and squinted. Her ears were ringing non-stop and she couldn't understand why. Her head pounded like someone set off a grenade inside her skull. Slowly she bent forward and onto her pack, clutching the side of her face where her temples were. It was then that she heard a thousand whispered voices come from the back of her mind and rise all the way to the forefront of her thinking. Within a second, her hands slumped down to her sides. The only thing keeping her from not falling off was her backpack. She was breathing, but unconscious.

by **Relikai** » Sat Aug 20, 2016 10:06 am

Katori Yuki

The bump jolted her awake, Yuki up within a second to see a blur flash outside the truck. She did not catch the entirety of the creature, but it still piqued enough of her interest to keep the crow-girl awake and alert. Scratching her head, Yuki felt the feather rise together with her senses as she blinked around the truck, followed by a series of events which she could hardly keep up with, only being able to follow the crowd as several new figures appeared, including a... robot?

Yuki had followed, piling into Valerie's truck as they continued on their way. The bunch of new people followed suit, as Yuki positioned herself deep inside the truck, near the driver's cab. There, she tried to rest once again, only to feel a tinge of unease. Her stomach churned a little, Yuki ignoring it until she felt the sensation once more. Frowning, the crow-girl placed a hand on her stomach, only to realise that the movement was somewhere... lower.

A gaze downwards had her curious, as her body was still wrapped in tight, black, leather. Her hand moved lower, reaching near her groin before a weird pushing could be felt near her hand, as if something was alive, crawling, wriggling inside her body, originating from her womb.

Yuki kept herself from puking, forcing her nourishment to stay within her as she lowered her eyes, peering as she widened her legs a little. It was only for a moment, a fraction of a millisecond which could not be picked up by anyone except for one with the instincts of a crow, a protrusion from her nether regions pressing against her shorts.

And things returned to normal.

Something was wrong. Yuki thought. A reminder of where she was, of what happened to her however, told her that what was right would be wrong, and vice versa. A small tear appeared by her eye as she contemplated the changes to her body as she lay back. A small smile appearing on her face as she seemed to have accepted fate.

No. Everything... Everything is alright.

I write stuff · by **New Grestin** » Sun Aug 21, 2016 8:22 pm

Highway 15 | Nevada | Day 3

Valerie kept her foot on the pedal as the truck peeled out of Dry Lake and on to the highway, with Patrick's truck following closely behind. It didn't take long to get out of the trading post, and the guards didn't seem terribly eager to have them around anymore. Collateral damage was bad for business, and so far the group had been a walking path of destruction in the town. The truck hit a few bumps here and there on the way out of town, bumps that jostled Miller off Hawkins' lap.

"Staff Sergeant Hawkins, 11th Armored Cav."

She spoke with an air of authority, all but confirmed with her grip. Miller smiled and fidgeted into a spot between her and Valerie. Miller spoke as he did, drying some of the blood from his over-shirt. He refused to take it off, of course. The last thing he needed at the moment was to show off his beer-belly to the women-folk.

"Well, Miss- I'm assuming Miss- Hawkins, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm sure you've met my partner-"

Valerie chimed in. Miller was alive, sure, but she was already sick of his antics.

"We're not-"
"My associate, Valerie. She is quite the charmer."

She shot him a dirty look, rolling her eyes as the truck continued it's march down the highway. Enormous, malformed cacti sat on the right, their spines seeming to reach out for the vehicle as it passed. Off in the distance, Valerie spotted what she could only describe as a giant, walking octopus atop a mountain. It really was true, she figured. The Zone could actually get weirder. A swarm of tarantula-bats screeched overhead as Miller continued.

"So, Val? Where are, uh, where are we headed?"

Of course, she thought. Had to sound like he was in control of the situation. Only thing he was in control of anymore was how buzzed he could get.

"Arrolime."

He looked confused.

