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The Living Dead


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[it's all yours, mate!]



Gracias muchacho. ::): One million XP's for Vin.. :bday:










How many hours are in the day when you don't spend half of them watching television?


When was the last time any of us REALLY worked to get what we wanted?


How long has it ben since any of us really NEEDED what we wanted?


It's gone. All of it. The Government. The Grocery Store. The Mail delivery. The cable. Gone. All of it. Now there is only survival. In a world consumed with death it's finally time to start living.



............ Avian Flu Hits US!......



.......Virus Sweeps Nation!......



..."We don't know exactly what it is" Admit scientists...




The newspaper headlines...The News channels.. it's all the same crap over and over, you think to yourself as you click off the TV and head to the bathroom to brush and floss before bed.


"It's just the flu for God's sake" you mutter around the toothbrush to the guy in the mirror.


They'll get it stopped just like every other time before, you think as the mouthwash burns your tongue.


It certainly has been a pain in the butt though with so many people calling in sick or just not showing up...


Hospitals saying they're full to overflowing and cops and sometimes even soldiers turning sick people away from them....


Shutting off the light after double checking the alarm you know in a few days it won't even be news anymore. "Stupid flu...."













gimme aminute to go get some fresh coffee adn summon the muse..

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You woke up feeling like crap. Hell, you wake up every morning feeling like $hit but this morning was special. The first thing you became aware of was the little @#$tard with the pliers squeezing you frontal lobe just behind you right eye. No need to panic, you know this one. Caffeine withdrawal. No problem, a good strong cup or two of dark roast will fix his tiny little a$$. The next thing you were aware of was to make a mental note to get some rat traps and bait them with Cat Chow. Some day YOU WILL catch that cat that craps in your mouth every night. Slowly exploring the inside of you mouth with someone else’s big fuzzy tongue trying to actually find the cat poop and not being able to find it gave you time to realize it was kind of bright behind your eye lids. Damn. That’s going to hurt. Double damn, if it’s light, you slept through your alarm. Damn. The boss loves that. The one bright spot - if it's late the coffee pot would have already come on and salvation was only a short, half-blind shuffle away. Okay, breathe, be brave, slowly peel the eyelid open. Ouch. Oh nice.... you have to love that pillow case peeling off your face from dried drool...



Waaaaaait a sec.. You checked that alarm before bed. Looking over you see it's flashing at you tauntingly..THEPOWERWASOFF... THEPOWERWASOFF.. THEPOWERWASOFF... Rolling your eyes you fumble for your watch as you head for the kitchen and that fresh cup of salvation. Scratching rudely and yawning you see by your watch it's almost 9:30AM. Aww crap.. You grab the phone and dial one handed as you pour the coffee.. WE'RE SORRY DO TO LOCAL CONDITIONS WE CAN NOT COMPLETE YOUR CALL AT THIS TIME. PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER. Are you kidding me?! Putting down the phone you stumble back to the bedroom, cup in hand, to start.....



Okay, I'm going to stop there and let everyone gimme a quick post just to make sure everyone is on the same sheet of music so to speak. ::):

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...getting ready for another day teaching Early American Literature to another batch of uncaring, unmotivated college students who are just as hung over as Zach is today. Oh well, another day another dollar he thinks groggily as he manages to find both his tooth brush AND toothpaste. See, things are lookin' up already!!


After brushing, his teeth, drinking half of his cup-a-joe and peeing for what seems like almost an hour, Zach hops in the shower for a quick cold one (no damn hot water again!), throws on some decent clothes and heads out the door. Just enough time to stop by Micky D's on the way to class. I'll probably be a few minutes late, but the poor little bastards can just wait!

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... looking for his postman's uniform. Someone had to deliver the mail after all, right?


Too bad, in general, it had to be him...


Vincent twitched his way around, jumping and whacking at bits of dust which his paranoid mind though was a rat or some other form of small rodent. Taking a deep breath, the man pulled his blue shirt from under the bed and found his short shorts, postman's, hanging from his night lamp. How it got there, he forgot.


He looked around for his pills dispenser, with the sticker "One to be still, two'll make ya ill!" attached to its cover, bright, yellow, happy face and all. Realizing he ran out of pills, he noted to pay a visit to the pharmacy for his refill. Vincent drank down his coffee, and, in a hurry, hurried out of his home while buttoning his shirt, slamming the door behind him.




Two minutes later, he came back, grumbling, and snatched his shorts from the night lamp before walking out and closing the door again...

