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Post by Shane Richardson on Mar 14, 2010 20:35:22 GMT -5
An evil smirk made its way across Shane’s features as Mason, Tara, Roy, and Keith headed out to go save Moro from the CEDA dickheads. Who said just because it was his plan that he had to go help them? The one true reason he wasn’t helping was because he disliked–no wait, he loathed Moro. Sure, he didn’t like men disrespecting woman like for example putting them at gun point, but this was Moro. So Shane could honestly not care if they did shoot her or not. Why he had made the plan to save her he would never know.
Those morons. Those idiots. Those dumbasses. Let them throw themselves to the sharks. He wouldn’t be surprised to hear a couple of gun shots and look out the safe room door and see his acquaintances dead and the CEDA dickheads home-free. He still didn’t know why he had joined them in the first place. He hated all of them, well except Keith. He developed a little soft spot for the hick, but everybody else can go do him a favor and jump off a cliff while he pointed and laugh at their broken bodies.
Rolling his eyes, Shane shut the safe room door behind him. He let out a loud yawn and stretched before crawling into his sleeping bag. He was just about to fall into a deep slumber when Mason blundered in brining along with him you guessed it: one of the CEDA dickheads. The teenage boy sat up and let a cold sneer fall on his features.
“Well, well, well, look at what the cat dragged in.” Shane spoke. He waved an absent-minded hand in the direction of Mason. “And I was sure you idiots would’ve gotten yourselves killed, but I guessed I misunderstood you. Okay. We got the dickhead, what do we do with him?”
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Post by Keith the Great on Mar 14, 2010 22:00:00 GMT -5
Keith blinked for a moment after his killing shot, his brain trying to grasp that the man he’d just killed hadn’t already been dead. The realization had just begun to settle, giving Keith a sort of blank-eyed stare for a moment, when Mason called out with the instruction to take care of one of the unconscious guys (specifically, the one who’d gotten batted like the ball in a determined little kid’s T-ball game). Thankfully, the gunned-down CEDA man was in a suit, and the Southern gunman took his chance to tear his eyes away and hop forward.
“Can do!” he chirped, skipping over and keeping his eyes on anything but the bleeding corpse. Snatching the poor sucker by the shoulders, Keith proceeded to drag the guy across the floor and back to the safe-room, feeling a strange sense of deja-vu. (It would have been worse if the CEDA guy had been a girl whose name started with ‘T’ and ended with ‘ara’.)
After much feet-shuffling and bitterly muttered complaints, the out-cold Haz-mat worker was chilling in the safety of a store that sold clubs, spiked shoes, and guns. Better yet, Keith had managed to spot a small box of sports tape on the shelf, and snatched it with a brilliant grin.
“Man, this reminds me of this one time when m’ friends thought it’d be funny ta mummify me in duct tape an’ hide me in a coffin by the graveyard. I was down in th’ ground fer three days ‘fore any a’ them pricks remembered I was even gone!” he exclaimed upon entering the room, giving Shane a quick wave as his dragged his prey through the door.
Whistling a small tune, Keith went right to work, clumsily mauling the box and retrieving the pristine roll of tape. “Anyway, as fer the guy who ain’t out of it,” he continued, enjoying the sound of his own voice while tearing off the end of the tape and starting to bound the unconscious one’s wrists together in a sloppy mess of adhesive, “Mason said he had some questions.
“Oh, speakin’ of...” Keith brightened up, struck by a good idea. He gave their interrogation victim a quick wave, trying to catch his attention. “You been ‘round a lot, right? You seen a couple ‘a guys named Ellis an’ Dave? Ya can’t miss ‘em. El’s got this blue cap on all the time an’ Dave don’t leave home without his matchin’ one in red. I dunno if they got from Georgia to Ohio, but I’m crossin’ my fingers.” He stared hopefully, oblivious to the fact that the chances that his friends were in Illinois (or as he believed, Ohio) were between slim and none.
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Post by Mason Breaker on Mar 15, 2010 17:42:01 GMT -5
Mason's opinion of the other survivors ran like this;
Keith; Didn't hate him, but sometimes his stories and antics just drove Mason up the wall. Tara; Undoubtedly one of the most helpful of the group, especially since she often carried so many supplies with her, and her personality made her company bearable. Roy; While Mason found his psychotic behavior irritating, Roy was one of his favorites. Moro; He honestly had no idea what to think of Moro. He felt a need to help her, but at the same time.......