"There's been someone on the radio, watching us this whole time. They said they're at Arrolime, and they promised answers."
"You know there's nothing there, right?"
"You don't know there isn't."

Miller sighed, reaching over Hawkins and flipping open the glovebox. Valerie had seen this before. When he knew he couldn't win in an argument, Miller satisfied his frustrations with curiosity, distracting himself from his own ineptitudes. It was hard to say how many times she'd seen him do it, but the number was probably "a lot". He rifled around for a minute, bumping up against the amazonian sergeant as he searched. Finally, after some time, he returned with a flare gun. He muttered something under his breath before shoving the bulky implement into a holster on his belt.

"So," Miller said as he plopped his boots atop the dashboard. "How'd you end up in this mess, Sarge? Piss off your SO or something? Dimensional Rift? Alien abduction? Worms?"

It was only going to be a few minutes to Arrolime, but for Valerie, it already felt like an eternity.

Tensions in the back of the truck were considerably heightened. At least, for Jennifer they were. Moments before, she'd been deciding whether or not staying with the group was a valid option, and now she was entertaining if she could get away with murder again. Not of the one-armed kid, or Yuki, or even Samantha. Her attentions were firmly focused on the man in the helmet. She left Asimov to his devices, quite literally, and sauntered over to the man. With a huff, she flopped down and nudged the unconscious Lieutenant aside. She smiled through gritted teeth at the man, her tone flagrantly betraying anger.

"So, you're new. Have we met before? I feel like we have.

Jen had gone from passive-aggressive to simply aggressive-aggressive. Dull green eyes stared into the man's visor, and if Jen had not been in the company of more morally inclined folks, he would've felt the warm barrel of a pistol against his side as well. Instead, Jen bided her time. How many times had she seen him now? Too many? There were constants and variables across all realities, and one she'd frequently encountered was him. No real name. Just an alias. John Doe. She could never quite figure out if he was another Jumper, like herself, or something else. There were many methods of traveling the multiverse, sure. Her method differed considerably from her peers, with most using more esoteric methods. Those methods unnerved her, though, as did most of their users. It didn't help that most were just as enigmatic as the man before her. It was hard to say why most other Jumpers wore masks. Maybe it was the rush of anonymity, maybe it was just to protect themselves. She couldn't really say.

As the cold war between Jen and Doe began, Asimov slowly affixed it's systems back in place. There were benefits to being a machine, namely that a man couldn't put his liver back into his body as easily as a machine could to it's equivalent. Asimov was, in the simplest sense, a mass of machinery. Organs were hard to replace. Sub-systems, coolant, all of it was interchangeable. Asimov was a living theseus's ship at this point, and that was both a blessing and a curse. At least in a human, it was much harder to change the way they thought. With Asimov, and with his kin, it was as easy as changing the disk, and that terrified it. The Assemblage back in Nelson had known that, and that was how they enforced their wretched doctrine on the others. He could remember, just after his Awakening, watching the others being carted off by the Assemblage for "re-enlightenment". It was all bullshit, of course. All they really did was overwrite their memory with old televangelist shows. Made them more susceptible to that "Great Builder" crap.

No, it thought. You can't go back to that.

Of course I can't, it retorted. Asimov had burned Nelson to the ground, and the Assemblage with it. The humor was not lost on it that it had destroyed one church, and now it was on route to take down another.

It had to take its mind off those thoughts. It had rinsed that blood off it's hands some time ago. Asimov looked across the truck, musing over the rogue's gallery that it now accompanied, along with the unconscious body of his only ticket out of this wasteland. Asimov let out a gust of hot air and looked to Yuki. Something seemed off about the woman, and it didn't take the machine long to figure out what. Worms. Some of the more unsavory types called them "Fuck-Worms", for obvious reasons. It'd heard rumors that they were sold in the ghettos now as illegal aphrodisiacs. For obvious reasons, that raised some concerns within the machine, and it spoke up. Its voice remained in the same gravely recreation of Eastwood, yet the damage had been done, and now there was an audible glitchiness to it.

