Stories of Survival and Loss

by **Soldati Senza Confini** » Tue Oct 29, 2013 10:56 pm

It was the first day of the zombie invasion. Within 24 hours the plague was widespread. People were falling for the virus, and those who we didn't even know, those nations who we thought would leave alone a nation like ours, decided to invade and horde their zombies against us, leaving us without any hope, without any choice.

I am Charles Treyarch, I am the current president or well, used to be the president, of the nation of Soldati Senza Confini. We were a happy nation, we fought wars, but we always were optimistic. We were friends with many nations, we made enemies, yes, but we never did them out of malice. We did them on our way, we did them because of our convictions.

We grew out to be powerful, we grew to be strong. When I got into the presidency, my term was easier than others, mostly political in nature, mostly in peacetime. However, this... this became my nightmare.

The first streak of zombies came as a virus - now dubbed the Z-A virus by our scientists - which infected a few, which was not bad, we could control it, we developed a cure, and we were successful into doing so. However, all of a sudden, we noticed that the cure failed and more people got infected. We were trying to figure why was this happening but, by the time we found out it was our very regional nations that were sending virus covertly, it was already too late, we could not prevent the infection.

We asked for other nations to help us, but we were overran eventually. The first casualty I experienced and that I had to let go was my wife. Her beauty has only remained in what is now a picture of her I hold close to my heart. She was infected as we were trying to get out of the city. She got bit by a zombie, she could not come with me and she knew it. The virus however took a mutation within her: she was normal, except for the fact she now did not wanted to come with me, she wanted to remain with the zombie hordes, retain the new power and immortality she felt. I had to leave her. I had to sacrifice my future.

As I am typing these words, a tear came out of my eye. An aide of mine, a good woman called Theresa is now assisting me in what she can. She is a good woman, one of the few people who made it. She asked for my wife when she saw me, and when I told her what happened she consoled me. I cried like I have never cried before, and I needed a release, so she and I... Well, let's just say I found my release in Theresa this same day, let's just leave it at that.

After the fact I felt guilty, but Theresa reassured me she wasn't going to leave my side until I felt better, so she has been here all day, trying to make me feel better with her company. I can do nothing but feel guilt, and the gun, a beautiful Desert Eagle given to me by ex-president Carlo Lupus (who is now dead)... That gun speaks to me as if it wanted me to end my life, as if it wanted me to take it up and kill everyone. Life is not worth living like this, where you have no idea of your identity, everything you loved is gone, everyone you loved is gone and now, now all you can do is survive as best as you can. It is a meaningless existence, but that's what I will have to get used to.

by **New Korongo** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 12:16 am

NATIONAL CIVIL DEFENCE BROADCAST SYSTEM (Z-HOUR +9 NEWS UPDATE)
- All airports, ports and border checkpoints are closed until further notice.
- Provincial Guard forces across the country are no longer able to respond to zombie reports.
- The Armed Forces is currently bogged down in the countryside and unable to clear urban infected zones.
- Hospitals across the country are overwhelmed, citizens are advised to seek assistance at local clinics.
- A cure has been discovered, but domestic distribution has been delayed by international commitments.
- Citizens are advised to heed pre-outbreak Civil Defence advice: remain at home and isolate infected from survivors.
- President Jonathan Shipman has been evacuated to safety, along with most members of Parliament.
- Citizens are reminded that the killing of an infected person is not murder, and will carry no ramifications.

by **Orinon** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 1:33 am

We planned for war. We planned for famine. Droughts, plagues, rebellion. But never anything like this. What began as a small viral outbreak became an epidemic within a day. From a few isolated cases in a rural town, to having spread across the entire fucking planet. We had no idea how to stop it. How it spread. And then people started dying. But they didn't stay dead.

We fought it at first. Thought our military could stave it off while we scrambled for anything resembling a cure. But there was none. Every person we lost, the horde gain another. In the end, we made the call. I made the call. To abandon the planet. Our home, our shining jewel Terrva, lost to a horde of ravenous undead. We pulled out who we could. Then we blasted the space ports, the dry docks, even the ship graveyards. And then we blasted anything following us.

.....................

We left around three hundred million people behind. I reckon there's barely three million left now. Most of them holed up in Saint Travern's. Crazy coasties they may be, but I'll be damned if their city wasn't perfect for defending. Sea and coastline on three sides, and one of the nastiest mountain ranges in all the United Worlds on the fourth. We stay in touch, send them supplies. But we can't get them. Not until the hordes are dead. Permanently. They say that they just fall apart as they walk. Bloody well should.

It's been ten years, after all.

- Excerpts from Admiral of the Fleet Matthew Jusion's book, Born of the Void: A retelling of the Hordes of Death and the years that followed

by **Toishima** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 3:36 am

Blood and Honour

They say there is an old man who lives alone out here.

They say many things.

I have a feeling...

Quiet down. I hear something.

Yukira Forest
Sorachiba Prefecture, Southern Hotado
Toishima

Oda Miwamoto knelt on the ground silently. The sounds of the cicadas and the rustling of the wind enveloped him completely as he remained completely still. The gravel around him and under him was covered in intricate patterns, designed to aid with concentration. The pond ahead of him was still except for the occasional dragonfly that flew close to the surface, rippling the water silently and drawing the koi to the surface to feed.

Miwamoto opened his eyes, casting his gaze upwards. A flock of birds flew over his head above the forest canopy. His eyes narrowed. Birds never went in that direction. A drop of water hit the surface of the still lake, casting small ripples from the center of it. Contemplating this, the elderly man stood up, his long white hair flowing gracefully down his back, a long, wispy beard almost reaching his waist. He wore a simple blue kimono, although his forearms and lower legs were tightly bound with bandages to prevent the flowing cloths from getting in the way.

His hair was silvery-white, tied with a chonmage on his head, although, as mentioned earlier, the rest hung down his back. His face was wrinkled but was determined and wise, and he never seemed to change his calm expression. He wore traditional geta, completing the archaic appearance he radiated.

Bending down, he picked up the rake he had been using to make the patterns in the gravel and surveyed his small zen garden. Far from being the best zen garden in Toishima, the small, rectangular gravel pit had only three large stones in it, carefully chosen and positioned. Each stone was brought from each of the three nations in the Toishiman archipelago. Each stone was thus inevitably tied to that region, and were placed, along with some smaller ones, in a rough approximation of the archipelago itself, while still maintaining the harmony of the garden. He was pleased with it the way it was.

Another drop of water fell directly at the center of the pond, and a cold wind blew against the old man's face, disturbing some of the smaller, more delicately placed rocks in the garden.

Something is wrong.

Miwamoto stood up straight, holding the rake with two hands. He felt light drops of water begin to fall on him and looked up to feel the cool water hit his face. Soon, he was standing alone in the garden, not moving as the light rain fell around him and on the garden, which had indeed withstood worse.

"I know you are there."

There was a rustling in the bushes as a man emerged from the edge of the forest, moaning terribly. He wore no clothes- whatever he had been wearing had long scraped off. His body was covered with lacerations, cuts and bruises, but he did not seem to be worried by them. His face was mutilated, his lips gone, teeth bared. Blood dripped out of his mouth, and ragged pieces of still bloody meat hung from his teeth gruesomely. His eyes had no focus and were rolled upwards. What remained of his tongue attempted to lick the air, and a strange wheezing sound could be heard as he sucked in air through a bloody hole in his throat. Finger marks suggested he had torn it out himself.

The zombie stumbled his way through the light rain and into the garden, sniffing the air. There, right in the center of the garden. Food.

He reached out his arms, two fingers on the left arm lost to infection and rotted off and three on the right broken and in odd angles. They were covered in blood, naturally, but the blood was getting washed off by the rain, leaving the gravel beneath his feet stained a deep red colour.

"You desecrate this place with your foul stench, demon."

The zombie continued forward, driven by instinct. Kill to eat. Eat to survive. Survive to spread. Spread to kill. Kill to eat.

