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Player Created Lore

Dr. J

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Having checked the truck, John and Dan move towards the next building. The mist is still gathering and the mist makes us both more wary. I'd like to say we moved with precision, care and caution. In reality, we're scared. Wanting to protect ourselves first, and then each other. It's sad but true.

Visibility is low (due to the mist), the edge of this compound seems shrouded, but there seems to be the outline of an old chain link fence there. The noise is deadened by the conditions, but none of the moaning sounds we've come to associate with nearby zombies.

Looking through the first couple of windows near the door reveals nothing. Time to venture inside.

We move inside. Are we overly cautious? We only have one life and have both had close calls. A little entrance lobby. Nothing to see, but at least no lurking zombies. Like the building we camped in last night, run down and in need of a lick of paint. That thought almost made me laugh. Why would I thing about decorating with the world how it is now?

Exploring further confirms my first impression. A mess hall or some sort of communal building for the guards at the main prison compound. One main large room, a kitchen area and small toilet block.

Scavenging is sparse, a couple of tins of food, some dried supplies (not all good), four cans of soda and some mouldy beef jurkey. Surprisingly we also turned up a fan belt and six batteries that might fit the walkie talkies. I try one out, and try and get in touch with Dave and Frank.

It takes a while to raise Frank. It's good to hear his voice again. He sounds a little on edge. Perhaps we better wrap our little excursion soon and head back to the rest of the team?
 

Darkstar 影

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-= Crestwood Two Months Later =-

"Troy!" I heard Kevin, our lookout, shout from the newly-reinforced wooden walls.
"What?" I shouted, Coleman and I watching Katrina plant carrots. Coleman followed me towards the wall, pulling his long brown hair back.
"Someone's at the gate!" Kevin said, looking over the wall.
"Is it the Resistance? We don't have to pay for four more days." I asked, beginning to worry.
"No no, or at least I don't think so..." Kevin's voice trialed off, staring at the guest.
"You should check this out." Kevin added, I noticed he seemed pretty lax about it, which meant the person likely didn't seem much of a threat.
"Open the gates a little." I told him, after a pause. I nodded at Coleman, who handed me the clean red-hilted machete, and picked up a mostly for decoration kukri, that we'd sharpened to no longer be so much of a decoration. The gates were pulled open, and Coleman and I stepped out slightly, seeing the guest. Kevin closed the gates behind us, and stayed at ready. Coleman and I eyes up the stranger. It was a fit man in his early thirties, with torn clothing and blood stained across his shirt and teeth. In the dark you could mistake him for an undead.
"What's your business here?" I ordered. There was a slight pause, I could tell the man seemed worried, his eyes darting all around.
"I... I'm just looking for some shelter." He said roughly.
"Kevin." I shouted, not taking my eyes from the stranger.
"Scan the perimeter." I said. Kevin nodded and walked along the rough catwalk along the walls.
"Are you alone?" I asked. He nodded in response.
"I'm just looking for somewhere to sleep for tonight, I need to get to Craven Cove. I can offer a few bullets, maybe some water, if y'all can spare some gasoline." The man finished. I glanced at Cole, then back at the man.
"Listen, we ain't got supplies to share. I'm here looking for people, we're all trying to survive, and a group ain't making it any easier. We can't share we can't even trade. We're hardly supplying for ourselves at the moment. You can stay one night, we'll give you one meal tonight, one in the morning. But you sleep away from everyone else, in a safe but surveyed area, got it?" The man nodded, a grim look on his face.
"Sounds fine, I'll be gone by the morning, and thank you, name's Nathan, or Nate." He said, beginning inside.
"If you don't mind me asking, who are you here after?" He asked.
"It's Troy, and this is Cole. I came here just after it all started, I'm looking for my brother and niece. If anyone survived it was those two." The man seemed to slightly recoil.
"Brother and niece? So a man and his daughter? On this island?" He asked. My eyes narrowed, and we stopped moving.
"Yeah, a little girl, about this tall with brown hair. And my brother about my height, black hair?"
"Yes! I know who you're talking about." The man said with a nod, and then a slight grin appeared on his face, and it lit up slightly, as if he got an idea.
"Tell you what, I'll give you his last known location, if you give me some gasoline." The man said with a smile. I looked at Coleman, who nodded, knowing what was about to happen, and taking the machete from my hands, returning it to the weapons bin. I leaped towards the man, grabbing and smashing him against the wood wall. He tried slapping at my arms, trying desperately to escape, but he didn't have enough energy. I slammed the man to the ground and punched him across the face three times, then grabbed him by the collar and pulled his face into another punch, breaking his nose. I was about to go in for another, but Coleman was there, pulling me up.
"You will tell me, and then you will leave." I told him. Coleman looked at me.
"Lighten up, I know it's about family but one hit would've done it." He said reassuringly. I shook my head slightly and then nodded towards him.
"Yeah." I whispered back simply. Coleman walked off, and left the man and I alone.
"Alright, alright. Last we saw of him, he was leaving the island off of the South, on a boat. He was with four others, not including his daughter. Only him, his daughter and one more managed to escape the island. That must've been weeks ago now. I was with a group that was holding up in the prison, but I'm all that's left. You're brother can't be too far from the South Coast!" The man cried. I nodded, and chuckled.
"His daughter and one more managed to escape? You say?" I looked into the pitiful man's eyes.
"N-no! I meant leave! They left!" The man shouted, trying desperately to make up for the mistake.
"No. You were bandits weren't you? You were keeping them there!" I spat in his face, pinning him against the wall once more. I pulled back for another punch, but and then a loud shot rang out across the settlement, and I froze as pain riddled through my body. I fell backwards, holding my chest, which was beginning to flow with blood. The man seemed paralyzed, staying completely still, with the Rauser Rig in his hand. The last thing I got to saw was Coleman sprinting forward, moving his hand across the man's neck in a quick motion, and the man falling to the ground. Finally all went black, as fresh blood pooled in the dirt beneath me once more.
 

