jumpscares | ( OPEN ) GAME START.

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( OPEN ) GAME START.

▶ WHO: Everyone.
▶ DATE: July 9th, 2015 (Day 1)
▶ WARNINGS: Blood, violence, general zombie horror.
▶ SUMMARY: You've met with a bad... however that line goes. Welcome to Earth.

GOOD MORNING!

Please try and ignore whatever it is that you just heard. It should only last for up to a minute... maybe.

It... it is morning, right?

There are no windows.

There's a light, but it's barely considered one. The compound runs on a solar generator, but that doesn't mean it has a lot of power. The light seems to be hanging from the ceiling, swinging precariously. That's when you might actually start to wake up, sit up, find the things that are familiar to you... and then some of the things that aren't. It'd be wise to explore the small room you're in before leaving through the steel door, but there's nobody around to tell you that.

Outside is a tightly knit compound, just as dark and metallic as the room. The hallway you're in houses dozens more doors identical to yours, and if you're unlucky there may be more people poking their heads out through them, just like you. There's a dull glowing sign that reads MEDICAL BAY but not all of you remember being hurt. Some of you may be just fine, apart from the memory of the sound you heard when waking up.

The Medical Bay is stocked with enough medicine to last a couple of months. There's almost everything that can be found in a hospital. Somebody was thinking ahead.

Outside of the Medical Bay are more doors, some are even locked—many aren't. There are living quarters, a food storage, a kitchen, some laboratories; even a room full of computers and nothing else, all with a screen asking for a password. There's only two doors out of the compound, a vehicle bay with what appear to be a few military jeeps and trucks, and the front doors. It's on the inside of the front doors that something is painted in bright red, flecked with what smell like blood:

DO NOT GO OUTSIDE WITHOUT A GUN AND WATER.
GUNSHOTS ATTRACT THEM.
HOLLOWS IS 1.3 MILES NORTH OF HERE.
GOOD LUCK.

And on the outside of the doors, if you choose to open them:

THE WORLD ENDED JULY 3RD, 2015.

Now... how long ago was that? And where is this place? Luckily for you, Hollows is a small town that can be raided. It hasn't been too long since the apocalypse—surely you'll be able to find something there. Batteries, food, weapons, maybe some people—and what you're guaranteed to find. Them, whatever that means.

Outside of the compound there's a fence with a single gate. Nothing can get past this unless you let them in for tea, so be careful. There's a shooting range and a large shed full of weapons and ammo, enough to last two months if you're careful. Guns, knives, anything that would be used by the military and police is hidden away in the shed. There are even a few hunting bows with arrows.

If you climb up the ladder to the top of the wall, there's enough room to walk along the top. There's definitely something moving in the distance, something you should definitely be worrying about. Maybe it's time to get a good look with a sniper rifle...?

Oh.

It's gone.

Maybe it was just a trick of the light. Regardless, it's impossible for everyone to stay in the compound forever. There are nefarious things at work! The choices are to go to Hollows, stick around, or go somewhere else. Really, the world is almost a blank slate. Maybe more of a used slate, but still yours to explore.

When the night comes, you should be hiding. The screamers, the ragers, whatever the hell they are, are running full tilt through the streets and across the landscape, running through anything in their way, ripping apart anything alive. If you don't make any noise, they won't notice you. Especially since they're stuck listening to each other. But if you get noticed by one, it won't be long until a horde forms... you might be able to outrun one for awhile, but they don't seem to let up on their breakneck pace. Maybe someone should have told you how to kill them.

OOC NOTES.

There will be zombies in Hollows. Whether you meet them on the way there is up to you. Apart from the undead and the animals (maybe somebody should let those poor creatures out of their houses) the town is completely deserted. In fact, the closest thing you can find to a human are the bodies of those who died without being bitten, and there's even few of those. You can find anything you'd find in a normal town here, and are free to loot and raid the houses and stores—the cops won't be coming, after all. The power is OFF apart from what you can find that is solar powered or still has a charge. If you're lucky and find another town while exploring the first few weeks, you might find an area that still has power—thank hydroelectricity.

Just keep in mind travel time... and travel expenses.

You have creative freedom over everything else. The world is open. The only stationary places are landmarks and cities—if you want to go to Texas and talk to the poor astronauts stranded up in space, it's there. (Might be a long trip, though...)

If your character can figure it out by geography before getting to Hollows, the compound is located a few hours from the west coast, in California.

The way to kill a zombie is blunt force to the head. The head doesn't need to be removed, but significant damage needs to be done to it. This does not include the throat—it needs to be a headshot.

There's also a glaring hint. The computers in the compound, asking for a password. It is impossible to hack at this time. There will be more on this later!

Finally, if your character is exploring outside of the compound (or extensively inside of it) there's a comment here for linking me the thread. You can also PM me! I'll be ducking in with what your character may or may not have found, via a response to the actual RP thread.

IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS please direct them here!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Perhaps she should feel a little more guilt for what she's done and what she's been doing: making her own private canvas of the compound. But it's an old habit from a worse time -- where intelligence is found in the most intimate of places, and she'd been involved in too many undercover missions during the war not to take any opportunity to discover what's here to be discovered. Peggy has no plans to take anything. She merely wants to look; read; see; find. An ignoble pursuit, but one she feels necessary in the absolute pit of her heart.

At the sound of a voice behind her, she bites down on a curse. She straightens, making a point of smoothing her palms over the bed's meagre sheeting. The spy-gone-kidnapped turns on a kitten heel and immediately begins to observe. He's tall. Possesses musculature that speaks of strength and experience. Except she'd expect a strong and experienced man to look more hardened than this: haggard or scarred, like Dum Dum or the other Commandos. But there's a never-dented look to this stranger that catches her eye almost immediately.

"Oh, bloody hell," she huffs. All awkward half-smiles and a flutter of the eyes. "Isn't this where I was dumped upon my arrival?" A waggle of her fingertips. Lying comes easily to her, but half the time it's effectiveness relies upon the base assumptions of the other person. Such lies are easiest told to the narrow-minded and the intolerant. Like proud men, likely to see weakness and folly in a woman. What a fatal error to make that assumption in this moment.

"Silly me," she canted her head. "Always getting lost."

Unlike Peggy, Clark doesn't have the same quick ability to read people. Mostly because he's never had to- he's always kept people at length, except his mother. And Lois recently, he guesses, but she was an special case. So all he sees is a woman with an English accent... a woman that had looked far too determined a second ago for him to fully buy that act. Was she just gathering information about the place? Trying to find some more clues? If everyone has gotten something like Clark's files or his scarf it'd make sense that smart people would start looking around for more.

He'd just focused on getting out, but now he realizes maybe he should have paid more attention to what he'd found around himself when he'd woken up.

"It's where I was dumped upon my arrival, so I'd say no." He smiles, amused. He offers her his hand- no need to be rude just because he has a hunch she isn't being completely honest. "I'm Superman. Were you looking for something specific? Maybe I can help."

"--Superman."

She echoes. Wonders (truly) whether it could be his honest name. How bizarre. But sensibility reminds Peggy that he deserves every inch of her doubt's benefit when he'd elided so politely over her own lies. So she deigns to shake his hand and resolves not to question. Not aloud, at least.

Her grip is firm -- at least, firm in that perfectly normal and human fashion. "Peggy Carter," she gives her true name, at least. A peace offering after the first falsehood. "And I'm not convinced there's much you can do to help. Not unless you have an explanation for all this."

"I know."

He says with a grin as he returns the handshake with just as much firmness as she gives. "The Military picked it and it kind of caught on." Which means he isn't his true name, but he isn't about to give his birth name to people. Only his father and Zod called him Kal-El and for now he wants to keep it like that.

"Pleasure, Peggy, and I'm afraid I will probably know as much as you. Woke up here, no idea how or why and so far I haven't seen anyone I recognize- even if some recognize me.

And then there's the... creatures outside." He still refuses to call them zombies, okay.

Military, hm? By the way he spoke, she figured him for an American. But if the Americans have another super-anyone tucked up their sleeves, she feels certain she would have known about him. Then again, she's already met a few too many individuals claiming strange points in time for their origins. Peggy can't be certain what to expect any longer.

She decides to probe: "Possessed of a public face, are you?" Lilting and curious. Why, she wonders, would he be recognized and not recognize others in turn?

“Way more public than I’d like.” He admits with a grin. He has no idea what’s going on, definitely has no idea on why people don’t know about him. It’s not that he’s full of himself but Zod did make sure his message was seen and heard into every possible device, in every possible language- and he’s pretty sure the existence of aliens wouldn’t be just on American press.

“But it’s complicated. There’s apparently people- they know me from later in my life. I have just started doing…” He motions up and down at the skinsuit. “This. But where they are from I’ve been Superman for years.

This place keeps getting weirder by the minute.”

"You're not the first to complain of such mix-ups."

Peggy can't bring herself to return his smile. Or to do much more than answer in clipped sentences -- all while observing the bizarre outfit. No, it isn't that the outfit itself is that strange (after all, she'd eventually grown accustomed to Steve's) but it's the cape that surprises her. Why a cape?

"Years apart. People known and unknown. To call it weird is a bit of an understatement." Her eyes stayed narrowed. "But I confess I've never heard of any Superman. Not by way of a proper noun, at least."

"Well, I'm not surprise considering 'time' seems to be a pretty loose concept in this place. Though I have no idea how that's possible."

He'll probably get used to alternate worlds and universes, eventually. As it is it's kind of making his head hurt.

"We have a pretty long list of things to worry about and puzzles to solve, looks like."

"And no clear path for which one to solve first."

Her chin lifts Peggy has notions about which puzzle might be a good candidate for prime problem -- but she won't be too glib about it now. Super humans and super-soldiers (such as they are) could be created under the auspices of any government. And for the time being, she assumes this Superman is just that: created.

"I would say we grab whatever clue we find and go from there. No matter how little."