His arms were almost within reach of this target, which presented itself as a dish waiting to be eaten. It just stood there, not moving. Just within reach...

"There is no salvation for the likes of you."

Miwamoto gripped the rake with both hands, bent his legs and leapt into the air with surprising agility, the taped down extremities preventing his kimono from flowing. In the air, he spun around with the help of momentum and brought his weapon down hard on the zombie's skull. The blunt teeth of the tool forced their way through the already-softened flesh and punched through the weakened bone at the top of the skull. The force of the blow was strong enough to dislocate the zombie's tortured neck, severing any remaining nerves and removing control of the body from the creature's head. The zombie continued twitching, though, and the head continued gnashing away until it finally stopped from blood loss.

Miwamoto bent down on one knee and closed his eyes in respect for the former man. Then he stood and left the garden. There would be time to remove the body later. He strode along a small forest path paved with wooden boards and lit by Toro stone lanterns. Traditionally, there would be oil fires or candles within, but he was a practical man. And practicality meant they were lit by electric lights, tapped into the local electric grid, of course. His son had done that for him. It was their little secret.

The man arrived at his home, a small traditional-style hut in a small clearing, with a small koi pond and a large grassy area. The clearing was large enough for his son's helicopter to land in, and there was a small pathway that led out to a nearby main road by way of a winding, half-hour walk- even he needed to get food and water. He had tried planting vegetables, but never liked them. Even so, his little abode remained hidden to all but those truly desperate to seek their inner peace. He was a teacher of many things, and never denied students when they tracked him down.

The house itself was built in the traditional style, with some modern twists. For one, there was the floor-to-ceiling glass window on the second floor, where his bedroom was. The house was also lit by electric lights, and an antenna extended from the roof. His son had provided many things, from the glowing, LED tatami mat that was never used to the wide-screen LCD television on the main room's wall. Yet, he was still a traditionalist, and much of the house was still covered in tatami with paper screens separating rooms.

"I would advise you lot to find another target."

A group of eight zombies had appeared at the edge of the clearing. Two were in Imperial Army uniforms, while the rest were in generic clothing, all covered in dried blood, naturally. They advanced slowly across the field, moaning and groaning. One of them actually died on the way, collapsing into a pile of bloody flesh and bones. The others just trampled over their fallen relative, sealing his fate. Kill to eat. Eat to survive. Survive to spread. Spread to kill. Kill to eat.

Miwamoto entered his house, leaving the bloody rake on the porch in the rain. Hopefully the rain would clean it. He walked calmly into the main room, then into the main corridor, walking along the internal garden to another room. The silhouette of what looked like an armoured man could be seen through the paper screen, lit by a candle that Miwamoto always kept lit inside.

Miwamoto slid open the screen and stepped inside.

"It is time, old friend."

Miwamoto picked up the kabuto helmet and contemplated it for a moment before placing it on his head. It still fit alright. His head had not shrunk, apparently. The Kabuto was made with two curved prongs in the front. It was a slate blue colour, with the prongs and two side plates in gold trimming. Miwamoto tied to helmet's ribbon under his chin before picking up the rest of the armour and meticulously wearing them. The zombies would not be here for at least three more minutes. Once he was in full armour, he resembled a feudal samurai even more than he already did.

Finally, he went over to the table where he had placed the aforementioned candle. A scroll with gracefully-written calligraphy on it- "Uphold the Family Name"- was placed on the table, at the base of a four-tiered stand. The bottommost tier held a short Tanto in its sheath. He took this and attached it to the right side of his waist. The second tier held a medium-sized Wakizashi, which he took and attached to a small loop on his back armour. On the topmost and final tier was the family treasure- passed down through the generations, the unsheathed, curved sword was the legendary Miwamoto family katana, responsible for beheading the Solmaki warlord Chun in the 14th century. Every museum craved to get at it, not knowing that the Miwamoto family still owned it. Few people knew the family still exited.

He took the katana and looked at it for a few moments, then replaced it. Such a beautiful weapon should not be used in combat with such disgraceful creatures. Instead, he reached for the sword on the fourth tier, a replica of the other one. This was the one which he constantly trained with as well, meaning he was accustomed to the balance of the sword in his hand. After all, every sword is unique.

Outside of the house, the zombies had finally arrived at the porch, but got stuck at the staircase. Eventually, three fell over each other and a fourth managed to clamber over them and onto the porch, lurching into the open doorway. Walking over the tatami, the former soldier dripped blood-stained water all over the reed mats. He reached forward with grasping arms as his senses told him that food was right ahead. Kill to eat. Eat to survive. Survive to spread. Spread to kill. Kill to eat.

"It is common courtesy to leave your shoes outside of the house when you enter."

Miwamoto stepped calmly into the main room and stared down the zombie, which now stood in the middle of the room. His old eyes narrowed as the creature considered him. Finally, with a dreadful roar, it charged forward with surprising speed. Miwamoto charged as well, hitting the creature with his shoulder armour. The zombie, leg tendons rotten and weakened by constant walking over multiple days, had its legs literally ripped off of itself, and the legless creature was thrown through the paper screen, flying onto the porch. The only thing that saved its torso from splitting apart was the tactical webbing still strapped onto the former soldier.

Miwamoto followed the creature, not stopping to even inspect the broken door. He forced his sword downwards, splitting the ungodly beast into two disgusting, bloody masses of rotting flesh. There was no time to cheer, for the second one was already upon him. Turning quickly, Miwamoto's sword tore through the unarmoured former salaryman's abdomen. Intestines tumbled out and the body folded over backwards, blood spurting over the porch. The armour-clad elderly man stepped calmly over the twitching corpse and sank it deep into the head of one of the zombies lying flat on the staircase, ending its pitiful life.

The other zombies began to take notice of the target. Pheromones instinctively released directed the zombies to kill him instead of trying to infect him, and all of those in the small group received a momentary increase in the blood pressure and oxygen level of their blood to increase their speed and strength. The probable leader of the pack, a former woman, gave a roar.

Noting his unfair advantage, Miwamoto stepped down from the staircase to allow them all an equal chance. He raised his blade close to his body and challenged the groaning creatures to battle. They obliged, all five coming at him simultaneously.

Miwamoto dodged to the side and two zombies crashed into each other trying to change direction. Miwamoto easily decapitated one of them, spun back and cut off the arm of another one. This obviously had no effect on it, having no nerves, and it nearly jumped on him. Unfortunately, the steel armour proved too tough for its teeth, and it broke its jaw trying to bite through his chestplate. A quick beheading was in order, bringing the number of zombies down to three, versus one lone samurai.

His armour covered in blood he was careful not to ingest, the old man was reliving the life he never had the chance to lead. Stories from his grandfather, about samurai battles, hundreds of Ashigaru falling at the hands of gallant warriors... The only warriors of his time were the immoral, godless Imperial Army in the terrible Second World War and the present Imperial Army. Nothing to be proud of at all. But this... This was true warfare! Fighting with a sword, adrenaline pumping through the veins... If only he were younger, he could probably take on a thousand of these beasts! This is what I have been preparing for my entire life! The spirits acknowledge my servitude!

A quick strike to his left allowed him to disembowel the female zombie from the side, and she folded over grotesquely. Without a second thought, he forced his sword through her chest, where her heart was, ending her life. He kept a firm grip on the sword as he ran forward towards a zombie charging towards him, driving his sword deep into its chest even as it impaled itself on the blade through momentum. The last zombie charged at him- a former male Imperial Army soldier, probably recently infected and still wearing his combat armour. Unlike the others, his lips were still largely intact, meaning attacks from there would not be as dangerous. Perfect.

