Day of The DeadReplies: 64 / 5 years 110 days 5 hours 23 minutes 38 seconds
Day1 Exposure ,An unknown mixture of toxic chemicals is released when mining for oil in the Western Europe region, turning the workers into infected, word doesnt get out till parts of Germany are gone.
Week 3, Infection
Week 8, Evacuation
Month 2, Evacs headed for other land are stopped
Month 4, Western Europe is lost, unknown casualties,
Month 4 1/2, East Europe isn't taking any chances, they reinforced borders with slabs of steel, a giant wall.
Month 6, Eastern US is invaded when an infected stow away hopped aboard a cruise liner used for evacs, unknown a lives, or unknown casualties Naval blockades are now on every waterway ending in the ocean, 24/7 on high alert, no one gets in and no infected get out, some military units are turning rogue, we need to take em out before we lose more states
The whole East US area is a shit storm, but can we make it?
1.its survival of the Blight virus that means if you get bit or get blood puked on or whatever by the infected by bodily fluid contact you have maybe a few hours or days or minutes when you get infected.
2.gonna make these zombies like old school type where they actually eat human flesh.
3.you can be military personnel or survivors just no over powered weapons like a random ass Browning M2HB 50.CAL Heavy Machine Gun, you can raid the checkpoints, but the most you'll find is maybe a SCAR-H or an M4 with like 3 mags, BUT if you're military or just happen to be at your house with a shit ton of weapons go
4.watch each others back,lookout for your fellow survivors.
5.if you die you can just restart or some or something like that
6.its gonna be realistic like no immortality or a super soldier who can clean slice through 100 zombies in a single blow.
7.don't go all omega where they're like 100% at shooting,stealth or anything
8. Infection time really relies on how it got in contact with you, but your ass ain't gonna turn in 10 seconds, ain't no body for time for Brad Pitt world war z parkour zombies!
9.NO GODMOD if that happens you get catapulted from the USS Valkyrie or sent to a Chinese prison
[B Infection process]
Anytime infected can feel chills, being very hot or very cold, diarrhea might also set in on some]
Hour one. The infected area starts with unbearable pain, not enough to show but more like a bad sprain kind of pain
Hour 3. Veins begin to swell and turn black, eyes become blood shot.
Hour 6. Person will experience great pain in head and stomach. Few people have turned at this point.
Hour 8. Pain fades and subject appears normal, anxiety sets in about being discovered, [B military personnel] Sgt.Williams recommends they be searched, civilians, I have no clue
12 Hours: Infected start having standard sickness, vomiting bloody slimy substance, diarrhea can set in [B Find a bathroom or something]
1 day: Anytime within the next day the infected personnel may become violent at random times and can now spread infection, restrain them, some consider taking the easy way out, anyway after they "die" an undetermined amount of time later they will awaken violently and appear to be thrashing in pain, this is the virus taking over the muscles and these fools will be doing some scary 28 days later shit.
[B Feel free to make some if you want]
1. [B Sprinter]
Fresh infected, maybe one that had a good meal, these bloody bastards will do anything for a kill, don't get swarmed
2. [B Shamblers]
Just your average zombie nothing special
3. [B Bleeders]
Bleedin all over my god damn carpet and couch all that shit, it's like damn quit bleeding on my god damn furniture!! These are the lone wolves, you'll find em in secluded areas, they bleed from they eyes, nose, mouth, all that. Wear face and eye protection, don't get too close though, reports from recon say that when they spit at you it'll burn in the affected area, and is sticky to get off
In the period of 20XX Recon had discovered specialized [infected ]
Infected XX0CP-01 "Pack Leader"
-This infected showed signs of "Pack Intelligence" allowing it the capabilities to surround itself with infected, generally not consisting of more than 30 Infected.
Infected DH2PL-047 "Mass"
-Recon was capable of returning samples of this Infected. This infected is a mass of flesh, capable of growing tentacles to attack targets and heavy vehicles. Members attacked by said "mass" were not exposed to infection, samples also do not contain infectious strains. This particular infected so far is not capable of infecting...but highly dangerous and suggested to avoid.