Darkstar 影

Lone Survivor
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-= Crestwood Two Months Later =-

"Troy!" I heard Kevin, our lookout, shout from the newly-reinforced wooden walls.
"What?" I shouted, Coleman and I watching Katrina plant carrots. Coleman followed me towards the wall, pulling his long brown hair back.
"Someone's at the gate!" Kevin said, looking over the wall.
"Is it the Resistance? We don't have to pay for four more days." I asked, beginning to worry.
"No no, or at least I don't think so..." Kevin's voice trialed off, staring at the guest.
"You should check this out." Kevin added, I noticed he seemed pretty lax about it, which meant the person likely didn't seem much of a threat.
"Open the gates a little." I told him, after a pause. I nodded at Coleman, who handed me the clean red-hilted machete, and picked up a mostly for decoration kukri, that we'd sharpened to no longer be so much of a decoration. The gates were pulled open, and Coleman and I stepped out slightly, seeing the guest. Kevin closed the gates behind us, and stayed at ready. Coleman and I eyes up the stranger. It was a fit man in his early thirties, with torn clothing and blood stained across his shirt and teeth. In the dark you could mistake him for an undead.
"What's your business here?" I ordered. There was a slight pause, I could tell the man seemed worried, his eyes darting all around.
"I... I'm just looking for some shelter." He said roughly.
"Kevin." I shouted, not taking my eyes from the stranger.
"Scan the perimeter." I said. Kevin nodded and walked along the rough catwalk along the walls.
"Are you alone?" I asked. He nodded in response.
"I'm just looking for somewhere to sleep for tonight, I need to get to Craven Cove. I can offer a few bullets, maybe some water, if y'all can spare some gasoline." The man finished. I glanced at Cole, then back at the man.
"Listen, we ain't got supplies to share. I'm here looking for people, we're all trying to survive, and a group ain't making it any easier. We can't share we can't even trade. We're hardly supplying for ourselves at the moment. You can stay one night, we'll give you one meal tonight, one in the morning. But you sleep away from everyone else, in a safe but surveyed area, got it?" The man nodded, a grim look on his face.
"Sounds fine, I'll be gone by the morning, and thank you, name's Nathan, or Nate." He said, beginning inside.
"If you don't mind me asking, who are you here after?" He asked.
"It's Troy, and this is Cole. I came here just after it all started, I'm looking for my brother and niece. If anyone survived it was those two." The man seemed to slightly recoil.
"Brother and niece? So a man and his daughter? On this island?" He asked. My eyes narrowed, and we stopped moving.
"Yeah, a little girl, about this tall with brown hair. And my brother about my height, black hair?"
"Yes! I know who you're talking about." The man said with a nod, and then a slight grin appeared on his face, and it lit up slightly, as if he got an idea.
"Tell you what, I'll give you his last known location, if you give me some gasoline." The man said with a smile. I looked at Coleman, who nodded, knowing what was about to happen, and taking the machete from my hands, returning it to the weapons bin. I leaped towards the man, grabbing and smashing him against the wood wall. He tried slapping at my arms, trying desperately to escape, but he didn't have enough energy. I slammed the man to the ground and punched him across the face three times, then grabbed him by the collar and pulled his face into another punch, breaking his nose. I was about to go in for another, but Coleman was there, pulling me up.
"You will tell me, and then you will leave." I told him. Coleman looked at me.
"Lighten up, I know it's about family but one hit would've done it." He said reassuringly. I shook my head slightly and then nodded towards him.
"Yeah." I whispered back simply. Coleman walked off, and left the man and I alone.
"Alright, alright. Last we saw of him, he was leaving the island off of the South, on a boat. He was with four others, not including his daughter. Only him, his daughter and one more managed to escape the island. That must've been weeks ago now. I was with a group that was holding up in the prison, but I'm all that's left. You're brother can't be too far from the South Coast!" The man cried. I nodded, and chuckled.
"His daughter and one more managed to escape? You say?" I looked into the pitiful man's eyes.
"N-no! I meant leave! They left!" The man shouted, trying desperately to make up for the mistake.
"No. You were bandits weren't you? You were keeping them there!" I spat in his face, pinning him against the wall once more. I pulled back for another punch, but and then a loud shot rang out across the settlement, and I froze as pain riddled through my body. I fell backwards, holding my chest, which was beginning to flow with blood. The man seemed paralyzed, staying completely still, with the Rauser Rig in his hand. The last thing I got to saw was Coleman sprinting forward, moving his hand across the man's neck in a quick motion, and the man falling to the ground. Finally all went black, as fresh blood pooled in the dirt beneath me once more.
So for any who don't get it or need further clarification, yes, Troy is Dante's brother, and has come to Black Island to find his brother and be reunited with him.
 