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... waking up on the living room floor is always a good way to start the day.


Wesley pulls himself up off the stained carpet with a groan. The thought I'm never drinking again! blares in his brain as he fights off a wave of nausea. Stumbling through the ordered chaos of a typical bachelor pad apartment the events of last night replay through his mind...

His boss calling to tell him to take the night off since the rest of the night maintenance crew at the airport had called in sick...

The next phone call involving plans of an early afternoon BBQ/going away party for one of the girls in his apartment complex....

Enjoying being able to drive around the city streets at 5 pm without the usual gridlock and thinking "This flu thing isn't so bad, as long as I don't come down with it."...

The BBQ and the booze, especially the booze, leaving early and someone helping him walk home... and the rest fades into blackness...

Flicking the light switch to "on" in his bathroom does nothing. He flips the switch several more times without luck before admitting defeat and opening the blind on the small privacy window. Wincing from the early morning sun light he turns towards the medicine cabinet for two Motrin and a Nyquil. He pauses and the thought I am NEVER drinking again! races through his head. Written on the bathroom mirror, in the brightest, most garish red lipstick shade ever made is the message "Call me later baby! 555-2165 Love, Juanita!"

He lets out a groan and shambles to his bed, all thoughts of drugs erased from his mind. Falling into bed he manages to muster just enough strength to reach for his alarm, only to see the clock face flashing 12:00 over and over again. "I'll deal with you later." he mutters before sliding back into deep embrace of semi-intoxicated sleep...

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Shaun yawned and stretched, rubbing the grit of sleep from his eyes and rose from his bed, a blanket trailing in his wake to the floor. Staggering into his kitchen he reached to flip the coffee pot on, seconds passing before his brain acknowledged that there was no power. With a curse, he turned to his stove, only to recall the coils of an electric stove. Son of a ***** he sighed. This crap just keeps getting better and better. Shuffling like the dead he dragged his carcass into the spare room and dug out his backpacking cook stove. Thank god for MSR he grumbled as he rummaged through his supplies for a fuel canister.


Setting up the stove on the kitchen table, he quickly boiled water and with a shudder, made instant coffee. Well, he thought, it's certainly been worse. It could have been like the time he spent hiking Appalacians when it did nothing but rain for a week straight.


With the water finished and the "coffee" made, he added a small bit of whiskey. Last night was a friggen nightmare at work. Phones were ringing off the hook with people in a panic that the world was coming to an end, everyone was going to die, the government lost control of a biological weapon. Gods, it was ridiculous. Worse than the usual bunch of nutjobs that call him claiming their going to kill themself for the 10th time in a week. Just do it, and do it right for a change, he thought. Give me a quiet night.


Given everything that's been happening, this might not be a bad time to take a week or two off and get the hell out of town and into the back country. What's the difference right now, a roof? Shaun finished off his coffee and the eggs he made. Need to inventory the fridge and freezer to make sure what I've got will last, he thought. Nothing like the brutal slap in the face of food gone bad to greet you when you get home and open the fridge.


Feeling more human, Shaun went to the phone to call his boss to let them know he was taking a couple weeks of mental health time. The one advantage of working Crisis, no one hassled you with time off, and you got it whenever you needed. Everyone feared burn out; and went to great steps to hide it. Picking up the phone, he swore. Even the landlines are dead. Dammit, now I have to go to the clinic and actually speak with the ***hole in person. He's going to suggest I talk to someone again. I don't need that s***.


Shaun took a quick shower, sure, the building had oil fired heat, but the pilots are usually electric, no telling how long the hot water would last once everyone else got up and started getting ready this morning. Dressing for comfort in layers, Shaun began to sort through his supplies, seeting aside what he would need for two weeks of solo hiking. [i can provide a brief list of items that may come up in game situations if you want]. Sorting through his guide books, he spent the next two hours trying to decide where he would go. Not too far away this time, if things do fall apart like people are expecting, it wouldn't do to be so far out of touch that he'd never know. It was too late to leave this morning, he'd finish packing and load the truck, speak with his boss, and head out at first light tomorrow, provided the world didn't come to an end overnight.

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Trevor rolled over and looked at the clock, 12:00 was flashing on the screen. Funny, he thinks, I don't remember a storm last night. Crawling out of bed, a soft sloshing as the movement rocked the mattress, Trevor walked to his bathroom. Pulling his favorite robe on after releiving himself Trevor walks downstairs to the kitchen.