Infected XX0CP-03 "Spitter"
-The Populace has named a specific infected "Bleeder" Recon has found a more evolved version of this Infected in dense building areas. Filling the Host saliva and mucus glands with infectious acid...this particular infected killed all 13 Recon members dispatched against it, 3 of them made it back to report on it, they later became infected in confinement.
This concludes the Ministry of Military Defense's report. If the government lasts long enough more reports will follow.
Last known location:
Name: Bryan Krukev
Personality: Blunt, gruff, kill or be killed mentality, askew moral compass.
Weapons: Combat knife, Beretta 92FS 9mm
Last known location: Attica Correction Facility Located in New York
[ministry of Military Science Report Sheet]
Name: Ph.D Edwin Crowler
Personality: Scientific, helpful, smart allec, anything to advance science.
Skills: He isn't a MD, but can preform surgery , Capable of mixing and creating explosives and other chemical agents on the fly, Basic Military training.
Weapons: Two Experimental Rail Pistols, Scientist tools
Occupation: [classified ]
---Access Denied--- Non Sufficient Credentials
Last known location: [classified ]
Secret Research Facility located under Ford Hamilton
Name: Blake Quinn
Personality: Hardened, charismatic, quick learner, psychopath
Weapons: Hatchet, boxcutter
Last known location: Apartment across from Yankee Stadium
Name: Sarah Kundle
Personality: Sweet. Has severe anxiety, so often anxious and panicky. Optimistic.
Skills: Foraging/gathering. Surprisingly, pretty good at keeping others calm, cool, and collected.
Weapons: Machete. Kitchen knife.
Occupation: Cashier at a grocery store.
Last known location: Work
Name: Warren Dolby
Personality: Quickly scared, easy to approach, well moral valued.
Skills: Good at scavenging, can carry lots of weight.
Weapons: A flair gun and a long metal pipe.
Last known location: At his job
Personality: Cold, lost everything in the first 6 months, only goal is to exterminate the zombie population or die trying.
Skills: Mater at dual wielding, and he is a fair shot with handguns
Weapons: Two desert eagles on either side of his waist with two mags each, two custom swords made from tampered steel and titanium.
Last known location: Outside the correction facility. Waiting for the dead bastards
[B Military personnel]
Name: Private Luke Clifton
Personality: Paranoid, sneaky, run, flight, hide, observe
Weapons: Glock 19 gen 4 with flashlight, custom night sights, security baton, tactical binoculars
Occupation: U.S Air National Guard Base Security Force
Last known location: 15 miles from Francis S. Gabreski Air National Guard Base
Personality: Cold, patient, harsh, anti-social, quiet, calm.
Skills: Due to being an ex military, she has more than enough military training. She's relatively quick on her feet and is pretty sneaky when she wants to be. She can easily avoid melee attacks. Ranged attacks, however, are something completely different.
Weapons: Binoculars , Semi-Automatic Shotgun , Axe , and a Combat Knife
Occupation: Ex Military, current occupation unknown.
Last known location: Unknown, though believed to be somewhere in New York, maybe.
Name: Donovan Preacher
Personality: cocky, manipulative, background player, not afraid to get hands dirty if needed.
Skills: krav maga, karambit knife fighting, first responder training
•FNX tactical .45
-8x 15 round magazines
•M4 6.5 Grendel
-EXPS2-2 holographic sight with G33.STS magnifier
-8x 26 round magazines
-10" barrel w/ breacher tip
-5" barrel w/ silencer
-20" barrel w/ breacher tip
-6x 6 round cylinders
**25 #4 buckshot
**15 #0 rubber buckshot
-4" tanto blade
Occupation: private security contractor
Last known location: quarentine camp
Roleplay Reply. Do not chat here. (50 character limit.)
A constant stream of gunfire could be heard outside the bulkhead door. Dr. Crowler was drinking whiskey as he looked at a brief case of 10 vials. [b "The only hope for humanishy..."] He looked around the research room as he thought about the people who he'd used as research tools to make the 10 vials. They used to get live samples from recon, but as things became bad up top he had to use the materials he had. The gunfire sounded as it was getting closer to the bulkhead and loud sounding steps could be heard. Crowler pulled out his Military Science tablet and pressed on one of the files. A females voice could be heard, the secretary to scientific recon was heard.