Darkstar 影

Lone Survivor
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"Jasmine!" I shouted, ensuring all the door's locks were intact.
"Yeah?" She asked, looking around afraid.
"Get the guns into this room okay baby?" I told her as I ran to the windows and slid the curtains over them. She said something inaudible and ran into the bedroom. Once all the curtains were shut, I turned off all the lights. A few moments later Jasmine dragged the dufflebag with the guns into the main room, and I lifted it onto the coffee table, in-front of Max, with Jasmine's help.
I quickly loaded the .38 Snub and put six extra rounds into my pocket, and then picked up the Masshail double barrel and loaded two of our three shells into it, pocketing the last one. I looked up at Jasmine, to see her handing the girl the Clintchester rifle. I opened my mouth to object, but stopped myself. This wasn't the time. I reached into the dufflebag after a few moments of hesitation, and handed the girl the last of our .30-30 Winchester rounds, there were only 16, which would be two full clips for it, but it was all we had. I went through the bag, all we had left was a Ruger rifle with no ammunition, and a .357 Jade magnum, with six shots in the cylinder, no extra.
"Jasmine, how many bullets have you got?" I asked her. She dropped and opened her backpack, and then looked up at the door as something began banging on it. Seemingly all at once, undead began slamming into the walls, the windows and doors were all being hit.
"Jasmine! Ammo!" I shouted. She jumped, and looked back into her bag.
"Only five." She looked at me worriedly. I nodded as reassuringly as I could, but swore under my breath. Even if every bullet took out an undead, we still might not have enough. I looked at Max.
"I hope you know how to use that thing." I said, watching her inspect the weapon, confused. She looked up at me, not willing to voice her question. I shook my head, bent over and picked up one of the bullets in her lap. I slid the bullet into the internal magazine on the bottom of the gun, which I held steady by the barrel.
"It can hold only eight. Only shoot the ones that get inside, we need to conserve bullets." I said, watching the door begin splintering. The girl nodded, catching on quickly and loading the rifle. Jasmine had the bullets in her 1199, and held it in one hand shakily.
"Daddy I'm scared!" She exclaimed, running to my side.
"I know baby, I know. You just need to stay calm and stay beside me okay? Keep out of their reach." I tried telling her, but I knew my voice wasn't as steady as I'd have liked either.
"Here they come!" Max shouted, aiming at one of the windows which an undead fell through, wrapped in curtains. I watched her shoot it once in the head, and then cock the lever, and nodded. The door slammed to the ground, the locks giving, and I fired into the head of the first undead that poured into the door. It fell limp as blood stained the walls. I heard Max fire again behind me as I kept shooting into the countless undead trying to push into the doorframe. I heard the generator go quiet as the night flooded with moans and darkness. Four, five undead piled in front of the door, and Max had downed several that'd gotten through the windows. I shot again, and tried to shoot another at the door, but the .38 Snub clicked. I slid it into it's holster, as Jasmine began holding off the undead as they got close. Soon enough her gun clicked, and I clambered the .38 Snub into her hands, along with the six bullets in my pocket. An undead had gotten close, and I shoved it back with my forearm, bashing it to the ground. Max cursed as the Clintchester also clicked, and she began scrambling bullets into the magazine.
"Jasmine! help Max!" I shouted simply, as Jasmine turned around, loading the .38 Snub. I had the Masshail in my hands, and shot at the door-frame, downing three with the spread of the shell. I crushed the head of the prone undead I'd knocked over with my boot, and shot again at the door and killed two more, blood was everywhere, it was in the air, pooling across the ground and painting the walls. I snapped the Masshail down and loaded the last shell into it's left chamber, and snapped it back up, immediately firing at the door once more and taking out an undead. Jasmine began firing the .38 Snub with some difficulty, and killed another undead that had gotten close to Max. Jasmine and Max together, fired into the open windows, taking them down left and right. The dark building constantly flashing with the yellow lights of gunfire. I slammed an undead with the Masshail, which I now used as a baseball bat. The Snub clicked, and Jasmine dropped it, falling back to Max's side.Time seemed to slow, all going silent as I slammed an undead across the jaw with the Masshail, and Max fired off the last bullet in her Clintchester. She dropped it to her side as another undead came towards her and Jasmine. I threw the Masshail over their heads and it hit the undead, as Jasmine scrambled onto the couch beside Max. I picked up the end table beside the couch and slammed it into the undead, splintering and breaking into pieces. I walked up to the two of them on the couch, and saw them covered in blood, both with panicked looks on their faces. I looked around to see undead continuing to flow into the house, as if our defenses were nothing.
"What now?!" Max shouted.
"Daddy!" Jasmine shouted, after I said nothing. I tried saying something, but I had nothing to say. I didn't know. There was no way out.
"Stay on the couch." I told them, gesturing for them to stay put.
"Keep them off of you!" I shouted, as an undead grasped my arm. I slammed my head into it's, and kicked it back onto the wall, slamming my arm across it's throat, blood pouring across my arm.
Out of nowhere, bullets and gunfire flew through the air, lighting up the night with bright yellow flashes and gunshots echoing through the forest. I didn't look for it, instead punching an undead off of Jasmine, and feeling another grab onto my back. Max raised the Clintchester above her head and pounded it into the skull of the undead on my back. Without thinking, I turned and kicked it in the chest, onto the wall. Immediately I turned my attention back to Jasmine, punching the undead off of her once more, and taking it to the ground. Max used the Clintchester and caved in the head of an undead on the ground, and then swung it up into the head of one over Jasmine. I slammed my fists into the undead's face, completely lost. I sat over the undead, pounding my fists into it's face and screaming my head off. I beat it over and over, my knuckles bruising and getting caked in bright red and brown blood.
"Get down!" I heard, and turned to grab Jasmine, tossing her to the ground beside a corpse of an undead. Then I grabbed the couch Max sat on, and pulled it to the ground over her. Bullets streamed through the cabin, bullet holes forming in the walls, blood and splinters flying through the air, corpses littering the floors. There was at least a dozen within the house itself, which were all shot in the head by the strangers firing at them. After a few moments I managed to kick the couch back over, revealing a for the most part unharmed Max, and all three of us were covered in blood, sweat, and Jasmine's face in tears. I kept Jasmine on the ground beside Max, who moaned lightly, and stood up slowly, looking around at the blood and corpses. I kept my hands in the air, the flashlight on the stranger's rifle blinding my vision of them.
 