And finally Shane. He had only known him for a few days, and he absolutely hated the punk. For all Mason cared, the creep could go get puked on, torn apart, and have every bone in his body broken and removed. In fact, Mason wished it. What Keith saw in him, the Irishman would never know.
And it seemed that it had been Shane's plan to send them out there to die, especially since that, upon entering the safe room, he was back in his sleeping bag, then proceeded to sneer and state that he expected them to die. Mason didn't respond right away, rather, he shoved the CEDA man to the floor next to Keith (Who started to question the man about Ellis and Dave. That was one thing Mason respected about the hobo; His drive to find his friends.)
Walking over to Shane, he glanced at the shelf next to him, and, still looking at Shane, slammed his fist onto it. And with that, a number of various balls fell from it and onto the lounging punk's upper half. Tennis balls, a basketball, and a soccer ball.
"Look what the bitch dropped out of her ass and left on the floor. Looks like you proved me right about you. Again." Was all he said before returning to the CEDA man and leaned against the wall, observing him briefly, before diverting his attention to his other companions.
"Roy, Tara, Moro, you comin'?"
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Post by Moro Ashford on Mar 15, 2010 19:22:28 GMT -5
(By the way, the CEDA guy is open for anyone to control :])
In a meek silence, Moro trailed behind the small procession, rubbing absently at her arms and staring distantly past her friends. She missed Shane's remarks and Mason's subsequent reaction; instead, she was gazing blankly at their prisoner, who was frowning in Keith's direction.
"No, I ain't seen no one like that," the man said unkindly, crossing his arms in a juvenile expression of frustration. "Sides, everything from here to Georgia is gone, anyway. B'leave it or not, but we stopped here 'cause you all seem to have it best. There are buildings, anyway. The cities are overrun an' there's nothing to get at in the smaller towns. So where you all expectin' to run to?"
The faintest grin flickered over his face; a cruel spark ignited in his eyes. The man shrugged, pretended to rub at an invisible spot of dust on his bio-hazard suit. "Don't think you're going to find who you're looking for, kid. Hell, we lost contact with the headquarters near a week ago; if the government couldn't make it, what makes you think they could?"
"Shut up," Moro said finally, snapping from her reverie. She spared the man a dirty look, knowing this would only goad him on, and instead turned to Keith. "Look, if your friends are half as crazy as you say they are, then I'm sure they're fine. And I doubt they're alone."
It was a feeble, if genuine, attempt- Moro was at a strange array of feelings. The CEDA man had seemingly embodied Kami's dying words and cruelly set them into perspective. Curiously, however, Moro wasn't disheartened. Perhaps hope had really hit rock bottom, and the only way now was up.
The mechanic rolled back her shoulders and glanced over at Mason as the Irishman addressed her. "Where to now?" she said, but her tone was brighter, stronger- her body was breaking, like hell if this disease was taking her spirit, too.
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Post by Keith the Great on Mar 15, 2010 20:12:45 GMT -5
Keith watched the CEDA worker ramble, bearing an expression more confused than bitter. (The hobo wasn’t particularly skilled at picking out when someone was trying to be subtly cruel.) Rolling his eyes, he simply muttered, “Goddamn, I asked if ya seen ‘em, not if ya had the weather fer three damn states.”
Fortunately, Moro happened to talk in and give the naggy goverment-guy a good little slap on the wrist. Keith would have cheered her on just for that, but then she went and gave him assurance. The Southerner couldn’t hold back a bubbling grin and a cheery sniffle. He’d been a bit worried when she’d kept her secret with Mason back at the bar, but this right here was just some beautiful encouragement.
A bit overcome and plenty over-dramatic, Keith set the tape aside for a moment (all he had left was the guys ankles, anyway, and it didn’t look like he was waking up anytime soon) and sprung to his feet. Happily, he bounced over the wrapped his arms around Moro’s shoulders in a friendly, caring embrace. “Aw, thanks girl!” he said, slightly miffed that te girl who was almost a decade younger than him still had three inches on him. Nevertheless, he reached up and gave her a appreciative pat on the head before strolling back to tape duty. “Anyway, if either of ‘em dies ‘fore I do, the world’ll implode. Simple as that.”
Whistling a soft tune, Keith plopped back down next to his prisoner and retrieved his tape, moving on to binding the poor guy’s ankles. He spared a glance to Shane and Mason, frowning when he found that his two friends were practically at each other’s throats. That was one conflict he didn’t quite see being resolved soon. Damn shame, too. Nevertheless, he left it to them (no way in hell he was going to take sides) and continued his work.