[+blue "This is Secretary Kirsten Long of the Militarial Scientific Defense initiative. After much intel gathering in the long island area of New York Recon has discovered Infected XX0CP-09 this specimen has been termed "Goliath". Goliath as it is said are infected which have certain substances in their blood upon infection, these substances react and caused mass muscle growth. This gives way for this infected to become seemingly super human, gaining greatly augmented strength. These infected also show sign of pack like intelligence in the fact that they target large objects or usually unbreakable objects and attack these targets specifically."]
Crowler turned off the document and stood up fastening his metal briefcase shut. The gunfire had stopped and something was running towards the bulkhead that separated the lab from the hallways of the underground facility. Crowler pulled one of his specialty rail guns from his belt holster. All of a sudden a thud hit the bulk head -in his mind he did the math of the bulkhead's resistance and figured that not even an Ahbrams Tank could get through that bulkhead. Again another thud hit the bulkhead and he walked over to an escape elevator that would take him to a hidden garage. All of sudden as he stood in the elevator another thud happened, but this time the bulkhead came down.
The monstrous "Goliath" started running towards him, aiming he shot one lighting bolt at the monster -Barely stunning the creature. [b "Wow not even a rail pistol can kill it in one hit."] Crowler was surprised and then hit the button that made the elevator shoot him up to the garage. The vials contained in Crowler's suitcase were special concoctions of DNA, he lied to the military and told them they were actually cures, and maybe one day they could be vaccines...but that day was not today.
[i Crowler hoped that his lie would ensure a Humvee was in the garage above.]
The roads were bare of the living as preacher drove down the corpse riddled highway. His vehicle of choice was his company's Flyer GMV. It was armed to the teeth with door mounted LMGs and a .50 calibre heavy machine gun on the roof, and we can't forget the stash of weapons in the back seat. The weapons were fine and dandy but with only an eighth of a tank left in the vehicle it would be nothing but dead weight when the tank was dry. Making his way into the streets preacher parked in an ally and started going through the equipment. There was pleanty of weapons and ammo but he wasn't planning on just leaving it there for the taking.
Preacher took his time as he bagged the weapons in Duffles, taking what he could carry with him and setting it in the front seat. Looking around preacher found a storm drain next to a dumpster. Opening the hatch he slowly lowered the weapons down into their hiding place. Turning back to the vehicle preacher pulled the wench from the front bumper and hooked it to the dumpster. Dragging the dumpster over the storm drain preacher made sure someone had to work on getting those weapons.
Turning to his choice of weapons preacher started to configure them. Disassembling the six12 preacher installed it with the silencerco barrel before placing it under his rifle. Loading a cylinder of less than lethal rounds into the master key preacher grabbed his equipment along with two empty fuel cans preacher set on his way to find more. That is not before pulling the battery cable to prevent someone from running off with the vehicle.
Preacher spent hours looking for fuel, checking every big rig, tanker and gas station on the way. At most he only found two gallons, enough to fill half of a fuel can. It wasn't long though until preacher found a little red wagon to place the cans and his pack in. Slowly preacher dragged the wagon down the road, stopping at corners to make sure there was no one around. What zombies there were in the streets were easily dispatched using his silenced FNX Tactical. By the time preacher found a living person he had already spent a mag of .45ACP. Switching to his rifle preacher approached with caution. Speaking up preacher made himself known, "Ma'am, with the red hair, put down the axe and knife, grab the shotgun by the barrel and set it down on the ground then put your hands behind your head and interlock your fingers. If I have to ask twice I will shoot. I will not ask a third time"
Great. Not even a minutes out of the safehouse, and he was looking at a freak. Hell, he hadn't even gotten 50 feet. Blake let the hatchet handle slide down his hand. He gripped it an inch from the end, and tried to keep as still as he could. He thought he heard someome talking, but his attention was aimed at the dead moving in his direction.
The freak stumbled closer, oblivious to Blake. It wasn't a fresh one, thank God. He'd had more than enough difficulty fighting ones that were still strong. And forget about running. He wasn't out of shape, but the fresh ones were faster than him.