Looking to find the coffee pot empty he curses under his breath. "G** ***n maid service, can't even get a replacement for my regular when she's down with this d*** bird flu or what ever." He fumbles around the kitchen til he finds the cannister of Gevalia and filters. He starts the coffee and goes over to the phone intent on calling the maid service. Picking up the receiver he finds no dial tone.

"Well s***, phone lines are down?"

He goes back up to his bedroom and flips open his cell phone; only to discover it displays a "no service" message.

Crap that means I'll have to leave the house before noon. Trevor takes a shower slips into his favorite jeans and finds a clean shirt. He goes back to the kitchen downs a cup of coffee. Glancing at his watch he sees it's quarter after 10.

Well, it's as good a time as any to head out. Trevor walks out to the garage and notices that the house generator is running. That's strange, power's still out. Usually it's out briefly, first time that generator has run in ages.

Trevor climbs into his Landrover and pushes the button for the garage door...

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.....wondering where the hell he is and why in the name of Bob is he drinking coffee?



Good one, Dave, you sleepwalked into someone else's house again. Luckilly, it looks like no one's home. He looks around the strange bedroom, notices himself in a few of the pictures on the wall, and then remembers that he is house-sitting for his sister and her husband while they are on vacation. Good thing, too, since his apartment building exploded two days ago. Who in the hell stuffs a dead cat down a boiler's vent pipe anyway? He takes a drink of the coffee, grimaces, and sets it on an end table.


He manages to find his duffel bag, and rummages through it to find some cleanish clothes so he can get to work. He finds some that aren't in the least bit rank (Yeah, right, but who's gonna notice, Skunk Roberts?), dons them, pulls on his boots and work hat, and grabs his K-blade from a corner. He fills his pockets with the day's neccessities-keys, wallet, gum, snuff-and heads out the front door. As he starts his car, he wonders just who's going to show up for work today. Better be at least three, we're gonna need 'em to finish that big boundary before next week


With this and a few other things running through his head, he points his car in the direction of Hollis Survey Services.

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Everyone but Crazy8-


For the sake of making it easy on me getting you guys together all your jobs are located downtown. You're all approaching the center of downtown from various directions. The Kansas state capitol is in the center of downtown with buildings of various sizes scattered around it. All of you work within 2-3 blocks of the capital.



As you make your way into town your struck by how quiet it is. That strange surreal silence that you find at three in the morning on Wednesdays sometimes. There's practically no traffic, odd for this time of day. The radio is filled with either static or staticy broadcasts warning people to stay home to avoid the flu.


You pass a few pedestrians that obviously didn't listen to the radio and are trying to make their way to work on foot. Most of them look terribly sick. You can't help but feel sorry for someone who needs the money that bad.


Every restaurant has "closed temporarily" on it's marquis.


"Rotten flu.." You think to yourself. "Can't even get a lousy egg mcmuffin."



As you near downtown the vehicle traffic picks up a little but not much. A few police cars are parked at several main intersections blocking traffic to the west of downtown. The direction of the two hospitals.


Lots of good parking today you notice as you pull into the lot or parking garage. Shutting off the motor you are once again aware of that creepy, unnatural silence that descends. ......

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Zach pulls into the sparsely populated lot at the Capitol building. "Well, it looks like I beat most of the class." He mumbles getting out of his car. "I wonder if any of them are going to remember that we were holding class here today, or if any are even healthy enough to show."


Looking around warily in the eerie silence of downtown Topeka, he heads towards the main entrance of the Capitol, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck beginning to rise.

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Trevor pulls his Landrover into a handicap spot in fromt of the maid service office. Flips open his cell a sees there is still no service. He slaps it close and slings it on to the passeger seat. "I know where I'm going next, has everyone's service gone to pot?" He mutters not quite under his breath.


Trevor opens the car door and starts to marck over to the main door of the maid service. Still oblivious to any "flu epidemic" as a Frank Sinatra CD blared through his drive here and he really didn't pay attention to how much traffic was about.

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Trevor pulls his Landrover into a handicap spot in fromt of the maid service office. Flips open his cell a sees there is still no service. He slaps it close and slings it on to the passeger seat. "I know where I'm going next, has everyone's service gone to pot?" He mutters not quite under his breath.


Trevor opens the car door and starts to marck over to the main door of the maid service. Still oblivious to any "flu epidemic" as a Frank Sinatra CD blared through his drive here and he really didn't pay attention to how much traffic was about.




A guy shuffles toward you making really disgusting, phlegmy sounds as you pull on the door and find it still locked.

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