Final Flight (Left 4 Dead)

[Teej]

OOC: With the arrival of the Infected to the list of official foes, I have decided to come out of hiding and have a totally non-canon Roleplaying session. Dohoho. To prevent any confusion or whatever, go ahead and make your own character so we don't have to worry about matching a character's personality. Remember, they are COMPLETELY and 100% HUMAN. No darkness, God Powers, CHOSEN ONE LOLOLOL etc
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Smoke emerged from the barrel of the pistol Jake had boosted from an immune, yet dead all the same, survivor.

With five shots left, a first aid kit slung around his shoulder and no food or adequate clothing, the man was on his last legs, picking through now abandoned, blood-covered homes.

"Ah, looks like we had a real hunter here..." Jake noted to himself as he rummaged through old photos of a man in the arctic holding prizes from small fish to a polar bear. More importantly, however, was the box hidden beneath the trinkets. A gun case. The man pulled out his swiss army knife, and started twisting at the locks until they eventually gave in and opened.

Empty, of course. The man wighed as hope for survival quickly drained from his body. Jake continued rummaging through the closet, picking out some thicker clothes in the event that the infected outside felt the urge to start ripping at his skin. He pulled a thick blue winter coat over his torn, black (more red than black at this point, however) as well as a pair of casual jeans, old, but still in one piece, to replace his own nearly destroyed set.

No food in the house, of course. All the guns the resident had were now gone, probably taken by some other poor fools who had lived to experience this apocalypse.

With only five pistol shots between him and an endless horde of the undead, the future looked pretty bleak. Depite this, the man sighed it off and turned back to the bed to pick up his medical kit.

Only to watch it be devoured by an undead in a hooded sweatshirt.

A hunter. As soon as the man met eye contact with the infected, the zombie went berserk, pouncing on the man.

"GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!" Jake pleaded to the sky. This was it. Either he would be saved by a miracle, or he would fade into the horde of the thousands of undead that flood the streets.

[Morph]

(OOC: Heh. I actually had been planning on a non-canon-but-in-Ymaggion outbreak thread with the Infected, but this is cool too.)


His eyes slowly wandered across the bloodied corpse of a man whose stale eyes appeared to be staring back into his own. Mischkav's hand moved towards the half-finished cigar that had fallen when the man died, likely by a gunshot as he didn't see any signs of mauling on his body, showing he had not been ravaged by the Infected.

He carefully tapped the cigar to make a chunk of ash fall of the end before putting it between his lips. Pulling out a lighter he clicked it a few times before the flame finally sparked and he lit the cigar before putting the little flame-maker back into the inside pocket of his bloodied coat that he recalled taking from the mall. It had been lying close to a figure that had its head chopped off, but he had not further looked at it after seeing that.

Giving the corpse one last look, Mischkav tapped a shotgun with a sawn-off barrel against his leg as he turned around and walked out the door. "Poor bloke." He uttered, taking a pull and breathing some smoke through his lips. "Too bad this isn't Cuban." He commented with a grimace.

Then a cry tore through the silence. Mischkav turned his head to the end of the alleyway he was standing in. A plea for help was shouted over there.

Humans! Mischkav noted, and he trembled for a second. He was not sure, and it almost couldn't be true he told himself as he slowly started to walk, but if he had survived the initial onslaught there likely were more. He broke into a run and when he rounded two corners and ran into another home he looked at a hooded figure sitting on top of another, struggling and screaming blood and murder. His left hand gripped the shotgun and pumped in mid-walk before he fired a round at the Hunter, trying not to hit the other figure. He hoped that the Infected had not decided to turn onto one another and he was actually saving one of them.

[Teej]

Relieved yet panicked when his knight in shining armor arrived, Jake took his chance to quickly stand up, firing the last five of his remaning rounds into the Hunter, just to be sure it was dead. After the "click" when he pulled the trigger his sixth time, he sighed and put the pistol back into it's holster on his right leg.

"You saved me. Didn't think any more humans survived through this whole 'Hell on Earth' deal." The man gave a sly smile and reached out his hand.

"Name's Jake. Jake Thompson. How 'bout yerself?"

[Morph]

Although Mischkav knew the Hunter to be dead already, the other man emptied his gun on the figure in his apparant panic. Despite the unreasonability of it, he could understand the man's feelings. Although he had not been jumped by a Hunter -- he had managed to keep them off of him -- he had been nearly strangled by a Smoker and another encounter with a Witch had only ended well through a well-timed explosion from behind her.

He eyed the man as he stood before him and holstered his pistol. He gave him a bit of a grin as he bit down on his cigar. "The name is--" he raised a hand to take out the cigar to allow him to speak with more ease, "Mischkav, Boris A.; but most call me Mischkav."

Shooting a glance at the fallen Hunter, Mischkav spat on the ground. "You are the first other I have come upon that was still alive and not infected. I hope you can be a bit of a help in sending Hell back to the place from whence it came." He said with a grim smile on his dark face. "Do you require any medical treatment? I have no band-aids on me but I have some painkillers."

[Great Saiyaman]

"Jesus!" A voice yelled as he emerged from round the corner. He was wearing a suit, similar to that of a business man. The dress shirt was untucked and his jacket was unbuttoned (some of the buttons had actually fallen out). He was holding a hunting rifle, the one he found from the hunter who had lived here, and was wearing a pair of shades, one of the lens broken off. He was scratched and bruised, but nothing serious.

"I thought that hunter would never leave!" He began laughing a bit, but quickly hushed himself. He was clearly nervous, very nervous, "Anyway. My name's Rick Coston. You may have heard of me. I own 'Coston Bank of the Union'. I came here for a routine check and look what I find! A boatload full of these undead bastards!" His voice began to rise, but he hushed himself again quickly. Even if he was the owner of a bank and a millionare, he never learned to keep his mouth shut. It was hard for the 27 year old. He sighed.

"Sorry, didn't mean to make so much noise." Rick mumbled, sweat pouring from his brow. He was tired and drained, running all day from the undead. He even came across a hunter, the very same one that attacked Jack. He had led it inside from the roof and hid in a closet. The hunter was about to find him when Jack came in. Rick watched as Jack, the only human he met in the last twelve hours was attacked and nearly killed until this...Russian?, came along. A coward he was, but what they didn't know didn't hurt them. He was just watching his own back.