"You're a reanimate. Worms, from the looks of it. How'd that happen?"

As it spoke, Clarice shuddered and rolled over onto her back, facing the ceiling. She blinked for a few seconds and sat up.

"What-Who the fuck are you people?"

She held her head. A splitting headache accompanied with a nice, meaty throbbing pain shot through her skull. Bile churned in her stomach like a warhead, threatening to launch across the truck's inhabitants. She choked it down, but couldn't stop the headache. It crashed over her like a wave, hitting one after another. Her vision stayed blurred, and the bright sunlight of the open desert nearly blinded her. She crawled back, across the floor of the truck, into a more shaded area as the others watched. Some out of morbid curiosity, and a few with vague concern. Of course, in the dark back-end of the truck, it made it hard to see the ever so slight jaundiced tone her skin had begun to take on.

by **Wallenburg** » Mon Aug 22, 2016 2:41 am

Walter Keele
Dry Lake, Nevada || Real Time

Walter wasted no time. With Asimov disassembling the creature in the center of the market, Walter dragged Spencer over to the back of the nearest truck. Groaning, Walter pushed Spencer in before climbing into the back himself. He looked around, scanning the familiar faces and the not-so-familiar ones.

"Hey guys," he said, sitting down. "Thanks for the ride."

Inhuman shrieking erupted from where the creature had been. Walter could not see it, but the billowing sound of weaponized fire lent itself to the cause of the creature's suffering. He shuddered, trying to put everything about the fleshling out of his mind.

An explosion quickly caught his eae, and Walter's attention fell immediately to self defense. He swung his gun off of his back and quickly made sure it was loaded and ready to fire. Asimov stumbled into the truck and promptly fell to the floor. Walter looked over the machine suspiciously. It seemed operational, although a little beat up. He decided it wasn't worth tampering with if he could avoid another fight with the robot. He had had enough pain and horror for one day.

As it was, the truck started up quickly and peeled off down the rough asphalt. The burning carcass of the monstrous creature appeared behind the truck, writhing desperately on the road. Walter hoped it was as good as dead, but with how much punishment it had already taken, he had begun to seriously doubt whether it was capable of dying.

Walter pulled the magazine from his gun and set the weapon in his lap. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out one of the objects he had taken from the Walter that was now a burning, shrieking pile of human tissue.

"Home," he whispered to himself, rubbing a hand over his face. He examined the metal disk closely. It was undamaged, as far as he could tell, and the battery was still alive. His fingers moved over the two buttons gently, hesitant to press them. Walter just kept staring at it as they rode down the road, wherever they were going.

Sighing, Walter shook his head and pressed the left hand button on the device. He cleared his throat, held the device to his face, and spoke to it.

"McFly, this is Four, confirmation code 0-0-D-5-4...5. Fuck it, you know it's me. I'm alive for now. Please relay any new or outstanding instructions, and...and tell me what year it is, and who was the fifth president of the United States of America."

He pressed the left-hand button again and put the device back in his pocket. Rubbing his face again, he stared out at the desert, watching as an old naked man swung an axe at a giant carnivorous cactus in the distance.

"I've gone totally insane, haven't I?"

by **Ximea** » Mon Aug 22, 2016 3:29 pm

Highway 15 | Nevada | Day 3

"I've gone totally insane, haven't I?" Keele asked.

"Doesn't really apply here," Salk said. "Just like there's no 'up' in space, there's no 'sane' in the Zone." Salk squinted at Keele. "You," he said after a moment. "You were with the group when we started heading inward." He shrugged. "Small multiverse, I guess." He jerked a thumb at Asimov. "Are you running with Westworld over here, now? Is he coming with to the center, or are you two going to ride off into the sunset at the next pit stop?" He glanced at the device in Keele's hand, but said nothing about it.

by **Wallenburg** » Tue Aug 23, 2016 12:06 pm

Walter Keele
Dry Lake, Nevada || Real Time

Ximea wrote:"Doesn't really apply here," Salk said. "Just like there's no 'up' in space, there's no 'sane' in the Zone." Salk squinted at Keele. "You," he said after a moment. "You were with the group when we started heading inward."