As it moved closer, Blake slowly started turning. His hatchet-weilding hand moved away from the freak, so if had to swing, it would build more momentum. Then it saw him.
It started moving faster. One hand reached out to grab him. Then Blake struck. The hatchet whistled through the air, on a crash course for the freak's head. Unfortunately, he missed the mark. It slammed into the zombie's shoulder, embedding itself into the bone. The zombie was shoved with the force of the swing, and flew through the open pizzeria door, taking his hatchet with him.
"Stupid freak. Of all the freakin' luck..." His hand slid into his back pocket, and he whipped out the boxcutter, extending the two-inch blade. The freak pushed itself back up, and with an eerie moan grabbed his arm.
He grabbed the back of its neck, and tried to hold the head steady and away from him. With a shaking hand, he drew the boxcutter back, and shoved it into the zombie's eye socket. The freak jolted and crashed to the floor.
Blake gripped the hatchet's handle and pulled the hatchet free with a grunt. One weapon back, one more to go. Now came the nasty part. His fingers gingerly squeezed the end of the cutter handle, and started to extract it. Blood squirted out, showering his hand with dark crimson.
Once the cutter came out, he looked his body up and down. No cuts? Check. Scratches? None.
Then he looked at his hand. Covered in the red liquid, it brought back a dark memory.
[b Hands covered in blood. He swings, the hatchet thudding into it's target. One more swing, and he fell to his knees, tears brimmimg in his eyes...]
He tore his gaze away. "Don't think. Not about..." His whisper faded off as he noticed the light from the back room. And the shadow it portrayed. "Hello?"
[left [size20 [b THUD.]]]
[center Moments after, a frustrated yell could be heard, although it would only be audible to the people in the near proximity of the one that elicited it. With a silent sigh, a red haired woman brought down her axe into the skull of a zombie, blood splattering everywhere, including on herself. The zombie had been a Shambler, nothing special, not too hard to kill. The only problem was that Shamblers usually traveled in groups, and if there was one here, there probably would be others.
[right [b "Fuck."]]
The woman had bright red hair, which would often get her unwanted attention, but it was a great camouflage for her job, or her ex-job. Who would expect a military to have bright red hair, right? Right. Her eyes, which were a light, almost grey, green color, shone in irritation as the thought of her having to leave this place ran through her mind. Her complexion, which was unusually pale, made her stand out even more. Her attire consisted of black finger-less gloves, a black cropped tank top that exposed her stomach, and black jeans that were rather comfortable to run and do evasive maneuvers in. She also had a tattoo of a dragon on her left shoulder, one that ran all the way down to her arm, and then even further down to her hand.
[left [b "Time to get the hell outta' here."]]
With that said, the red head pulled her axe out of the zombie's cranium and swung it over her shoulder, blowing loose strands of red hair out of her eyes. With a slightly louder-than-it-should-have-been huff, she grabbed the rest of her stuff, which was all in her backpack, excluding her shotgun, which was always hanging over her shoulder with a make-shift 'string' of some sort and her combat knife which was strapped to her leg. The remainder of the items, including her binoculars, some resources, like food and drinks, and the remaining ammo rounds of her shotgun were all in her bag.
She moved towards the back exit of the store she had been hiding in, making sure no zombies were there before making her ways towards the door, opening it with her axe, trying to keep it from creaking, so that her arm was not in danger if there were zombies outside.
[right [size16 [b CREAAAAK.]]]
With a small sigh of frustration, she slid outside, seeing no zombies anywhere. Moving her free hand up to her axe as well, she readied it in front of her and kept to the wall, light grey-green eyes watching her environment as she kept walking forwards to God-knows where. Actually, she doubted God even existed at this point, not that she ever really believed, but those that still believed were probably long dead by now.