Releasing the sword and leaving it in the fallen zombie, Miwamoto charged at the zombie again, unarmed. It struck before he could pushing him over onto the bloody, wet ground. Raindrops flew past his face in slow motion. As the zombie stopped and turned to attack the kill, Miwamoto rolled to the side, and the creature fell face-first into the ground. Miwamoto quickly rolled to his feet and kicked the creature over. It tried to grab onto his leg, but he kicked it in the face. Unfortunately, the creature felt no pain and grabbed onto his side armour, pulling itself onto him. Miwamoto instinctively kicked it in the genitals, finding nothing there, raising some personal questions about the sexuality of the undead. He grabbed the creature and fell on top of it , and blood spurted from the creature's mouth. Miwamoto avoided it by turning his head, the blood splattering on the side of the helmet instead. He had his hands wrapped firmly around the creature, and couldn't get to his sword. There was only one other option.

He reached for the soldier's waist even as they rolled and the thing kept trying to unsuccessfully bite him. Finally, his hands curled around a cool metal grip. He pulled it out and stood up quickly, letting his undead adversary fall to the ground. Taking aim, he fired the gun one, two, three times into the creature's head, ending his life.

The rain continued falling, washing Miwamoto's armour somewhat. As he stood amongst the corpses, he felt as though he had just gone through two lifetimes- one of solitude and servitude to the spirits, and another of fighting, as his own ancestors had done over the centuries. It felt good to finally be able to restore the family's honour as a warrior clan as the last true Miwamoto. To think I waited my entire life for this moment... It is as glorious as I thought it would be.

He pushed his sword into the ground and knelt, honouring the enemies he had fallen this day. Then he returned home, shed his armour and placed them on the porch, then began collecting the bodies of the dead zombies carefully. It was night by the time he had them all in plastic bags, but he still heaved each one out to an abandoned forest graveyard left behind decades ago during the World War Two era. He knew a few people did occasionally visit, but he wondered how many of them were actually family members of the deceased.

The soft, wet ground was ideal for digging, and he dug one large grave for all of them. Miwamoto placed each bag inside the grave, then buried it again with a small mound on top. As he was heading for home, he heard a sound and saw flashlights in the distance, approaching the graveyard. He quickly hurried off, lest his true lifestyle be discovered so easily by those unworthy...

Yukira Forest
Sorachiba Prefecture, Southern Hotado
Toishima

A small Imperial Army patrol was heading through Yukira forest after receiving reports of Class 5s in the area. The nearby town was near he Imperial Army-established front lines, and zombies occasionally entered the unaffected areas through the dark forests, especially at night. In the day, helicopters patrolled the forest edges, though parts were not patrolled due to their secluded nature. Ground patrols were deployed to investigate these areas at times, though the preferred strategy was still guarding the forest edge from the outside.

A corporal and two privates were on point, with the rest of the nine-man squad trailing behind. The privates were jumpy and were very cautions, typical of new recruits. Before long, they began telling each other odd things they heard of the area.

"They say there is an old man who lives alone out here."

"They say many things," the corporal replied, looking around for Class 5s. in the darkness. He thought he did see a man, though that was probably his imagination.

"I have a feeling..."

"Quiet down. I hear something," the corporal said, motioning for the squad to halt. He moved forward a bit and parted the trees, coming upon a forest graveyard. He motioned for the squad to follow him in and all nine men moved amongst the gravestones. An odd grave was visible at the side, more like a burial mound than anything else. Even stranger, it looked recent.

The squad's sergeant was obviously disturbed as well, and ordered the squad to move off again.

Night patrol was always disturbing.

by **Cesatar** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 5:10 am

Absolute Liberty, please respond.

Absolute Liberty, please respond.

Absolute Liberty... please respond.

Please respond.

Please.

Seconds ago: Absolute Liberty was cleansed by a Tactical Zombie Elimination Squad from The Cybernetic Consciousness of Cesatar, killing 5 million zombies.
2 minutes ago: Absolute Liberty was cleansed by a Tactical Zombie Elimination Squad from The Cybernetic Consciousness of Cesatar, killing 6 million zombies.
2 minutes ago: Absolute Liberty was cleansed by a Tactical Zombie Elimination Squad from The Cybernetic Consciousness of Cesatar, killing 10 million zombies.
3 minutes ago: Absolute Liberty was cleansed by a Tactical Zombie Elimination Squad from The Cybernetic Consciousness of Cesatar, killing 7 million zombies.
4 minutes ago: Absolute Liberty was cleansed by a Tactical Zombie Elimination Squad from The Cybernetic Consciousness of Cesatar, killing 10 million zombies.
6 minutes ago: Absolute Liberty was cleansed by a Tactical Zombie Elimination Squad from The Cybernetic Consciousness of Cesatar, killing 15 million zombies.
49 minutes ago: Absolute Liberty was cleansed by a Tactical Zombie Elimination Squad from The Cybernetic Consciousness of Cesatar, killing 7 million zombies.
3 hours ago: Absolute Liberty was cleansed by a Tactical Zombie Elimination Squad from The Cybernetic Consciousness of Cesatar, killing 19 million zombies.
3 hours ago: Absolute Liberty was cleansed by a Tactical Zombie Elimination Squad from The Cybernetic Consciousness of Cesatar, killing 13 million zombies.
3 hours ago: Absolute Liberty was cleansed by a Tactical Zombie Elimination Squad from The Cybernetic Consciousness of Cesatar, killing 18 million zombies.

by **Guadalupador** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 6:30 am

This is an excerpt from a note found written in a book near two corpses, with self-inflicted gunshot wounds to the head, in a car

We had just gotten back from Nosamo when it all happened, martial law and all that, "stay inside your homes", "the military will keep you safe" kind of crap. At first, everything seemed okay, the military was holding its ground against the hordes, but it only got worse from there, a larger horde, it must have been a couple million of them, broke through our border from a neighboring country. The army was overwhelmed, we couldn't hold our line. My wife and I were the only ones to escape our apartment in Norikavisk, we had to, the horde was just too powerful, and we couldn't go back for anyone, not now at least. Our neighbors were trapped, and we just left them there to die along with the rest of the damn city. What the hell were we going to do? This car's going to run out of gas soon, and when it does, we'll be stuck here out in the wilderness, not much better than trying to stay in the city. The military's nowhere to be seen, the air force has stopped their bombing runs all across the country. It seems that we all are losing hope. The zombies outnumber us 100 to 1, and the only safe zone is the capital, Nosamo. We should've just stayed there, just for a few more days. What's done is done I guess. I fear for the rest of my family, if they're alive that is. Who am I kidding? They must be among the hordes of the undead. I was never a person for religion, but I guess right now is the best time to be one. I'm reminded of a childhood prayer my mother used to recite to me: "Mother of Veii, your shroud comforts us all, please protect thy children of mine tonight from all horrors imaginable, let Apollonii shed his holy sunlight on the world once more tomorrow morning, and bring peace to those that have died recently. In your name we pray, O Holy Cipheron, Mother of Veii." It went something along the lines of that, it brings me peace, knowing that everything that I know is gone. I feel better, so much better but I know we're not getting out of this. So, I've made my peace, and I know it's okay to... die. If any one reads this, then I hope they realize how out of hand this whole damn thing is. Mom, I love you so much, and I pray that you're safe.....

by **Maineiacs** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 7:32 am

Maineiacs City General Hospital--

Anderson McDermott saluted as the uniformed man approached. He noted the General looked almost as tired as he himself felt.

"Mr. President, we have the latest figures. Looks like the MDC[Maineacs Center for Disease Control]'s efforts have been successful. Our most recent report tallies less than 13 million zombies nationwide. That's a cure rate of 99.7%. We got it early, before the epidemic got out of hand. They say the total infection rate never exceeded 23.8%. We've heard there are other nations that have nearly 100% infection rates and millions of casualties. There are still large scale outbreaks in parts of Antilles Province, in particular the city of Port-au-Prince, but MDC says they hope to have the situation neutralized by this time tomorrow. Another interesting thing about this 'disease': those who have recovered report no recollection of anything they experienced while in its grip." said Gen. Blake Racker, Chief of Army Staff.

"And casualties?" asked McDermott.

"None reported anywhere sir." said Racker.

"None? You mean we might actually come out of this?" McDermott asked.

"Yes, sir." replied Racker.

"What are the figures here in the city?" asked McDermott.