Dr. J

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For John and Dan, that's two buildings down, three to go in this little enclave off to the East of the main prison complex.
The good news is the morning mist is beginning to clear. The bad news is John is still worried about how Frank sounded earlier. He voices his concerns to Dan, who responds with his now all too familiar curt nod.

Is Dan recovering from his previous trauma, or just becoming more stoical like the rest of us?

But we both agree we need to get this excursion wrapped up today and head back to base.
 

Darkstar 影

Lone Survivor
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Location
Alaska, United States of America
For John and Dan, that's two buildings down, three to go in this little enclave off to the East of the main prison complex.
The good news is the morning mist is beginning to clear. The bad news is John is still worried about how Frank sounded earlier. He voices his concerns to Dan, who responds with his now all too familiar curt nod.

Is Dan recovering from his previous trauma, or just becoming more stoical like the rest of us?

But we both agree we need to get this excursion wrapped up today and head back to base.
It's been too long haha Great job :)
 

Stay Alive

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The zombies had followed us. Like, all of them. I could hear them banging and groaning outside, even over the noise of the generator. Dante was running around, checking that the locks on the doors were secure. I watched him, my heart rate speeding up. I’d never felt so useless in my life. For not the first time, I cursed my injured leg. Dante turned all of the lights off, and yanked the curtains over the windows. I watched him, heard him yell something, and watched Jasmine race to another room to grab a bag of guns.

I grimaced, shook my head and moved myself so I was better seated on the couch. Jasmine turned to me, handing me a rifle. I took it, my stomach dropping. I didn’t know how to use this. I inspected it, trying not to let my confusion show. Dante frowned at me for a moment, looked at Jasmine, and handed me sixteen of the rounds for what I assumed was the rifle. I took them with a bit of hesitation. “Jasmine, how many bullets have you got?” Jasmine opened her backpack, digging through it. I was about to offer some help, and then jerked in a panic as the undead started slamming on the house. “Jasmine! Ammo!” Dante roared. I could hear the franticness in his voice. Jasmine clawed through her bag, and looked up nervously at Dante.

“I only have five.” She said. I could hear her terror in her voice as well, and I felt panic starting to grip me around the heart. Dante looked at me, and I saw how serious his face looked. I wondered if he thought we were getting out of this alive.

“I hope you know how to use that thing.” He said. I looked at the gun, then back up to him. I didn’t want to say I didn’t. He shook his head, and took one of the bullets from me. I watched him reload it, mentally taking note of everything he did. If I screwed up, we could die. “It can only hold eight. Only shoot the ones that get inside, we need to conserve bullets.” He told me. I nodded quickly, starting to load the rifle as fast as I could with shaking hands.

Jasmine had loaded her gun and was holding it. Even from where I was, I could see her hand shaking. Her lower lip was trembling, and I heard her high-pitched voice “Daddy, I’m scared!” And watched her run towards her father’s side. I felt a pang as I thought about my own father. Dante was trying to reassure her, but I was focusing on a window. It seems like it was caving in each time the zombie outside hit it. I squinted and then yelled.

“Here they come!” I moved the rifle to my shoulder, aimed as best I could, and fired. The bullet went through the zombie’s head, and it slumped to the floor. I cocked the lever, and saw Dante give me an approving nod. The generator went quiet, and all I could hear was the blasting of our guns, and the groaning of the zombies. It felt weirdly quiet at the same time, like for such a high-intensity situation there would be something else to hear.

I heard Dante’s gun click, and my heart plummeted. Then, Jasmine’s clicked. Dante shoved the .38 Snub into Jasmine’s hands, and shoved back a zombie, stomping it’s head into the ground. I aimed at more zombies filing through, and my stomach lurched as I realized I was out. I swore colorfully, scrambling to reload the Clintchester.

“Jasmine! Help Max!” Dante shouted. Jasmine loaded the .38 Snub quickly, and raced over to me. She reloaded faster than I ever could have, and shoved it back into my hands before I could utter a thanks.

Dante had the Masshail in his hands, and fired once. I saw it take down three undead with one shot, and I winced as the sound ripped through the night. He fired again, stomping his foot down onto what I assumed what was a zombie. Jasmine was next to me now, firing alongside me. I wondered if I’d have hearing loss once this was all done. If I was alive, of course. Aiming and firing wasn’t very hard- the house lit up like the lights were on every time one of us shot.

I heard Jasmine’s snub click, and she leapt onto the couch behind me. I grimaced, aiming the gun again. I pulled the trigger, downed another undead. I would try my very best to keep them from getting Jasmine. A zombie shambled it’s way towards the two of us, arms flailing. It’s jaw was lopsided, and it was missing an eye. Dante hit it in the face with his Masshail, and I aimed and fired again, dropping it as well. A horrible thought entered my mind. I think that was my last bullet.