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Tara Luketic
Junior Member
Witch Hunter and Pack Rat
Posts: 71
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Post by Tara Luketic on Mar 16, 2010 8:54:13 GMT -5
((I was tryin' to wait for Roy, but screw it, I ain't gettin' left behind too!))
Tara, after properly screaming from Mason's sudden entrance, had then proceeded to watch in horror as most of the CEDA men were killed in some way. Eyes wide, face pale, her inner code of non-violence against uninfected and giving second chances returned after what seemed like ages. During the apocalypse, she'd been forced to throw those morals to the wind and focus entirely on surviving. But now, with no infected around and actual people dying or getting injured, Tara felt it come back. She frowned, kneeling down beside the first fallen CEDA man and yanking off his hood to reveal a perfectly human face untainted by the infection.
She knew they had planned on hurting them, perhaps even killing them for whatever unknown reason. But Tara believed there could have been another way as she pressed her fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. None. 'Were you someone's father? You were definitely a son... is your family still alive, or is their death why you became so cruel?' she wondered briefly. Hearing Mason's call, she blinked herself out of her thoughts and looked up to see the others heading back to the safe room with the two surviving CEDA men.
"You guys... go on without me. I'll be there in a minute, promise," Tara called back, returning to her work. "Normally, I'd try to convince the others to give you guys proper burials, but it's just too dangerous right now. Plus... I don't think they'd do it," she muttered, sighing. She closed the man's eyes and gently folded his hands on his stomach, setting his hood atop them. Tara moved and did this to the other dead, until she came to the man Mason had flattened with his entrance. She had just tugged off his hood to check for a pulse when his hand suddenly reached out and grasped her wrist in an iron grip.
She screamed out of reflex, the sound echoing around the large, empty mall and likely to draw at least a handful of infected. Tara's first thought was that the man had been infected and had turned, but she had left her bags and weapons in the safe room. She was just reaching for one of the fallen assault rifles when a voice reached her ears, weak and raspy but clearly human. "W-wait... listen, please..." Tara's eyes widened as she turned to look back at the man, who had released her wrist and was now looking at her in obvious pain.
'When Mason landed on him... it must have broken most of the bones in his torso... his internal organs are probably punctured...' she thought, frowning. "What? What is it? I can end your pain," she whispered, grabbing the rifle. The man nodded as he pointed to a pocket on his suit, obviously trying to force out the words. "I-in my... p-pocket... there's a.. a map. P-possible safe havens... immune a-areas... t-take it. I'm sorry we a-attacked you... but, listen c-carefully..." he stammered, blood dripping from his lips.
Tara couldn't believe what she was hearing and seeing, but knew that her kindness and morals were paying off. Had she just ignored these men and gone with the others, this information and valuable map would likely be lost. She leaned in as the man beckoned her to, obviously unable to speak loudly enough anymore. "Go... to... C-Canada..." he wheezed at last. Tara blinked in surprise, but nodded and then knew she had to hold up her end of the bargain; putting this man out of his misery.
"Thank you..." she whispered as she took aim. He nodded, laying his head back down as she pulled the trigger. The sound of bullets slicing through flesh and slamming into the floor was even louder than her scream, and would probably have at least one of the others come running. Tara didn't care, reaching over the corpse and pulling out the aforementioned map from his pocket. Stuffing it into the pocket of her hoodie, she shakily got to her feet and gathered up the remaining assault rifles.
"Wait until the guys see and hear about this."
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Roy Bivenmeijer
Junior Member
"Because I'm used to killing animals"
Posts: 76
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Post by Roy Bivenmeijer on Mar 18, 2010 17:35:12 GMT -5
He let his shot go at the exact moment Keith did, though with a much calmer demeanor. Whereas Keith's shot was jumpy and slightly off kilter, hitting the man in the chest and leading to a much slower death. His ageant, though, only yelped and died. One shot punctured both the heart and lungs, dropping him on the spot. He only bled a bit... he only felt it for a moment. Keith's victim, however, was still alive by the time Roy hit the ground via the vent.
The CEDA ageant, gasping raggedly for air, lunged for Roy's leg as he passed. A Ruger was feebly pointed at his groin, and the haz-mat suited man spoke. "Who the hell... has Snipers... in an apocalypse."