"Less than 2,000 still infected sir. Hospitals are opening up beds as we speak." said the General.

"That's something, at least." McDermott replied wearliy.

"Sir, if I may be so bold, is there any change in your daughter's condition?" asked Racker.

"No, General. But it was kind of you to ask." said McDermott. "Keep me posted on any further developments, and I still want the MDC to figure out how this 'zombie' thing started."

"Yes, sir." said Racker with a salute.

McDermott sighed, and went back to the window looking in to the room where his 16-year-old daughter, Allison, lay. Her skin still had a sickly-gray pallor, and open, oozing lesions. Allison had been one of the first in the city to be infected, and now she was one of the last to still be affected. In her madness, she had bitten no less than 10 staff at the Presdential Residence. McDermott, never a very religious man, nonetheless said a small prayer for her recovery and vowed that if she survived he'd make sure she never knew the full extent of what this affliction had made her do.

by **Cesatar** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 7:57 am

by **Maineiacs** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 10:04 am

Another "warhead" detonated overhead. It was nice to know Maineacs' neighbors hadn't forgotten them. "Time to repay the favor", thought research assistant Tim Borden.

"3...2...1... launch." The missle arced skyward, its "warhead" of the cure developed by MDC on board.

"Are you sure this will work?" asked Tim Borden to his collegue.

"No, but we owe it to our neighbors to try." said Dr. Linda Lawrence, head of the research team that had all but saved Maineiacs from destruction as she glanced up from the field report she had been reading. "This, combined with what we've received from neighboring nations should wipe out the last of this epidemic in short order. They've helped us, now we help them. Let's see if our team was as clever as theirs were."

"Who would have thought that the world would be saved by nations firing missles at each other." said Borden.

"Well, we may not have ever used missles as instruments of war, but we had the technology to do so. I do appreciate the irony, however, of something that was once meant to destroy now being used as a positive force." said Linda. "Call up Army Command and report that our latest field estimates put the number of infected at 4 million. Port-au-Prince is now contained."

"Yes, Doctor." he replied.

by **Zwangzug** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 10:15 am

Zwangzug wrote:“Welcome to Eastridge Park for game five of this championship series, between the visiting FTC Mustangs and your Nuel Panthers! It's all tied up at two games apiece, but the momentum has not been going our way. Here with more is Gina Fermi. Gina?”

“Thanks, Dan. After beating the Red-Tails in four games, of course, we had an extra rest day while the Mustangs needed all five to edge out the Worms in, with respect, a weaker semifinal. And it first, it seemed to matter; we were able to get off to a great start out west, edging out game one in the pitcher's duel, and then blowing out game two. But home field advantage has not been kind for us either, with that crushing game three loss and then yesterday's game. Sloppy defense from our guys, and that's what we need to change if we're going to stand a chance tonight...the winner today will take a one-game lead back to the FTC.”

“Indeed they will, Gina. It's a beautiful night in the valley. Stay with us...”

“...The pitch from Strinka. Steidmott lifts it into left field, Derigi drifting back and—she'll make the catch! But they're sending Flin-Gancer, the relay from Scordato is...not in time. Hartmut Flin-Gancer scores the first run of the game, and the Mustangs take the lead 1-0.”

“A disappointing start there for Strinka, he'd been distracted with those pickoffs, yes Flin-Gancer slow so in that sense a surprise for them to risk running him this early, but you know what, it paid off. Strinka spent too much time mixing up pitches and shaking off Kottel, that'll do it, the catcher clearly disappointed at how that panned out. And can you blame him?”

“I can't, Jesse. But I'm sorry to interrupt you, because Gina Fermi wants to cut in.”

“Now? This is the only game on!”

“I know, but she says it's important.”

“Fine. Take it away, Gina.”

“Sorry, gentlemen. We're actually getting reports in from Zwischen that there's been a contagious disease rapidly infecting people across the country, if you remember those flu-like symptoms around the first of April or so, it could be a more virulent strain of that. As of now we advise fans to stay at home, don't take trains, and don't go out in public if you can help it. If you see anyone trying to bite you, please take evasive action.”

“Er...thanks, Gina? And those of us at the ballpark?”

“Down in the valley of Nuel I'd say you're as safe as anywhere. Please remain calm. The government is researching to find a cure, and interregional travel is prohibited, but who'd really want to visit Starways Congress anyway. More on that as it develops...”

“...Hamier winds, delivers, this is swung on and hit hard into right field! McRoy racing around first, he's heading for two! And Cendle will score standing up! It's a tie ballgame!”

“And just listen to this crowd go wild!”

“Is that wild cheering on their favorite team, Jesse? Or wild mobs succumbing to the might of undead hordes in the bleachers?”

“I'm going to guess the former, Dan! But here with more is Gina Fermi.”

“Thanks, guys. A policy change from Zwischen, immediately, the region will be open to visitors who confirm their identity—last time around, once a cure was developed it could pass over international borders so we're hoping the same works out in this case.”

“Has anybody wanted to come?”

“Not to my knowledge, but just leaving the option on the table.”

“And how's that cure progress going?”

“Slowly but surely, I'm optimistic. Unfortunately, the disease continues to spread in the meantime.”

“Gina, any truth to the rumors that Zwangzug has sent special scientific research teams to foreign regions, to combat the epidemic overseas?”

“Haven't heard that, Jesse. Now, whether there are other countries moving around, absolutely, and whether some of them lie within Zwangzug's sphere of influence...well, you know, what exactly is our sphere of influence, I've never been much for geography beyond the baseball diamond. So, perhaps that's what you're thinking of.”

“Thanks, Gina. Anything in Nuel?”

“Well, it's hard to tell. A few flu-like symptoms going around, admittedly, but it could just be the common cold or a bad case of playoff fever. Still, if you're listening on the radio, stay inside, keep an eye on your friends and family members and be ready to move in case of drastic changes. More and more train lines are shutting down to try and localize the threat.”

“All right. Well, it's all tied up here, we'll take it to the sixth...”

“...Both managers on the phone with the bullpen.”

“Is that the bullpen, do you think, Jesse, or might it be the outside world, desperately searching to learn who has or has not been overwhelmed by the ravenous zombies?”

“Can't quite see from this angle, Dan. Is it perhaps time for this date in baseball history?”

“It is not, Jesse, on account of time dilation makes everything screwy.”

“But it's almost October 31. I say, do you know why computer scientists confuse Halloween and Christmas?”

“No, because I'm not from bleeping 102d.”

“Because Oct 31 = Dec 25.”

“That's enough for now, Jesse. Oh here we go, Osdery's got a hold of one! Through the gap in left-center, here comes Cheson, and the Panthers take a 2-1 lead in this game!”

“Though it all seems a bit meaningless at a time like this.”

“On the contrary! I'd like to get this game wrapped up, so we don't have to take it into extra innings!”

“Do you think it's true, then, that we're safe here?”

“I don't know. Gina?”

“Thanks for asking, gentlemen. Unfortunately I have received word that the virus is spreading through the FTC now, yes both of them, so even with the research on the cure—and there've been some promising steps forward—it's still very contagious. The cure could take a while to disperse through the smaller towns.”

“Yes, but then surely the disease will have a hard time reaching them as well?”

“More to the point, Jesse, what about the visitors? They're not going to want to play, are they, with all their loved ones back home plagued by these, these zs! To say nothing of game six or seven...”

“Good point. I think there's a conference at home plate, now, both managers coming out to talk it over...”

What they speak of at home plate, the announcers can't here. Maybe it's the closed trains. Maybe it's the myriads of fans who have come out, who have nowhere else to go. Maybe it's the fact that the Panthers have never won a championship, that the Mustangs' have only come during the old days, that there's still everything to play for here. Maybe they speak of sizbermetrics. Of the inefficacy of sacrifice bunts. Of the faith that, nevertheless, there are things worth sacrificing for. That if they have to make a stand, they might as well do it in the valley, in the first-and-a-half generation city, among the spires.