Another zombie shambled towards us, this one missing a chunk of it’s face. I screamed, Jasmine screamed, and I watched Dante lift up the end table by the couch. I twisted around and held onto Jasmine, who was still screaming, as he slammed the table onto the zombie’s body. Blood splattered on both of us, and I gritted my teeth.

“What do we do now?” I yelled at Dante, feeling like my heart was about to burn a hole in my chest.

Jasmine’s voice cut through the night again, the fear and desperation making my chest ache even worse. “Daddy!”

Dante closed his eyes again, a look of desperation crossing his face. I felt a weird sort of calm come over me. I wasn’t going to live through this. If the two of them decided to abandon ship now, with my leg, I wouldn’t be able to keep up. I opened my mouth to suggest they run, but it was blocked in my throat. I felt like a coward.

“Stay on the couch.” Dante said. He turned around. “Keep them off of you!” He bellowed, head butting a zombie in the face. He kicked it into a wall. The first undead was reaching us, and I watched Dante punch a zombie in the face to get it off Jasmine. Then, bullets started flying through the air. I wondered where they came from for only a second, focusing at the task at hand. A zombie had clung to Dante's back, and I scrambled up as best I could, the wild pain in my leg making my eyes blur, and slamming my Clinchester down on it’s head. Blood sprayed everywhere, and I began to wildly bash in zombie heads with my rifle.

Dante was loosing it, screaming his head off and beating in zombie’s face’s with his bare hands. “Get down!” He bellowed, yanking Jasmine down besides him. He lunged for the couch and overturned the entire thing. I flipped over, screaming in pain for only a brief moment as my injured leg slammed against the ground. There were probably twelve or so still in the house, and I heard the thump of their bodies as they hit the ground. I closed my eyes and pressed my head against the cool floor.

Dante pushed the couch back over after a few moments, and while I didn’t open my eyes, I groaned to let him know I was alive. Jasmine clung to me tightly, and I squeezed her back as best I could. I heard Dante shift, and heard him standing up. I kept squeezing my eyes shut. I didn’t want to know if the people outside were good or bad.
 

Dr. J

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John and Dan move cautiously towards the third building in this little compound. The mist hasn't completely cleared as yet.
I don't know if anyone gets a good nights sleep these days, I think we're all continually on edge. That worries me. How can we build up the level of trust needed to survive as a team when we can't even trust each other?

I put that thought as far back in my head as I can. We're still a ridiculous excuse for co-ordination. Getting better? Yes. Being good at covering each other ... not good. But we're learning as we go.

Every minute of every day, we learn something new about surviving, working as a team and trusting each other. John went through this with Dave and Frank. But three people won't survive alone, and Dan came to us. Maximum effort required here to get him to stay.

Trying our best to look like the SWAT teams we'd both seen in movies (how long ago?), we approach the third building. The stillness of the day and the dispersing mist makes every footfall seem loud. But none of the zombie moaning that causes John to shudder can be heard.

Working together, we slowly go round the third building from the outside. There's some oil drums near to the fence, something to look at later.

No sign of zombies, so we get back to the only entrance. We both only have pistols, John will go in first.

ZOMBIE! Just inside the door. John is rather taken by surprise by it and fires without thought. It's a good job Dan was there behind him, he gets to pick a shot. Johns heart is palpitating, but the zombie is dead. Dead? Well it would be more accurate to say not a threat anymore.
 

DZS

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NZ
Introduction - if mind twisting story's make you uncomfortable it would better to not read especially whilst at work.

Everyone likes a new story right? Something tasty to digest something critical yet crunchy. Chew on this.

Sigmund washed up ashore, the seaside beach pebbles glistening like shards of glass. Waves roaring like a herd of lions gulls hungry ever watchful. Sigmund felt a strange sensation on his hand, prickly picking. He instantly got up and flung the giant crab off his right hand. It scuttled away. Sigmund surveyed his surroundings, the dover like cliffs stretched up and up towering forts of stone and sand. He looked for a way forwards "yes a path to the right" Sigmund moved to the path proceeding up the cliffs.

All the way gulls and beach birds squawked in protest. After a ways, the path meet a clearing leveling out. There was a single battered coastal shack looking miserable and beat up. "Better than nothing sigh" Sigmund moved over to the shack as the winds all around howled like evil apparitions. A gnarled warped door was the obvious entrance with a connected ornate handle made of ivory shaped in the figure of a owls head. Somehow, Sigmund felt it was ok to enter. Inside the shack was little light, a single tiny window allowed the ambiance of daylight to project and bounce throughout. The interior was sparse, a small table and what looked like a carpenters chisel soaked in blood laying in thick dust blankets.

Sigmund picked up the chisel, it had the number eight imprinted on its pommel. For some reason none of these things bothered Sigmund he felt at home. There was nothing more to be done here, Sigmund lingered for a while as the winds howled outside. He guessed it would be sun down in a few more hours, staying put seemed perilous. Sigmund moved out of the shack towards another path, using the sun for bearings he guessed he was heading north. After perhaps thirty minutes Sigmund discovered a badly decayed body, the rigor mortis was seeping in droves. Yet it still did not bother Sigmund, strange. He unflinchingly moved his hand into the maggot infested body removing a hammer with the number eight stenciled on its side. There was barely an hour of daylight left. Sigmund carried on confidence growing. Barely 10 minutes from dusk breathing deeply Sigmund came to a radio tower with a small room attached to one side. In desperation he searched for an entrance, finding the door only to see its been padlocked. Sigmund pulled out the hammer and chisel, on the door was emblazoned the number 8,8 Sigmund decided the hammer and chisel fitted. After some vigorous carpentry the padlock was busted open and the door opened just as the sun was setting.