"You obviously haven't met mason and Moro, hmm. Then again, look what happened to your buddies who did." Bringing up a foot, Roy kicked the arm holding the german pistol and it skitted across the floor, misfiring into the dead man.
"How'd you... get both of" The CEDA ageant spluttered, spat out a bit of blood, and continued. "Us, mother fucker... You... Military?" The man looked up in the suit, expending the vast majority of his remaining energy. Roy walked over and grabbed the pistol, tossing it from hand to hand. They'd obviously hit an antique shop. From the other man he grabbed a bottle of what seemed to be puke. This jar looked slightly different, though, with metallic thread running through it and a slightly more lucid liquid in it. Roy took it, just for kicks. He then grabbed the med-packs from the 'copter and walked back.
Up until this point, Roy had ignored thye ageant's last question. Pulling his machete, he laughed, the laugh going slowly from a low chuckle to a maniacle cackle, releasing all of his pent up frustration. He got down low, the laugh dying out slightly as the others talked. His answer was simple, and to the point (just before the point went to him) The crazy laugh started up again. "Because I'm used to killing animals"
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Post by Mason Breaker on Mar 20, 2010 11:05:51 GMT -5
Mason watched with mild irritation as the CEDA agent proceded to taunt Keith, although a small smile crept across his face when Moro shut the man up and Keith altogether ignored it. Keith may do some stupid things, but he never did it out of meaness. Keith just wasn't mean. A bit dim, but not mean.
Content that Keith had his question finished, Mason began his own. The captive was still sneering at Keith and Moro, not noticing that the Irishman was looming right over him until he found he couldn't move his legs, thanks to Mason setting a large foot on them.
His scowl/sneer changed to a look of "Oh God.". What a coward.....
"Alright, that's enough shit out of you. First question."
The other man squirmed around, trying to free himself. Finding that he couldn't, he ceased his attempts and settled for glaring at Mason.
"Fine. Ask your damn questions."
Mason gave a dark chuckle. "That's the spirit. Now, for starters, where were you headed?"
The man was silent for a moment, then responded. "Nevan."
"Alright. Second, is there an evacuation station there?"
Silent for a longer time, prompting Mason to apply more pressure.
"Agh! Yes! There is!"
"Now thats better. Third, how is it that you CEDA pinheads and the army couldn't contain this infection, huh?"
That question set the man to a deep shade of red before responding.
"What are you saying?"
Mason groaned, then leaned down to the man's face.
"I'm asking how you supposedly well-trained, well armed forces screwed up so terrificaly. I'd say we've done more to contain this infection than you pinheads."
The man exploded at this. "FAILED!? It was not OUR error, it was you civilians! If protocal had been followed, this wouldn't be happening now would it!? But no! You all had to all go about spreading the damn virus!"
Now it was Mason's turn, hoisting the man up into the air. "PROTOCAL!? You twits covered this all up as a flu! THATS WHY IT GOT OUT OF HAND! PEOPLE DIDN'T KNOW THE DANGER! They were not TOLD what was really happening, and anyone who tried to tell anything were KILLED."
"S-so the masses wouldn't panic! Do you know how hard it is to control a panicked nation?!"
"PANIC?! Had they been told the freaking TRUTH, then they might have been better prepared! And if you weren't so busy trying to SIT AROUND AND STUDY IT!"
"A lot of innocent people are DEAD because you morons-"
Mason stopped in mid sentence upon hearing an assortment of strange noise.
".....Is that a Jockey? Good, need something to shoot."
Dropping the man to the floor, he grabbed his shotgun and left the safe room. Roy was busy murdering a downed CEDA agent, and Tara looked like she had learned something. But Mason just wanted to kill the jumping bastard and blow off some steam. His first two questions got them somewhere, but the third one did nothing useful. All it did was piss himself off.
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Post by Shane Richardson on Mar 20, 2010 12:14:25 GMT -5
“Asshole!” Shane snarled, his light brown eyes gleaming with rage as the tennis balls, a basketball, and a soccer ball rained down on him. He leapt to his feet. “Who the hell do you think you are?!” he yelled venomous hatred at Mason. “What? You think just because you’re a fucking old man makes you think I should respect you? Well think again because you’re the last person on this earth I would respect!”
Honestly he could have cared less if he was making a scene right in front of the CEDA dude who currently lay on the floor. In his anger Shane was tempted to beat the shit out of the man but the poor, pathetic loser hadn’t done anything to him so he was safe…for now. All the teenager cared about was finding himself a knife and stabbing that Irishman multiple times. That would teach him! Teach him to think twice about messing with him! Besides, if it wasn’t for that fucktart in the first place Shane wouldn’t be hanging around these sons of bitches.