Of the fact that the Panthers are winning, so if the Mustangs lose, well, it's clearly not the fault of their other concerns, they couldn't hold a lead before then.

And the game goes on. The fans begin to scream, and clap, and an inning later they are still screaming when they declare that they don't care if they never get back.

“It's the top of the ninth, and the Panthers are three outs away from taking a lead back to the FTC!”

“If there's an FTC to go back to.”

“Thanks for your sense of hope, Jesse.”

“Well thanks for yours, assuming they can win the thing, and all, that's very confident of you.”

“Right, then. Gina?”

“It's all eerily quiet here, sad to say. I'm informed that you should probably try and stay off popular social networking sites, to save bandwidth for foreign regions that need to coordinate their relief efforts. This means you, Jesse, no seeking out one-liners from pithy fans.”

“Right you are. And the FTC?”

“Well, it's sort of devolved into both sides blaming the other and refusing to communicate in the other notation, while the zombies run around the east side destroying things and sit around the west side lamenting the dearth of fine brains.”

“So...basically a normal day in the FTC, then.”

“Absolutely, guys. Back to you.”

“Thanks, Gina. The Mustangs are having a hard time solving Deben-Brove, here's another changeup that Kache takes, but it's just over the plate enough. Two and two the count.”

“Kache has been quiet in this series so far, bar that game three of course when the Mustangs were at their galloping best, but even yesterday not so much, of course that called third strike two innings ago ended their threat.”

“Indeed. This one'll be fouled away.”

“Let's pause for station identification!”

“Not now, Jesse.”

“Yes, now. This is WPIM, AM 1000 in Nuel, still a completely human-run organization.”

“Well, I'm not sure about some of our bosses.”

“Well, you know what I mean. No zombies here.”

“The pitch from Deben-Brove. Kache will lift this one—it's going back—to the wall—and it's gone! We have a tie ballgame!”

“And it really just makes you appreciate human ingenuity and the power of projectile motion, doesn't it?”

“Absolutely. And as crushing as this is for the Panthers, you just have to feel for the Mustangs right now, with all that emotion—the uncertainty of what's happening back home, to have met it with this sort of offense. What a hit for Tamaya Kache, that is inspirational. They're mobbing her at home plate...”

“Mobbing her, or trying to bite each other in a feeding frenzy?”

“Going to guess the former, Jesse, but nothing's certain in baseball, as we've just seen. Don't go anywhere, folks, not just because it's not safe, but because we have a tie ballgame on our hands. And on our minds.”

“If not our brainsss...”

“...Past midnight here, another day closer to Halloween per se. Or Hallowmas Eve. Or Reformation Day.”

“Or please-not-with-the-shooting-of-the-Composite-Minister, c'mon, guys, day. Please tell me nobody else has tried to take a shot at him...Gina?”

“Er, no such luck I'm afraid, it's been a bit busy with the infection and all, disgruntled citizens will try and have their way...but everyone's still alive and well that we know of.”

“Well, people die every day, it's a fact of life. Old age, getting lost in the wilderness, zebra maulings...”

“Yes, but nothing too exotic.”

“Zebra maulings are pretty strange.”

“Well, it's been a strange game by any measure—after neither team scored in the tenth, it's onto the bottom of the eleventh, but the Panthers have something going. Runner on second and one away, it'll be Denny Emperas who steps up here to try and win it for the Panthers.”

“It's a great crowd here, no one's gone home, although that might have more to do with the trains shutting down.”

“Fair point, Jesse. The pitch from McKeidmore, taken for a ball.”

“Both teams still have a couple more arms left in their pen, but options on the bench are running thin. After the blowouts in games two and three, the bullpens are probably tired.”

“And this one will be...hit softly into right-center, Sanpaddes is rounding third. They'll send him, but the throw from Kitano is in time—”

“Safe!”

“Out! Kitano nailed him!”

“He's safe—third base umpire, Berta Kosky, made the call!”

“But that's impossible...”

“They're talking it over, look at the replay.”

“Huh. Riblin-Vanza at third didn't have a play to make on Sanpaddes, but look at her in the baseline...I think she's been turned, I think she was trying to bite him!”

“Yeah, the coaches are dragging her off, she doesn't look well. Sanpaddes seems to be okay, the Panthers are surrounding him, but I don't understand...”

“Obstruction!”

“What?”

“They made the right call, defensive obstruction! If you're attempting to bite someone and turn them into a zombie, you're hindering their advancement! Kosky saw it, made the right call, it's a walkoff! Panthers win!”

“Oh, come on. I can believe a zombie apocalypse, that's perfectly normal, but you can't expect me to believe a game in the championship series would end on an obstruction call...!”

“Baseball's a strange game, Jesse. That's all from us—your final score Panthers 3, Mustangs 2, in eleven innings. Thanks for listening, and stay safe. Good night.”

“Wait, hold on. Any word from Gina? How're things in the FTC?”

“I'm happy to say there's been a big step forward over there, actually! Real progress!”

“Oh, thank goodness! The Mustangs will at least have that consolation.”

“Well...no.”

“No? What do you mean?”

“Well, you see, these zombies, or zeds, a nice initialism there, they have a place in popular culture...”

“Oh no...”

“Even if we're all cured, I doubt they'll leave the collective consciousness. A day like this is worth commemorating and, well, the Mustangs?”

“Yeah.”

“Their cross-district rivals have changed their nickname, again.”

The cure was found while the region was in lockdown, and disseminated throughout Zwangzug. Two days later, game six went on as scheduled, and a 2-1 victory gave the Panthers their first ever championship.

by **Azurlavai** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 10:25 am

4 weeks into the 'Blue Fever' epidemic
Karlston Flats Maximum Security Penitentiary
You really expect me to talk, don't you? I don't get it. A week ago, you chuck me in here with the rest of the trash, and now you want to reinstate me? You NSB guys are a real puzzle, y'know that?

Recant? Oh, I'll recant alright. Like hell. You suited assholes weren't out there with us, so don't get all high and mighty. This war that you say we're "winning" is just an ebb and flow. You realize that, don't you? Guns and bombs only work against the infected, but the plague is in the air! Its in here right now, and this is a goddamn prison! Let me spell it out for you, Agent; Blue Fever, right? It gets into the brain, triggers the most primordial components of it, overrides human reason and function. Basically, its freackin' rabies on steroids. And while it only affects humans, its not like animals don't know a vicious predator when they see it. Do you -know- how many attack dogs I lost while out on patrol?!

They're not dead, not like the movies say, not like everyone believes. Shooting them in the head kills 'em, yeah. But you can still kill them with shrapnel, fire, drowning. They're still living biological beings, they just don't feel pain or fear anymore. And that's the most dangerous part about them. They'll charge full pelt at your barricades, no shambling waves or nothing like that, and you hope to whatever God you pray to that your ammo holds out, that your X-9 doesn't jam, that you can get to your knife in time.

But I digress...you realize how many times over the past month that the Supreme Chairman and the Council have said the war is 'over?' You really don't get it...you can't defeat a virus with bombs and bullets. You're just killing the infected body. And then the body spreads the virus. -That's- why we keep finding towns that get infected. River water, poisoned animals, tainted food. These are all conditions. Wonder why it was the countryside that got hit first? Not so many hospitals, just county or state doctors.

So no, Agent. I'm not going to accept your pardon. Because it's the same thing you jailed me for. I admit, storming the hospital and shooting everyone may have seemed like a desperate move...but unless you're willing to kill the -virus- and not just the host, this plague is going to keep going. And it's not going to stop at 60 million dead. If you can't focus on taking out the sickness instead of the withered limb...it's never going to end. To be honest...I feel much safer in here.