/ 5y 102d 6h 53m 57s
Clifton had his glock out and ready, checking his area, he recently kinda got kicked off base cause he wouldn't go out on patrol without a team, he's seen what those "Things" can do, last recon patrol got wiped out when they went and the few that came back were later infected. So here he was with only a glock and two mags, "Its a recon patrol, don't come back without valuable info" they said "If they see you, shoot em unless you forgot how to turn the safety off and you only need a few mags" they said he just [i had] to be with a rogue unit, but it had its pros, but mostly down
Like well everything was bad, maybe it was his turn to go rogue, he always said help would arrive but it never came. [B "Fucking shit I don't wanna be out here but neither in there. Sweet lord above what's close and not infected, seriously I should've known this would happen, should've known from the reports."] He yelled before refitting his hat, looking for a place to crash seeing a few suitable places...he really didn't wanna get eaten today, or tomorrow, or hell any day he just hoped that base would send out a team, or give him supplies
Huddled in the corner, breathing heavy, sweat rolling, was Sarah Kindle. Ever since the whole thing started, Sarah had been in almost a constant state of panic. All her coworkers had left. Sarah was alone. She was afraid, so much so that she could hardly move.
Sarah closed her eyes. "You'll be okay." Her hand curled tightly around the handle of the machete she had managed to find during an early session of scavenging. That was the only time Sarah managed to pull herself together, was when she needed to leave the safety of the little grocery store for more supplies. It was time for another run.
Sarah stood up, bracing herself against the wall. She checked herself,making sure all required items were on her person. "Machete. Check. Knife. Check." She patted her belt, feeling for the kitchen knife she had found. There it was, tied to her hip. "Sanity." Sarah put her hand on her forehead. "Working on keeping it." She picked up the backpack set next to her. It had Rainbow Dash from My Little Pony on it; Sarah wasn't a fan, but it was good enough to carry some stuff she needed, so she dealt with it. Besides, the bright colors made her feel a little less hopeless.
She looked to the double glass doors. Sneaking up to them, trying not to make a lot of noise, Sarah peaked out to the street. It was strangely empty. She breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, she unlocked the doors and stepped out. Outside, leaning against the wall, was a board. She put it through the handles to be sure none of the dead stumbled in. Even if they could, it just made Sarah feel better. Now, turning away from the little grocery store, Sarah looked around more. She saw some dead in the distance. If she was quiet enough, they might not notice her. She tip-toed away from the store, down to street. Hopefully, she'd find something useful.
Warren was in the ruins of the kitchen of his old job at a pizzeria, scuffling through out piles and piles of random junk he had compressed in his old backpack. There was light from a small flash light he had on so that he could check out what he had.
[b "A box of rice, a couple flairs, a b-"] he gasped and quickly snapped his head towards the door to the dining area. Something was in there, he heard foot steps, most likely another zombie. Warren grabbed his shovel off the floor and begun raise it over his head, ready to strike.
He waited by the door and called out [b "Is, someone there?"] he asked nervously. As long as he was waiting by the door, he felt slightly in control. The light coming from his backpack was conflicting with the light from the door.
Blake Mason was bored. Sure, he was scared, of the freaks that roamed around these streets, and angry, at everything he'd lost since the shit hit fan, but mainly he was bored. How long had he been holed up in this apartment? He'd lost count of the weeks. His food supply was still good for almost a week, and he had enough water to last longer, but he didn't care about that. His mind was numb with the nothingness his life had become. He had to leave, and do something.
"Better getting eaten then losing my mind."
He'd packed a dozen cans and water bottles into a bag, with a tiny cracked compass and a roll of guaze tape he'd stumbled across when he'd settled in here. He didn't quite know what elshe could take useful for survival, so he'd zipped the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder.
The door, creaked open, and when he was sure there were no freaks in the hall, he eased his way out. Down two flights of stairs, across the wrecked lobby, and there was the door. He pushed his way out, and immediately threw himself against he wall, glancing around to make sure he hadn't been seen by anyone. His clammy hand gripped the hatchet, and he realized he was sweating. Nervous. But he wouldn't go back, no matter what. He ran across the street, and ducked into the shadowy door of a pizzeria.
He was about ready to keep moving, when he heard the footsteps.
Name: Bryan Krukev
Personality: Blunt, gruff, kill or be killed mentality, askew moral compass.
Weapons: Combat knife, Beretta 92FS 9mm
Last known location: Attica Correction Facility Located in New York
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