And he reaches to lift the mattress, to reveal an empty folder with the name 'P. Alexander' and 'Confidential' written on it. He hands it to her: he had no problem showing the clue to people who might have an idea of what to do with it. It was just her sneaking into his room he didn't appreciate. But now that she's proven amiable...

"This is what I found out when I woke up. This, and a red scarf."

"--I'm beginning to wonder whether these are gifts of a sort. Legitimate clues. Or whether they're merely the things belonging to whatever unhappy souls had these cells before us."

Of course, they aren't really cells. But Peggy can't help but think of them as such. She (with due care and respect) takes the folder and lifts it open. Thinking it would be utterly rude to lapse into reading it right now, she gives it only a cursory glance.

"What did you make of it?"

The file is all empty, anyway. Figures there wouldn’t be any actual clues apart from that name.

“Honestly? Not much, and I’m not even sure why I hid it.” Instinct, maybe. He knew it was a clue, somehow, and he wasn’t willing to give it away until he knew for sure he could trusts others. He had taken a leap of faith, once, but he wasn’t really a fan of taking them often.

“And I make even less of the red scarf. I mean, it will be useful if it gets chilly but it has no meaning to me. You think someone else lived in these rooms before us?”

"It's likely, isn't it?"

Perhaps what she speaks from now isn't some manner of espionage experience, but instead the hard cold reality of having lived her teenage years while the western world slouched through the Great Depression. Hardly anything is owned fresh, and Peggy lays no more claim to her room in his facility than the one she'd rented at the Griffith back in New York. 1946.

"They're so impersonal to begin with. And for my own peace of mind, I think I would rather imagine they weren't purpose built for us."

Well, he definitely has to give her that. He makes a face as he looks around.

“But can’t even rule that out. I mean” He motions at her, then back at himself. “They brought us here. Somehow, they managed to kidnap us from our own world and bring us here and so far no one I have talked to has any idea how they managed it, or any memory of it. What’s building a facility like this next to that?”

She hums: one short note of agreement. Their predicament places them precisely on the knife's edge of uncertainty -- and it's unclear whether their recruitment had been intentional or some unfortunate side-effect of a larger problem. Either option makes her skin crawl. Makes her spine shake.

"Problem is, we're all fresh. All new. I've not managed to find or speak to a single person who isn't in precisely the same boat as...you and I."

And it clearly wears on her. Aggravates her. What's a spy to do, with no-one fit for interrogation?

Clark nods, fighting the urge to bite his lower lip like he always does when he’s nervous. It’s been… a while, since he was actually nervous. Since Zod, probably, and by then he was more terrified than something as simple as ‘nervous’. It’s… well.

Unnerving.

“Maybe whatever they use to bring us here just started working. Or maybe they get rid of the last batch of people before bringing new people in? If they want to keep us clueless, that would be a great way to start. But all of this is a wild guess. We don’t even know who ‘they’ are.”

They could be anyone. Could be victims or villains. Desperate survivors or devious enemies. But no matter what their motive, she believes they have something to do to the people now blearily making their way through the compound left abandoned. For that reason alone, Peggy could only consider them in opposition. The world beyond her immediate self was a problem fit to be solved. Somehow.

"I wonder if they even know who they are," she huffed as she waggled the empty file-folder once in the air before handing it back to...Superman. Lord above, but she wouldn't get used to calling him that. Not in her own mind. Not ever.

Clark was honestly still not used to the moniker himself, but it was a simple way to keep a secret identity. Kal-El still felt way to personal to just share it around- he had only known his birth name for months and the only people who had used it had been an A.I. and people who’d tried to kill him. So he was going to keep it to himself for a little longer.

“Well, someone has to have brought us here at one point, they had to be conscious for that.” He frowned as he took the file. “…Right?”

Peggy's shrug was the very picture of non-committal. Torn between building up an enemy in her mind and wanting to believe no one could so wilfully selfish as all this.

"Difficult to say. I've known a fair few brilliantly clever scientists in my time, sir. I can imagine the kind of situation where something akin to this was someone else's accident. Unintended. But I'm not certain whether that makes it any better."

“Oh. The sir is really- it’s not necessary.” He was even blushing, chuckling a bit to hide some of his awkwardness. He wasn’t sure of the woman’s age but her entire attitude after she’d dropped the innocent disguise made him think she was more deserving of that than he was.

“But I suppose you’re right. I mean, that’s how it always happens in the novels isn’t it? A well-meaning scientist, something goes wrong… maybe opening a portal to bring us here was their last hope? Their last attempt?”

"If it's all the same to you--" and she knew it likely wouldn't be "--I rather thing sir is a simpler thing to say than Superman."

It was true that there were other quibbles on which they must attend. Other things to be discussed. But they wouldn't get much far in discussing them until she felt comfortable with one moniker or the other. Ideally, a Mister would be most appropriate.

But Mister Superman sounded ridiculous.

He didn't even bother trying to hide the amused snort.

"Fair enough. I guess if people can get used to calling me 'Superman' I can get used to 'sir'. It sounds a lot less bombastic, actually."

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( OPEN ) GAME START.

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