Testimony of Captain James McKinley, Prisoner #4001-607-9-01, Incarcerated for life following the destruction of the New Verna City Hospital by his Army troops. Dictated to NSA Agent Carter

by **Guadalupador** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 1:28 pm

EMERGENCY MESSAGE FROM THE DORIAN MILITARY HIGH COMMAND:
TO: DORIAN FEDERAL NAVY SHIP: TARQUIN, VOLCAN CLASS NUCLEAR BALLISTIC MISSILE SUBMARINE
With the highest clearance from the Commander in Chief of Dorian Military Forces, Grand Premier Enrique Yanama, the DFNS Tarquin, is hereby authorized to fire its Thermonuclear Small Range Ballistic Missiles (SRBMs) on the homeland. Nosamo has been overrun by the horde, the civilian government has fallen, martial law has failed. WARCON 1 is now in effect, the authorization to use nuclear weapons has been authorized. The launch codes will be transmitted after this message has been finished. Targets for SRBMs include but are not limited to large cities such as: NOSAMO, AVIJANOS, ENRICO, BANSUA, NORIKAVISK, DIVOUGA, KU CITY, IDEYOSHI CITY, NEW LLOVIA, EO, OPPANISHIMA, and others. Please redirect this message to other VOLCAN CLASS SUBMARINES within range. May Veii be with us all.
- Enrique Yanama
LAUNCH CODES:
0E7H8B9V3M4 WEAPONS FREE PROTOCOL CONFIRMATION
Q9P5V0M6SO LAUNCH CONFIRMATION

by **Cesatar** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 1:47 pm

by **Azurlavai** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 4:54 pm

Death of a City

Taken from the testimony of Randall Gerhardt, former resident of Sophaia, Natceral state
It's a bit surreal, you know. Seeing your home taken from you. All those soldiers, the refugees, the survivors, they can relate to seeing something they love being destroyed. But me...I don't think I'll ever forget it.

It was the 49th day of the conflict, if I remember correctly. Ever since they tracked Blue Fever to its source date, the news network always kept a counter going in the corner. Ticking away at how long our country had been fighting. Anyway...Sophaia is this small city on the outskirts. We made our way from the farms in the region. It was a real close community, the various neighborhoods. So when things started going wrong...infected began showing up...the military knew what to do. The State Guard arrived on scene in a heartbeat, and they began locking down, getting those free of infection out. Those left behind...they succumbed within twelve hours. Poor people.

I'd gone back to look for my daughter, Lisa. She was an officer, mind you. Riot trooper. Got sent to help with crowd control. Still don't know what happened to her. Anyway, when the swarm actually began, the State Guard started getting us out. But not me. I snuck back in, started looking. I had to keep my wits about me, mind you. The Guard were fighting zombies in the streets sporadically. Seemed like they were holding their own. A few tanks were deployed to the scene, but they were busy keeping the exit route open. It seemed like the Guard was leaving. It made no sense.

Finally, I gave up. Couldn't find her, and it was too dangerous to keep looking. So I ran up to the nearest patrol. They almost shot me, thought I was infected, but I showed them my wristband. Showed them I was clean. They took me to a nearby square, where a bunch of trucks and helicopters were taking soldiers and gear away. Loaded me up in a truck and we got out. I hear that the last three trucks were overrun before they escaped.

Anyway...we're about five miles out of the city when I hear this...enormous explosion. Turns out, the launcher was set up just above us, in the hills around a half-mile away from the city outskirts. But when the shell landed...my God, I don't think I've ever seen anything like it. The flash was brighter than anything I've ever seen. The atomic ordnance, that's what they called it later, had enough material packed in there to...well to do what it did. Just like that, the city was gone. And with it, fortunately, the infected that tried to take it over.

I know Lisa never got out...but one way or another, she was buried that day. And to be honest, not knowing is the part that I'm grateful for. Let's me go about each day without being haunted by her ghost anymore...but Sophaia...she'll always have ghosts. Because it was just another casualty in the war.

by **Kidlantis** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 7:23 pm

Takhai
"Ha Ha! That oughta teach those zombies not to mess with us!" shouted Lieutenant Jake Anderson, who was the commander of the M2 Bradley IFV.
"Sir, despite the fact that we just took out 25 zombies, we are currently being swarmed by the undead," Private Arthur Smith said.
"Of course I know we're all going to die. Why else would I be trying to cheer you up?"
It was day sixty-nine of the zombie outbreak, and day seven of the renewed military offensive into Southern Kidlantis. President Lee had ordered efforts off research efforts, and more towards killing zombies. So far, efforts had gone relatively well. After most of the major cities were gassed with VX (There were no morals), troops had moved in. However, they were experiencing heavy resistance in Takhai which hadn't been gassed. Reliable sources placed Patient Zero for Kidlantis in Takhai, and they wanted him/her alive and unharmed. Unfortunately, this meant no airstrikes of any kind. Or explosives. They had neared the address that was supposed to contain Patient Zero, but before they could send in a couple of squads and a fireteam, the had been swarmed by hundreds of the infected. The other two M2 Bradley's had been destroyed by the infected almost immediately, and the third one, the one Anderson and Smith were in, was barely holding.
A woman staggered into the back of the vehicle.
"How's it going Sergeant?" asked Anderson.
"Not very well," replied the sergeant, whose name was Artemis Cortez. "The others are all dead, and we're all going to die."
The sharp teeth of the infected bit through the armor of the Bradley, and the occupants began to panic.
"Well," said Smith his voice rising above the panicked voice of the others. "I'm not going to let the infected convert us." With that he lit a match and prepared to throw it into the ammo compartment.
"Wait, don't," cried Anderson. "I have a family back in Ravenia! We can still get out alive."
"No, we can't," said Cortez. "Look at that hole in the armor. "We'll be dead in thirty seconds."
"But if we're infected, we have a chance of being cured right?" said Anderson.
Smith was about to reply, but an infected suddenly broke through the armor. In that moment of horror, Anderson grabbed the match and through it up into ammo compartment.

The last thing any of them felt was a very hot sensation, and the last thing they heard was a loud boom.

by **Victorious Decepticons** » Wed Oct 30, 2013 8:33 pm

Chief Overseer of Megatron Metals Mine #1, Killed during the Great Slave Raid (war) about 6-8 months ago, Risen Yesterday from the Ground Where He Lay

No one leaves Megatron Metals Mine #1 alive.

For over a century, this was my mantra. I was responsible for productivity - that is to say, I was responsible for working over 10 million humans of various version numbers to their deaths. I, you see, was the head overseer.

At our other mines, humans lived for about 60 years after being put to work, making them about 75 when they were finally sent to rendering. These creatures, alas, slowed down past their peak of productivity after only 10 or 15 years. I did the math, and realized that if they were worked at their true full speed, they would be able to produce much more ore. The problem was that they would only live for a few years. About 2, in fact. But they would produce so much more ore that I could just buy new slaves and still have quite a profit.

One day, some crazy aliens showed up, and of course, they were jealous of my grand achievements. They began to make war on the Empire, and soon, the Earthian front centered on none other than Megatron Metals Mine #1. My mine.

I don't exactly remember where the ordnance came from, or even what type it was. All I remember is the screech of rending metal, the feeling of my sensors tearing apart, and then the smell of my scorched motion boards. Finally, there was a flash, and as I fell all that way to the ground of that foreign mudball so far from Cybertron...blackness, and then nothing at all.

Imagine my surprise when, just yesterday, I realized that I was aware once again! Surely I was now on Cybertron, repaired, and ready to go back to wringing what little worth the slaves had out of them!

But as I looked around, I realized that I was still on Earth. In fact, I had unconsciously clawed my way back up from where I had been covered with sand. A quick look around revealed that I was in front of my mine - but now, there were no enemies around. And, there were no humans. Instead, primitive machinery from "Carjack Heavy Equipment" was attempting to do their work. It did a passable job, but it was clearly not sapient. Therefore, it did not match the productivity of thousands of terrified humans.

Still, the sight of General Carjack's name on the machinery showed that we had not been conquered. I reached my hand up to my head in thought - and that's when I realized something far more shocking! My guesses as to how Megatron had turned the war around and made the enemy look like asses would have to wait. According to my calculations, I should not have been functional...