Inside was some heavy duty radio sets, and a strange console with numbers in random sequences appearing. This all puzzled Sigmund greatly. A small bed seemed very appealing, to which he moved flopping down passing out.

The morning greeted Sigmund, warm sun soaking his skin it was comforting. He got out of the tiny bed observing the console, it was dead no power blank. Sigmund scratched his head thinking. After looking around the room he located a map, amazingly the coordinates he was at were 8,8 Sigmund wrinkled his stubble what was this? Then it dawned on him, why was he on what appeared to be an island? Had he been involved in a terrible accident? Who was he? The only name he knew was Sigmund that was the only thing resounding in his mind. Another sensation registered, hunger. Observing the map he noticed a nearby gas station. Supplies were badly needed if he was going last more than a night. Sigmund walked out of the small radio tower room.
Noticing a trail north bound he traveled along that eventually reaching the gas station.

The station was a wreck, there was signs of gun shots barricading efforts here and there. Why on earth would anyone do this Sigmund thought. Moving over to the gas station foyer it'd been picked clean long ago. There was however one item of interest.

A car with some poor family that appeared to of been mauled alive was mostly intact. Inside the father was holding a shotgun possibly loaded. Keys still in the cars ignition the fathers foot on accelerator. No sign of the family's assailants with the body's long since dried up. Sigmund decided the risk was worth it. To what the risk was he was unsure other than a dreed feeling. The fathers hands was tightly dried up around the shotgun, the mother covering their children for all the good it did them. Sigmund ripped off one of the fathers hands pulling the shotgun out of the car. It didn't bother him at all removing the dried up hand flinging it off in the distance like a football.

Somehow he knew how to use the shotgun, sliding back the breech exposed 4 shells. Sigmund noticing the sun was getting lower in the sky headed back to his small hovel. Stumbling in and around dizzy headed Sigmund found a sealed emergency food ration a few bottles of water and astronaut food pouches. He hastily opened a bottle of water drinking almost the entire bottle then dug into a food pouch finally relaxing on the bed. As the sun set the console came to life, what the heck? A symbol for an agency he'd never seen before blinked up then a few minutes later the number sequences started again. Hold on, agency? Sigmund thought for a few minutes, how'd he know that? Watching the number sequences for a while Sigmund started to feel his body take over, what was going on? The faintest memory of 1-5-9 displayed, Sigmunds body moved into the radio operators seat and his lips begun speaking coded messages.

The next morning he awoke to the sun rising and streaming in just as the other morning and all of the mornings before. He proceeded on his normal routine, walking to the gas station to pick up the loaded shotgun at this rate he'd have enough guns to create a small army. Then returned to the small room locating the carefully stashed rations package hungrily opening and drinking water and eating yet another ration pouch.

The only thing that alerted Sigmund to the loop he was trapped in was the fact his facial hair had been growing, quite the beard adorned his face a month later. He remembered being on the beach, he'd been dreaming about it. Sigmund started to sweat, what had been going on? Where was the huge stash of shotguns? Looking around the room was just a single shotgun and a huge pile of discarded emergency rations... What?

Sigmund ran out of the room in complete confusion rather than terror, only to discover a metal corridor outside!!!! Sigmund passed out for 10 minutes, upon waking on the cold metal floor was numb not knowing what to think. He moved up the hallway, coming to a metal door with a small card reader. Sigmund decided it was best to move back to the safety of his room for now, and wanted the shotgun for security. Scrambling around the room Sigmund was unable to find it, he did find a card where the shotgun was. Completely confused lost and disorientated Sigmund moved to the door and inserted the card. The next sight greeting Sigmund was the beach he'd dreamt about with a small overhanging cave entrance outside. A boat was parked nearby with belongings inside he didn't recognize. There was a stench coming from somewhere, the smell of decaying bodies. He cautiously moved out of the cave only to be greeted by a story high pile of charred burnt bodies. Had he done this? What had these people done? Sigmund moved over to the boat, inside was a visitors guide to Black Island and directions for visitors lodgings. They pointed to the cave entrance. Amongst the items was a social security number a passport and a news clipping "The Earth Burns, The Dead Walk" it was titled. Sigmund begun to worry. What was this???? Another item was in the boat, a picture of a woman and a young child, on the back was written "We will always love you Frank. Save the world for us!"

Frank??? Was that my name? Who was this Sigmund fellow i kept hearing resound throughout my mind? Upon further searching the boat a vial of liquid was discovered, was this............ an antidote?

Fragments of hazy memory's begun to flood back to Franks mind, Sigmund was infact his psychologist Jack who would give him therapy to deal with his anxiety. Frank had been on the run for months from the living Dead and made it to Black Island as there was as CDC research center there. Frank was previously a biologist. He had left his Wife and Daughter behind, a tear weld in his eye. After arriving at the entrance to the CDC Frank had inadvertently tripped a neurological agent security system, the number sequences was lab equipment. There was ample food supplies in the research center along with its own power supply. The mystery of the chisel and hammer still persisted taunting him. On his way to the CDC he noticed a large radio tower in the distance whilst traveling by boat. The coordinates were his brain attempting to make him snap out of it and come back to reality.