He watched through narrowed eyes as Mason left the safe room to go murder the jumping retard known as a Jockey. Oh no. Mason wasn’t getting away that easily. Grabbing one of the multiple tennis balls, the basketball, and the soccer ball in his arms he swiftly followed the man. But before he left, he felt as if he needed to address this issue before he choked a certain someone for it.
“Keith,” Shane began slowly and calmly. “WE. ARE. NOT. IN OHIO! We’re in Illinois! If those Ellis and Dave guys of yours are in Georgia then they’re probably heading for New Orleans. Heard they’re evacuating over there.”
And with that he headed out the safe room. Spotting Mason and the Jockey, he smirked. This was going to be fun. Cocking his arm back with the tennis ball in hand, he threw it. The tennis ball soared into the air before landing with perfect aim at the back of Mason’s head. Next it was the basketball’s turn that hit the Irishman hard on his back. The soccer ball managed to land a hit to the head to.
Shane laughed as the Jockey, who had noticed this, jumped on Mason and was steering him around in random places while laughing creepily. Was the teenager going to help him? HELL NO!
“I’ll help him when this stops being funny.” Shane told himself. For a couple of minutes he merely watched the two before his laughter started up again. “And it’s still funny!”
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Post by Moro Ashford on Mar 20, 2010 13:32:45 GMT -5
"You're a bastard, Shane."
The boy had made enough noise to draw a hoard in his temper tantrum; from where she had stood pensively beside the harassed CEDA worker, her attention had been drawn away. She watched Mason wander off in pursuit of a jockey and Shane enter the scene only moments later. With a quick word to Keith, he armed himself with an assortment of equipment and followed Mason.
"Wait until the guys see and hear about this," Tara was saying; murmuring a distracted "in a minute," Moro wandered behind. Shane's assault began harmlessly; when the Jockey was involved, however, the mechanic stepped in. Removing her rifle (recovered from her former captors) from her shoulder, the young woman walked up behind him, said her piece, and thunked him in the back of the skull with the butt of the rifle, a movement aimed to render him unconscious. Jogging over to where Mason stumbled, she repeated the action on the infected, but was strangely calm. Perhaps she had a lot to think about; perhaps she had merely expected this sort of action of Shane.
She winced. "Ouch, Mase- at least he missed your eyes." The Irishman's face was dotted with deep scratches, a few of which leaked blood.
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Tara Luketic
Junior Member
Witch Hunter and Pack Rat
Posts: 71
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Post by Tara Luketic on Mar 20, 2010 13:51:30 GMT -5
Tara had been about to head back to the safe room to divulge her findings to the others when she heard cackling and screaming nearby. Blinking in confusion, she turned and went pale all over again, dropping the rifles with loud clacks as they hit the floor. "ROY!!! Stop!!" she shouted, stomach churning. Tara's mind told her to stay the Hell away from the psychotic man, but she ignored it and ran over to him. She used the momentum of her run to ram into his side, hands grasping at his shoulder and upper arm in an effort to stop him.
She was lucky the machete didn't accidentally run her through from the action as they tumbled to the floor together, blood flying off of the blade. Tara, still a little frightened of Roy in this state, quickly pushed herself off of him and sat on her knees a few inches away. "R-Roy... he's dead... just leave him be. Doing this... it... it makes you no better than them... or the infected..." she whispered, panting slightly. She barely took notice of the others about a yard or two away, heart pounding in her chest as she waited for the man's possibly dangerous reaction.
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Roy Bivenmeijer
Junior Member
"Because I'm used to killing animals"
Posts: 76
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Post by Roy Bivenmeijer on Mar 20, 2010 21:43:29 GMT -5
"ROY! Stop"
A strange weight hit his still cackling head, and his still cackling head his the un-crackling floor. "Hehehe...hehe...he...heee" And Roy was out...
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Post by Mason Breaker on Mar 21, 2010 14:02:41 GMT -5
Shane's hissy fit was to be expected, although Mason had planned to deal with his attitude personally after the Jockey was dealt with. He had tried his hardest to keep his temper in check when he felt the balls pelted at him, but when the Jockey became involved, Mason exploded. Internally.
Luckilly for Shane, Moro knocked the dumbass out, then assisted Mason with the Jockey, which had been clawing at his face and trying to pull him down the escalator. Good thing it didn't.