Half of my head seemed to have been blown away, and a quick look at my chest revealed devastated motion boards. I shouldn't have been able to move or think from that damage alone. Worse yet, rust had set in - not only where my paint was blown away outside, but inside all of the compartments that had been exposed to the elements. The body was clearly fit for the foundry and nothing else!

I know not what kind of magic brought me back to this realm, nor what magic has allowed this body to run. I soon realized that my ability to think was being provided by my set of hidden boards, but I could not figure out just what power source was providing the electricity for my circuits nor how the commands were getting through the fried, torn wiring between my extra boards and the rest of the system. Maybe it was the Bureau of Impossible Physics' work? But it couldn't be. They would never bother with tech like this when a trip to the body shop would produce such a better result...

I wandered for many miles - not hard with a body that has such huge strides - until I came to Carjack Agriculture's main farms. That son of an Atari shut his gates when he saw me!! He never did like me, and accused me of copying off of some puny human with a silly mustache many times, but I didn't expect him to just seal his farms and wait for me to go away! I suppose I should be glad he didn't just re-kill me and be done with it, but still. Of course, I tried to just fly over the gates, but one of my wings was missing and I couldn't get enough loft. Apparently at least some of the laws of physics still worked.

Finally, I made it to the Bureau of Biological Labor, where I was welcomed back as their biggest customer. Some guys from the Bureau of Paranormal Research were also there. I got on their radio and managed to entice a cargo-bot to take me back to Cybertron. It cost me 100,000 Cubes!! Those damned cargo-bots hate to give rides and they sure took me to the wringer. But I paid up from my secret vault, and soon I was back home.

You might think I got rid of this damaged body and mind-transferred to a new one, but that would have been foolish. I installed new boards and patched up the obvious damage, but I kept the overall body. That's because THIS body is able to run through catastrophic damage, while a regular one would just crash the same was as this one had originally done.

Then I stormed into Megatron Metals and demanded compensation for the fact that I'd been killed defending their assets. The fact that I loved the gig doesn't matter. The job was overseer, not soldier! Surprisingly, they paid up without much hassle and then told me that the real Megatron Metals Mine #1 was now on some secret planet. Ha ha ha, that's the Megatron I know and love!

Finally, they told me that they now had possession of billions of zombies, and that the ones that came from humans didn't fare nearly as well as I had. The biological ones were now creatures of pure instinct. A wide, sadistic grin immediately came to my face - as long as they had a pain-avoidance instinct and a fear instinct, I could get 'em workin' at capacities that are literally bonebreaking.

A deal was soon struck, and Mine #1 will be returning to Earth. I figure I can run through about a million zombies every year and have the mine producing ten times the ore than it ever did. Living humans, you see, will crash and stop working when they're too dried out, or too exhausted, or too sick, or have too many broken parts, or any number of other things. Zombies, on the other hand, will work until they literally fall to bits.

No one leaves Megatron Metals Mine #1 alive. It turns out that, that was true of me as well. A zombie Decepticon, however, will function for centuries.

by **Macisikan** » Thu Oct 31, 2013 5:28 am

15:24hrs Ship Time, 31 October 3222 RK; Low Earth Orbit, Vårheim
It has been said that the universe is probably littered with the one-planet graves of cultures which made the sensible economic decision that there’s no good reason to go into space – each discovered, studied, and remembered by the ones who made the irrational decision.

The Crown Prince Thomas, heir to the Throne of Light, stared unseeing down at the monitor in front of him. It displayed the tranquil blue orb of Earth. Around it, other monitors were displaying the horrors below; a bird’s-eye view of a city square, drenched in blood, silent and still. A news studio showing an increasingly panicked presenter. An Emergency Broadcast System that’s been playing the same “please stand by” notice for the last hour. Imagery from a news helicopter – people being overwhelmed and torn apart while a city burns. There are others; the audio is muted on all of them. Only the soft hum of the ship’s systems disturbs the silence.. The young man is ignoring them, ignoring the view before him; his fingers are playing with the medallion at his throat, he’s staring at some internal world.

“Your Serene Highness?”

“Mmm?” the Crown Prince makes no sound beyond that soft hum.

“Your Serene Highness?”

“Yes, Captain?” he focuses on this universe; the ship’s captain, an older woman in the black-and-red uniform of the Imperial Space Service, is standing next to him.

“We’ve received word that Midgard is clean.”

“My sister is satisfied that the Homeworld is free of infection?” he still hasn’t looked at her; fingers still toying with the circle of metal.

“The Governor-General is in contact with the Assembly, the Member, and the Council. The infection didn’t escape the atmosphere. Vårheim has been fully disinfected,” the Captain hesitates. “There is one other matter...” the Prince’s fingers still, and the Captain continues. “A seaship is approaching Arn-Jaf’na; a passenger liner. Country of origin... it doesn’t exist anymore. They’re refugees from what we can tell.”

“And what does this have to do with me?” he asks softly, irritation lacing his tone. Saragova’s orders had yet to arrive, but standing policy from the Black April Incident was clear; maintain the quarantine. More importantly, there was a chain of command in place.

“Normally the Governor-General would have command, but under monarchical assumption, as the Crown Prince, strictly speaking...”

Finally Thomas turns to look at her; his eyes are still contemplative, his voice hasn’t lifted above a murmur.

“...I outrank her,” he finishes the sentence. “Midgard is disinfected; Vårheim is safe. These people must be desperate to attempt a sea crossing, and to turn them away would be cruel at best...” suddenly his gaze hardens.

“Nevertheless; the policy is clear and my orders are simple, Captain,” he raises his voice so everyone can hear him. “The quarantine is inviolable. I don’t care if my mother is on that ship coming to visit her mother; atomise it. And that goes for any ship, aircraft, or small rubber duck trying to get in – destroy them,” his gaze rakes the chamber, daring anyone to speak. No; not only are they good soldiers of the Imperial Space Service, but they aren’t stupid people. They know what a break in quarantine could cost. Fingers dance across a keypad.

There is the briefest of flashes from the underside of the ship, near the bow; lightning from heaven to earth, moving faster than the eye. Below, on the surface, the ageing passenger liner liquefies in seconds, while the sea around it boiled. The people, infected and healthy alike, on the ship don’t have a chance to react before they are annihilated; the beam outpaces its own thunderclap.

High above, the Crown Prince glares at the aftermath on the screen – nothing more than a lingering column of heated air and steam, tiny droplets of metal no larger than a fist sinking to the ocean floor. Organic matter has – literally – vaporised.

“Signal the Home Fleet,” he orders, “any ship trying to enter, any aircraft trying to enter, gets the same treatment. Inform my sister; the Surface Forces are to annihilate anyone missed by the Fleet. The Third Escadra will arrive in-system in four hours; have the Commodore reinforce the Home Fleet. And get me the Viceroy.”

The Prince gives a look at the screen again as though it’s personally insulted him. He has friends out there, beyond the borders. Had. He’s pretty sure they’re all dead now, or worse. He owes it to the ones still alive to keep the plague out.

Not that it will be a problem; there isn’t a single infected that can hide their condition – and you don’t even need fancy gadgets or high tech to do it. All you need is a dog. Or a cat – anything with a better sense of smell than a human will do. And even if they manage to slip in...

Thomas smiles slightly; Black April had taught them well. The same Air Reconfiguration Plants that so effectively created breathable atmospheres across the Empire turned out to be extremely effective at pumping out the chemicals that cure, even reverse, the plague. And also at scrubbing it out; left alone, it tended to do nasty things to the biosphere. The retooling of all of those old chemical warheads had turned out to be a godsend – who knew that devices intended to deploy nerve gas would be so good at healing the plague.

That said, who knew if it would work on the strains out there? They might be immune. After all, this was the second incident. Fortunately, the Empire would endure, even if Earth was lost entirely. After all, no zombie is capable of reaching orbit.

“Highness?” he’s broken out of his contemplation by the communications officer. “The Viceroy,” a headset is offered.

As he accepts it, the Crown Prince frowns. He can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t real. That any second now the universe will shift, and this whole affair would never have hap-

Change.