Sometimes love is the strongest sanity of all, our subconsciousness knows. Hope you enjoyed the story. Maybe i'll expand it someday.
 
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Dr. J

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Please, @DZS , can we have some more? If I could read with my eyes closed, then I would be there at the beach, gas station, etc.
 

DZS

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Please, @DZS , can we have some more? If I could read with my eyes closed, then I would be there at the beach, gas station, etc.
It takes alot out of me to write like that. Might be a while before i add any additions. You might be interested to know there was no predrafting that was all writen on the fly what you see is what came out of my head in one sitting. As im typing to you now is how i wrote the story. My mind was there my body was here if you can understand that.

Hopefully the psychological connotation's were picked up on hehe. Also the number 8,8 is on the game map, go take a look :p
 

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Once my writing partner and I can get a decent schedule going(Beginning of Winter n' all) we'll soon hopefully be able to continue Jasmine and Max's story(And ofc Dante). We both talked a little something out for the next few posts and I think you'll find this upcoming arc to be pretty interesting :)
 

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I know where your coming from there @DZS , I rather write on the fly myself, and then go back and edit my spelling and grammar misstates. Like you, if I have an idea, then I want to get it down while it's fresh.
I'm looking forward to the next instalment of @Darkstar 影 story as well.
 

DZS

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I know where your coming from there @DZS , I rather write on the fly myself, and then go back and edit my spelling and grammar misstates. Like you, if I have an idea, then I want to get it down while it's fresh.
I'm looking forward to the next instalment of @Darkstar 影 story as well.
Its more important to get the raw ideas down. With writing those who have the talent understand this.

Was that on purpose or not :D misstates/Mistakes
 

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After the surprise of the entrance hall of the third building of this little compound, we move more cautiously inside. It's basically a corridor leading to a window at the back of the building, with one door off to the left and one to the right. Positioned opposite each other midway down.

The building layout mean there can't be too much to the left, the main bulk it to our right. Dan and John stop to listen. Only our breathing seems loud. A whispered conversation ensues. John will check out the left hand doorway, while Dan covers the right. First thing first. Reload. John is worried his pistol has seen better days. It will need cleaning very soon to prevent a misfire or jam.

We're still learning how to move as a team, it's almost farcical or comedic, but it's worked so far. Dan takes up a covering position over the right door (still slightly closed), while John moves through the open doorway on the left. We're both overly slow and cautious, making as little sound as possible.

The left hand doorway leads to what can only be described as an ablution block, communal showers to the right, and other 'facilities' to the left. Apart from a bar of well used soap (complete with hairs) there is nothing here. Some bleach and air freshener wouldn't go amiss though. John almost laughs to himself again. Such thoughts of normality keep cropping up.

Back out to the main corridor, and a whispered report to Dan while he continues to cover the door to the main building section.
 

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I'm sorry it's been a while since my last diary entry, but things have been a little hectic. I'll summarise a little, there is so much I want to tell, and possibly too little time left now to tell it all.

The last building in the little enclave was also a waste of time from the scavenging front, but meant we had to spend another night hold up in the only two story building we had found there. Neither of us slept. We'd set what traps we could fashion, but as night came, so did the hoard. We were low on food, water, and perhaps most importantly, ammunition. The wind had picked up again in the early evening, something I used to enjoy listening to in earlier years. But now? It was just a sound that blocked out any threats.

And the hoard came. I don't know why we were seeing more of the zombies at night now, but they came in groups of 10 or more, somehow drawn to us. Nothing we could do seemed to prevent them from detecting us. For every sleepless night I may well endure from now on, I will remember that last one in that enclave. The speed they could move at at night!

I remember so little of that night. But we both survived. Somehow, we made it through the night. John and Dan had managed to cover each other enough to make it through another night. Even now, I shudder what it would have been like to be alone.

In the cold light of the pre-dawn, with the wind still blowing, and a heavy drizzle coming on, we set back off to the compound at the prison we called home. Our foray to gather supplies was probably a net loss. I tried to reach Frank or Dave on the walkie talkie again as the almost broken pickup made its way along the track. Perhaps the water had got in to it? Perhaps something worse had happened. My mind raced with possibilities.

It took four hours to make the return journey.

Our speed was limited by the condition of our transport, and that of the track. Not withstanding electing to stop to avoid any direct contact with zombies. Add to that an increase in the wind and the rain, and progress was slow. It was the latter stages of Autumn now, so the weather wasn't unexpected. But when you were facing what we were facing, you longed for the heady days of Summer again.

The compound looked a little more neglected than when we'd left, but with signs of 'desperate' fortification. We parked up close to our old shelter, only to see Dave desperately waving to us to come to another building. It was good to see him again. We moved the truck closer so our meagre haul would be closer to unload.

"Get inside quickly" said Dave, "Frank's been injured, did you find any medical supplies?"

We had few supplies that could help Frank, but did what we could with what we had, while Dave filled Dan and John in on what had been going on at our 'home'. We took stock of our supplies. There wasn't much to go around, but fresh batteries for the walkie talkies was the best of it. Food, water, firewood and everything else was in short supply.

Dave and Frank had seen an increase in zombie numbers as well, especially at night, when they moved faster and in greater numbers. That is why they'd moved to a different building in the old prison compound. Somewhere more defensible.