"Ouch, Mase- at least he missed your eyes."
Feeling his face, he grimaced when he felt blood.
"Yeah, I suppose so..... Thanks though."
He was a tad preoccupied though. Something had to be down about Shane. And it seemed as if Shane thought that he could take on the Irishman. Well, if it's a fight Shane wanted.....
"Then it's a fight he's gonna get." He muttered to himself, glancing at the unconcious punk. He strolled over and procceeded to drag him back into the safe room, pausing only when he noticed Tara and Roy. Roy was..... Unconcious, and Tara looked frightened.
"You need a hand there, lassie?" He called out to her, taking note of the bloody machete. You didn't need to be a genius to guess what Roy had been doing.
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Post by Keith the Great on Mar 21, 2010 14:55:18 GMT -5
Keith had watched the interrogation, wide-eyed, understanding part of the argument but not all of it. He still didn’t understand the whole ‘flu’ outlook. Zombies were zombies; they came from being dead and coming back to life, not because someone had a cold. Nevertheless, he watched in awe as the two men argued back and forth until Mason stormed out of the room, at which point Keith continued to stare at his teammate until he left the room and the hobo was left gaping at an open door.
It took the sound of his own name, courtesy of one Shane, to snap Keith out of his stupor. The ensuing piece of information was a further jolt. “Wait!” Keith exclaimed, his voice taking on a high, whining tone, even as everyone ran out the door. “Y’mean this ain’t Ohio? Goddamn, why didn’ any a’ y’all tell me that earlier! Man, I got a buddy up in Chicago I could’a met up with!”
By the time Keith had finished his miniature tirade and glanced around, everyone else was gone. He blinked, the realization hitting him that he was suddenly and inexplicably alone. Well, aside from the CEDA guy...
...The guy who just happened to be missing.
Panicking, Keith quickly looked around the room, spotting the guy stumbling his way over to emergency exit. Without a second thought, the way he usually handled things, the southerner scrambled to his feet and leapt forward, throwing what little body-weight he had at the CEDA worker’s back. With a yelp, the man tumbled forward, through the doorway, and, coinciding with the hobo’s knack for accidents, down the emergency stairs.
“Oh, SHI–” The southerner’s loud, child-unfriendly exclamation was cut short as the duo bounced down the stairs. Each bounce off the stairs felt like being whacked with a baseball bat. By the time they slid to a stop at the bottom, an exciting adventure that ended with Keith comfortably relaxed on his victim’s back, pinning the poor man to the floor.
Dazed, Keith stared at the ceiling for a moment, blinking when he heard a muffled yell that would have been understood as “Get the hell off of me you goddamn retard” had the guy’s face not been blocked by a trailing, dirt-crusted, sky-blue scarf. When he realized that this meant he’d succeeded, Keith grinned and punched the air weakly, oblivious to the small streak of blood running down his face and the ache that hurt pretty much everywhere. Simply oozing pride (even through the realization that he was too dizzy to stand), he sat himself up on his prisoner’s spine, watched the door for any of his teammates, and tried not to pass out.
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Post by Moro Ashford on May 2, 2010 17:13:32 GMT -5
From beside the Jockey's corpse Moro followed Mason's gaze, grimacing and glancing away as her eyes fell on Tara and Roy. She understood- her own nerves were wearing thin- but as in a similar case as Shane, it disturbed her to think her companions capable of the same brutality any of the mindless infected. Stepping over the hunched creature at her feet, she shouldered her weapon and began a slow retreat to the saferoom.
“Oh, SHI–”
From somewhere in front of her, Keith's southern drawl was evident even in a panicked yelp; glancing up, Moro froze, sliding her rifle into her hands.
"Keith?"
Striding forward and pausing warily at the saferoom door, the mechanic found it lacking both hobo and agent; feeling a second's flash of panic, she glancing around for any signs of a mishap. A muffled bellow attracted her attention; with a few steps forward, Moro found who she was looking for.
With an audible sigh, Moro's arms relaxed. "Damn it, Keith," she said, but her voice bled evident relief; the southerner was at the bottom of a flight of stairs, bodily pining his mark to the ground. Setting down her gun in place of a half-used medpack whose contents lay strewn across the floor, she hurried down the stairs, wincing at the sight of his face.
"You're really talented, you know that?" she teased kindly; bunching up a wad of gauze, she moved to pry away his headscarf and tend to the source of his bleeding.
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