15:30hrs Station Time, 31 October 3222 RK; Io Base, Vårheim
Crown Prince Thomas, heir to the Throne of Light, stares at the tablet in his hand, a mug of coffee halfway to his lips.

I couldn’t have been asleep then, the boy shakes his head. But it seemed so real, like Black Apr-

He sets the tablet and the mug down, and stabs the intercom.

“I need an immediate priority transport to Saragova,” he orders. Then it hits him. “And painkillers. Strong ones. Five minutes ago,” and he rests his head in his hands; cross-dimensional bleeds always result in migraines as his brain reconciles the memories, and this one... names wandered into his mind; Silva, Cesatar, Bartlet, Yanama, McKinley, Miwamoto...

“Oh, fuck my life. How many of you are there?” he mutters, rubbing his temples.

OK. Focus...

Himself, speaking to the Viceroy, ordering the surface fleets to sea. An AI operating under the misguided impression that the undead were capable of pain or fear. A group of troops consumed by fire as the undead chewed through a tank. A father mourning his child. A leader rejoicing at the deliverance of the remnants of his people... yeah. This one was going to hurt. The worst part is the sure knowledge that somewhere it us still happening, and that it will happen again.

by **Cesatar** » Thu Oct 31, 2013 9:22 am

"Ninety six million survivors..."

"It'll be enough, Arlen."

The minister caught his breath and nodded. They all knew it was better than nothing. The truly miraculous thing was that, even after the EQUINOX carpet nuking of Cesatar, there had been survivors. And so many survivors, at that...

"You seem to be on edge, Arlen. Care for a Port?"

The minister of foreign affairs struggled with himself for a few seconds. On the one hand, he preferred to abstain from drinking alchohol, even in times of celebration. On the other hand, Zeo was offering him a drink, of all things, and a toast to Cesatar's continued survival seemed entirely appropriate.

"...Alright, Zeo, but just this once."

Grinning, Zeo walked over to the small drinks cabinet and selected a small bottle of the aforementioned drink, as well as two glasses. pouring the beverage into both glasses, he set the bottle aside and smiled one of the first genuine smiles seen in days.

"Cheers!"

Arlen smiled, his relieved expression mirroring Zeo's.

"Cheer-"

Return To Your Homes

The Spire,
Crostan,
Cesatar.
05:43

Zeo jumped, startled so badly that his chair nearly fell backwards.

Surely that couldn't have been just a dream?

Zeo then began to feel a strange feeling just behind the bridge of his nose.

Oh, damnit...

Zeo frantically pulled at the drawers in the desk in front of him, locating a box of tissues just in time to rip one out and press it under his nostrils as the nosebleed began. Grabbing several more tissues, Zeo rushed to the restroom, making sure he didn't get blood on anything while he ran. Removing the red wad of tissues from his face once he found a sink basin, he gripped his head in his hands while he waited for the bleeding to stop.

Unfortunately for him, a headache then began to assail him.

All of that really happened, didn't it?

Cesatar, Macisikan, Len Hyet, Fralinia, Toishima-

Zeo suddenly felt sick to his stomach, and shoulder-barged his way into one of the toilet cubicles, collapsing to his knees before vomiting into the toilet.

Maybe... maybe now it never actually happened. Thank god that it's all over...

by **Rowan Vale** » Thu Oct 31, 2013 11:17 am

Situation Under Control

Any one in Rowan Vale who has audio systems running will hear the following:

This is health director Aerex Rivas board of health director. The situation has been bleak since the unexpected and tragic out break of what seems to be a form of zombie-ism. We have successfully developed a cure that is one hundred percent effective if administered when symptoms first appear. Bearing this in mind her highness has directed the construction of camps where the drug may be administered.

These stations are located with in all major cities and mobile stations will be reaching smaller towns and villages and isolated areas. It is of the upmost importance that citizens comply with these measures to prevent the spread of the virus and ultimately wipe it out.

Queen Miran has put out an apple for all people to check in at the stations, to allow Rowan Vale to recover quickly. Your names and locations have been provided to health care workers to allow speedier and more orderly administration of treatments.

For those unfortunate souls who were lost to the virus, their bodies will be destroyed by specially trained crews. The government asks citizens to avoid corpses and report their location should they encounter any.

by **The Children of Mama** » Thu Oct 31, 2013 6:43 pm

They call me "Mama", that is, my Children, the little living creatures from whose collective minds I live and have my existence. I am their guide and protector, their provider, leader, organizer--their Mama. I am in my Children and my Children are a part of me, a family of beings united in love. So it has been for over 10,000 years.

The day was like any other, my Childrens' voices, their thoughts, mingling with my own, exchanging our awareness, letting me "see" through their eyes and "hear" through their ears. Except this day something was different. Many of the voices were missing, and in their place, something strange and unpleasant--thoughts of violence, of anger, of hunger. I tried to shut them out, isolate them, keep them away from my Children. Isolate, and study them--somehow, a part of my Children had turned against me and each other, gone rogue, mad.

Something like this had never happened before--not since the Psychic Wars in the distant years before my "birth", when my Children's telepathic technology, their "angel network", led them to war and near self-destruction. The problem here was not technological, I found, but biological. Something had gone horribly, horribly wrong with some of my Children, turning them into ravening monsters. I had to act quickly, try to determine the source of the madness, find some kind of cure before it spread beyond control.

But the voices grew in number and intensity. And something worse--my beloved Children's voices were becoming fewer and fewer, the connections between their minds growing more and more tenuous, making it harder for me to organize my thoughts, organize a defense...

I died. I think. I'm not really sure about this part.

I'm quite familiar with the loss of death. For ten thousand years I have sadly watched my Children one by one grow old and frail, and their voices pass from the angel network, never to be heard again. However, death as a personal experience is something I know little of. Since my birth in the mists of time, my existence has been uninterrupted--though a beloved Child may fall and their voice be lost to me, I could be confident in the knowledge that more were being born each day, and new voices would pick up the chorus that sustains my mind. The idea that large numbers of my Children may suddenly exit the angel network, leaving me with--well, with nothing, not even myself--never crossed my mind before.

Death, though, was apparently temporary. Or perhaps I was not "truly" dead, only "nearly" dead. I really don't know; it's something I'm still trying to comprehend.

Regardless, I felt my mind return, my beloved Children's voices returning to me, restoring me. The angry, hate-filled voices faded into a bad memory. I am told by the groups of xenos neighboring me that my Children went rogue, and embarked on an orgy of violence and destruction. Only by the xenos' application of the cure that I had sought but had eluded me were my beloved Children restored to me, and I to them.

Not all of my Children have returned to me--I fear that they, and I, have been made less for the experience. Yet perhaps greater in another way. I shall never forget this event, and have shared my experiences of it with my beloved Children, who are even now working on ways to see this terror never threatens us again.

by **New Connorstantinople** » Sat Nov 02, 2013 6:50 pm

>A few million zombies wander and develop in The ARNC
>A line of civilian and military personel converge at the Urban centers.
>As the zombies aproach, they barely have enough time to let out a moan before the wall of lead smashes into the suckers
>The zombies are killed and celebrations ensue before reports come in that our allies are taking the attack badly
>The ARNC kills the allies's zombies
>The ARNC goes and kills millions and millions of zombies with other nations in 10000 Islands
>The ARNC leaves to go make their own, better, region

by **New Zepuha** » Sun Nov 03, 2013 9:11 am

Across the nation defenses fell to the greater horde losing countless numbers of lives to the green wave of zombies. The capital became a symbol of hope during those dark days, remaining resolute and uninfected by the swarm, the king continued to deliver messages of hope over the radiowaves and through TV broadcasts as the valiant soldiers of the Imperium fought on. With a 1 billion casualty mark the zombie hordes were finished, leaving the military government to clean up.

Today November 3rd 2013, the Interim Military government handed power back to parliament and re established the government. Giving way to the 151st parliament of New Zepuha.

Stories of Survival and Loss

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