Now we face the onslaught once more. The Autumn storms continue to batter the island. The nights draw in more quickly. We have little power, little food, little water and even less ammunition. As a team, we struggle on the best we can. But the night is here again, and the hoard will be here all too soon. Can we Survive the Nights?
 

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OK, I need to do a disclaimer thing here. In this entry, John talks about his mental health again. This is an overlooked issue that has an effect on about 25% of people each year in developed countries that monitor this sort of thing. It is the unspoken illness than can effect anyone. With that thought off my chest, let's see how John is getting on ...

What have I become? I think I may be turning in to a zombie myself. Not physically, but mentally. My days are filled with survival, my nights with dread.

As Autumn draws to a close, the weather works against our little team. Our days are short, and mostly overcast. There is the smell of snow in the air quite often, and the joy that was once winter now gives us all the sense of dread. Food stocks are a major concern. While the fishing is still good enough, the snares are usually bare, and our attempt at growing our own food have not been as fruitful as we would have liked. The indoor grow pots have worked well. It was something we started when we first got the RV, but even though we've expanded the cultivation, it is not enough.

But there are other concerns. The fuel in the island generator tanks is running low. It may be time soon to decide if we want to keep the power supplied to the transmitting tower. The line printer has had nothing new apart from static that even Frank can't decode for many weeks.

When we first landed at the old black rock prison island, we re-christened it Hoffnung island. Now I think it more as Verzweiflung island. For me, it is now an island of despair. I can see it in the others eyes as well, as surely as they can see it in mine.

During the day, I go about my daily chores, mostly as mindless as one of the undead we all try to avoid. In daylight, it's not too bad. I shuffle round doing what is needed. But it is at night the hoard comes. Then we usually hunker down together and cower in a defensive ring.

All my hope of rescue has gone. All that is left is survival. And I'm not doing well at that. None of us are. Perhaps it is time to move back to the mainland while we still have the will. Seeking out other survivors, and mutual hope of an eventual end to this nightmare. For now, all any of us can do is to Survive The Nights.
 

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I'm going try something a little different from my usual narrative about Frank, Dave, Dan and John today, please let me know what you think.

Come, my friends. Join with me, be one with me. Let us hunt the warm blooded in the dark of the night. Like you, I have the visceral urge to hunt, to swarm as one, to kill, to eat.

The daylight hurts so much, I avoid it when I can. I hide in the cool shadows. It slows me, drains me, if I am out in the light. But the night is my friend. I can move faster, see better, sense better. I feel more. I can react faster. I am stronger. Somehow I come alive at night. A strange thought, perhaps. Being alive. Sometimes the memories come back to me. Only the really strong ones. My life before I turned is almost completely gone.

The warm bloodied hunt us down. They have weapons that kill, and they know how to use them to good effect against us.

But the nights are ours. Something brings us together as the darkness falls. And together, in the night, we are the stronger force. We surround their buildings, and tear down the meagre defences they have managed to erect. We only want to survive, but to do so we must eat those that count themselves as the living. The warmth of their blood draws me. Even as I hide from the daylight, the pull is difficult to resist.

The night approaches again, I can feel the call of others of my kind. I can sense the warmth of the living nearby. No longer the hunted, now the hunter, I emerge from my hiding place. I am fast, I am strong. But I need to feed.

Some distant memory fires for a moment, a family member? A relation? I don't know for sure. All I know is it is the time to join my fellow kind and swarm over the living to feed.

The remaining humans think about Surviving The Nights, I think about surviving the days. That's if I still do think.
 

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Again from the zombie perspective ...

I need to feed again, but it is daylight, so I cower in the shadows. I am week now, slow, almost harmless. I wait for the dark. The dark is my friend, and the enemy of the warm bloodied. Then I am more alive. That's still a strange thought. With what is left from my warm bloodied brain, I try to think about that. So much of my memory and former self has now faded.

Even as I hide from the winter sun, I long for the night. My senses are better then, and I gather with my brothers and sisters to feed. Then we are strong, then we wreck terror on all of those with warm blood.

I can feel them coming, 15,000 'backers' will soon be ours to feast on. They may think they will endure the onslaught, they have much to learn about us. They won't learn it quickly enough. We will feast on them, and in turn make them one with us.

The sun has moved, and my dark position under a set of stairs grows lighter. I must shuffle off now to somewhere else. Perhaps the drainage system under Old Town will offer me the protection I need until the night descends.
 

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I can sense it coming, something left in me that was the human feels it. Struggling to hold that thought, I drop down in to the drainage system under Old Town. It's darker here, cooler. I feel more active. I need no rest, just somewhere to hide from the day.

The warm bloodied don't come down here often, that I instinctively know. How or why I know it, I'm not sure. My memory is fading fast. The need to kill and feed is almost overwhelming it. I am almost totally one with my kind now. My kind. Once human, but now something else. Zombies, the living call us. Perhaps we are the next iteration, the genesis of a new species?

A rat comes too close, unaware of us as a new threat. It isn't much, but the meal will keep me going a little longer, with luck until night fall. I yearn to kill and feed on the warm bloodied. It drives me. What is left of the human that once was sits in a tiny corner just watching what I now am.

As I cower in the darkness, I can almost connect with others of my kind. Of what I have now become. There is something there, a connection of sorts. As we become bolder at night, it intensifies, drawing us together, and to our prey. We hunt as a pack, albeit one without any leadership. But to hunt and to kill is the main thing. For then we can eat.
 
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