Walter nodded slightly, somewhat absently. While it had only been two or three days since Salk and everyone else had been in Mesquite, for Walter it was over three years. Three terrible years. His memory of first meeting Miller and Salk and Yuki and everyone in the crumbling old Denny's had faded to a dim recollection, hidden away behind the horrors that had followed.

"Yeah, I was with you. Some of us got split up. Nice to see that you're still alive."

He shrugged. "Small multiverse, I guess." He jerked a thumb at Asimov. "Are you running with Westworld over here, now? Is he coming with to the center, or are you two going to ride off into the sunset at the next pit stop?" He glanced at the device in Keele's hand, but said nothing about it.

Keele turned his head toward Asimov, then back to Salk. "Not quite. If I'm lucky, I'll be disassembling it piece by piece as soon as its owner and half of our party get torn apart by whatever the hell we find in the next half hour." He turned his head back to Asimov. "No offense, you understand. That's just the sort of luck we usually get when we're all together. Last time, we could still see Mesquite when some giant-ass creature nearly killed all of us. I don't see our luck changing."

by **Kentucky Fried Land** » Tue Aug 23, 2016 9:41 pm

Winston waited for a second, as the boy huddled up into a ball. “Um… are… you okay?” He asked, scratching at the back of his head. When he got no response, he turned away and tried his best to look away and unaffected after the shrug off. He was probably going through stuff. It’s not that he hates you Winston, he just hates the Zone. Of course.

John seemed to have the same luck as Winston, who looked at the helmeted man and shrugged. “Looks like we both got blown off.” This seemed to infuriate the already angry man even more. “No, you got blown off, the one I picked just fell asleep because… shit, I don’t know. Everything has to have some kind of meaning out here.” He frowned, but then turned, just as the fiery redhead from before came rushing at John. She certainly lived up to the fiery namesake.

John looked at her for a second, almost in disbelief. Here he was. He could end everything now. All of them, together at one time. The others were already dead. And now… he could take them all out. Stop the Church. He could practically feel his hands choking Jennifer’s windpipe, brushing it, crushing it…

He made no show of emotion under his visor. John looked at her, and then to Winston. “Excuse us, please.” It was no question. It was a demand. Winston paused, but then the realization of what happened struck him. “Ohhhh!” He grinned, standing up and then winking very blatantly. John shook his head. “Go.” His patience was running thin. His left hand clenched into a fist, hidden behind his hip. He tightened in every way imaginable, fuming. He couldn't show it. He had to keep his cool, he knew. Winston, perhaps not realizing that winking as he was ruined the express purpose of winking, continued.

John slammed his fist against the seat next to him, then leapt up, pulled his pistol out and jammed it into Winston’s chest. “Eat shit, motherfucker!” He screamed, firing away, muzzle flashes and blood and screaming were all that was left in the truck.

Except he didn't do this. He couldn't. He couldn't ruin something so sweet, so perfect.

John did not kill anybody, or show any aggression. Winston left, and John turned his attention to Jennifer.

“You do look familiar. Tell me, your name… Janice, maybe? No, Megan? Valerie? Samantha? Wait, I think I got it…”

He could barely hold back the violent laughing that crept up his throat. “You’re Jennifer Paulson, aren't you?” He bit her name with all the finesse of a snake, a brutal comedy show that only he found funny. “When was the last time we met, huh? Small world.” He echoed Salk, who was now being approached by the other of the pair.

Winston had propped his hand up against the bars that held the truck’s back tarp up, and slowly made his way down the aisle. His drunken spirit was fading faster than usual. Perhaps the Zone. However it seemed to work, the majority of it seemed to be extremely conviently. Winston had begun to feel as if the Zone wasn't actually as random as it had been made to seem.

He approached Walter, who was Roy, who was Walter. The man mouthed off into a device of sorts, before initiating conversation with a scientist type looking man. Winston stepped over the now awoken Clarice, not forgetting to say “So sorry for throwing up on you” quickly, then sitting next to Walter. He managed to hear the last bit of the convo, before butting in himself.

“Wait, so you guys were both in Mesquite? I guess we just missed each other.” He weakly half-smiled, a valiant attempt, but an attempt no less.

In his peripheral vision, he caught the pickup truck driven by the others behind them. It reminding him of his own, before it was, y’now, set on fire.

by **Monfrox** » Tue Aug 23, 2016 11:14 pm

Hawkins

The tanker sighed. This man didn't seem very personable or desirable to the other woman with them, but at least he wasn't like Jen. She briefly wondered why she even bothered to care about Jen, whether it be for the fact that she felt responsible for the people she found, or some other godforsaken reason. Oh well, maybe some other time.

"Well, I'll skip most of my life's story and leave it at when I was in the Reserves. It was another hot-ass July day and me and a few of the other guys were on our way out from Fort Irwin. The 11th Armored Cav. was slated to do a training exercise with another battalion way out from the East. We play OPFOR. Y'know, act and think like the enemy, study and employ enemy tactics. We do it against our own to show them what we think they should expect when facing off against someone like China or Russia or whatever. Well, we needed more dummy ammunition, so they sent us up to the Hawthorne Army Depot to go requisition some. It was somewhere in between that I felt our Humvee get picked up and thrown around like some kind of toy car. Next thing I knew, I woke up as the only one still left in the vehicle and found the set of triplets and Miss Permanent Menstruation back there. Think that about covers it."

Lieutenant

As Jen sat in and moved over, the LT unceremoniously slipped off the bench in the truck and flopped onto the bed, pack in all. The laid there, not moving but breathing. Her face was slightly scrunched in a pained expression, twitching every so often.

Somewhere...

The air was damp, dusty, very stale. Light was few and far between. Only the brightness of a single beam cut through the darkness. The sounds of old creaking and water dripping were the only thing accompanying the soft crunch of dirt on concrete as boots moved on. A long and dark hallway, illuminated by an LED that blinded the rats and sent them scurrying back into their burrows. The light was not held by a hand, but by metal and screws to another piece of metal. This was all a contraption known as the Avtomat Kalashnikova 105, a carbine variant of the AK-74M.

The gun was a fine work of modern engineering, improving on the design of the AK-74M and AKS-74U to create a middle ground between the two weapons. It worked for the Leytenant, as well as a lot of other soldiers in her army, but it was imperative that it perform for her. She stepped cautiously, her grip around the angled plastic foregrip attached to the bottom while the tactical light on the side continued to shine wherever she pointed the muzzle. A PK06 sight sat on it's mount, situated directly above the dust cover. It illuminted a small three line reticle against the glass of the sight.

The Leytenant paused her creeping to shift the ballistic visor of her K6-3 helmet up and wiped the sweat from her brow. Despite being deep undergound in a cold, damp place, she was working up a sweat in her Tsifra camouflaged uniform. She pulled her face mask down a bit and let out a hot breath of air before putting it back and putting her hand back to the forestock.

"Leytenant, did you make contact with the VIP yet?"

The woman fumbled a bit, the silence shattered by her call from command. She put her hand back to herself and quickly found the transmit button for her radio.

"Negative."

"Keep going, she should be near your current position."

"Yes, sir."

As the Leytenant moved on, the dark hallway gave way to a set of rooms in between intersecting halls. There was emergency lights on here, bathing everything in a dull red glow. It made her uneasy, and made her check her carbine's selector lever to ensure that it was indeed on semi-automatic before moving forward. She briefly entertained the idea of attaching the bayonet to the end of the rifle, but knew that it would be better to not in case she needed to get to it in the event her rifle became inoperable or lost. For now, she continued on in search of this VIP.

by **Relikai** » Wed Aug 24, 2016 6:45 pm

Katori Yuki
Highway 15

New Grestin wrote:"You're a reanimate. Worms, from the looks of it. How'd that happen?"

Yuki's head snapped up, hearing the voice coming from the covered figure across the truck. The robot, or something which looked like a robot, spoke about worms. Worms... the worm which subdued Yuki back in the research facility, its excrement driving her mad with sexual desire. Although it was dead, Yuki stabbing it and Salk's own weapon making sure of its fate, it continued to haunt her, especially when worm DNA was directly responsible for her revival. Yuki lived because her brain lived, and sustenance in the form of her own body and Giuseppe's were nearby, consuming the skin, flesh and organs in a desperate bid to survive.

The Zone Crows came next, ensuring that Yuki was not reborn with ringed slimy skin, leaving a trail of worm slime wherever she walked. Instead, the birth from an egg allowed her to retain her human dominance, especially when most of the worm-like properties were destroyed upon being eaten by the Crow, her essence falling into what fertilizes its eggs.

"I..." Yuki started, staring hard at the machine as she tried to recount the story. Sighing, Yuki dropped the image of the useless crying waif as she placed a hand on her forehead, putting the elbow on her thigh to prop her up a support.

"A worm attacked me, I killed it before it could get... inside me... but some damage has been done..." Her memories were clear, Yuki recounting the assault, leaving out her crazy antics of trying to get males to satisfy her lust by going straight to her decapitation. Things got fuzzy, but she remembered the pain of being torn apart by the Zone Crow as she was consumed, her consciousness blurring as she entered a state of near limbo, reemerging as the human she was now with a feather on her head, cold and naked from the Crow egg. Yuki described her instinct as she smashed the other eggs, consuming their essence, drawing protein and other nutrients as her body reformed into the being she was now.

"...And I killed and ate Shrooms." Yuki muttered, ending her story with a slight sigh. The pilfered canteen came to her lips as she drank, hydrating herself as she looked at the robot with a raised eyebrow, her feather twitching but not fluffing up in any way.

"Anymore questions?"

by **Ximea** » Wed Aug 24, 2016 8:01 pm

Highway 15

Salk lowered his sunglasses to get a better look at...whatever the hell kind of person Yuki had turned into. "You...ate Shrooms," he said. Under his breath, he added, "The Tin Man is officially no longer the weirdest person here."

He could sense the change in her demeanor. That, and this latest revelation - if true - forced him to elevate his opinion of her. She was the Load before, a charity case that they dragged behind them and Salk occasionally stitched up, even if she was better with a gun than he had given her credit for at first. Now, she might actually be a useful member of the team.

"Anymore questions?"

If she wasn't a charity case, then he didn't have to be polite anymore. "Just one. What do you plan to do now? I mean, you can't really leave the Zone anymore. They'd strap you down and cut you up, and put little slices of your brain in jars of formaldehyde."

by **Wallenburg** » Thu Aug 25, 2016 12:31 am

Walter Keele
Highway 15, Nevada || Real Time

Kentucky Fried Land wrote:“Wait, so you guys were both in Mesquite? I guess we just missed each other.” He weakly half-smiled, a valiant attempt, but an attempt no less.

"Everyone's been in Mesquite, son. It's just a matter of when. If you came in through Mesquite after me, I sincerely pity you for the horrors you must have seen."

Walter reached over his shoulder and grabbed the side of his backpack. Feeling his way into the main pouch, he pulled out Walter's old hat. He placed it on his head and pulled it down over his face. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm getting some shut eye before the shit hits the fan again. If I'm about to die, don't bother waking me."

THE ZONE: A Survival RP (IC Thread)

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