monstermasher: (Default)
JUMPSCARES MOD. ([personal profile] monstermasher) wrote in [community profile] jumpscares2015-07-09 11:52 am

( 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!
usavatar: (pic#5903148)

Steve Rogers | OTA | Prose or Actionspam!

[personal profile] usavatar 2015-07-09 06:07 pm (UTC)(link)
He folds the flag and puts it on his pillow before he leaves the room. It's one-part giving himself time to think, one-part giving whoever did it the proverbial finger. He's in his dress greens, still, not injured as far as he can tell. The shield Howard gave him two weeks ago, his compass, his journal - he's still got everything he had before...

Whatever happened.

A quick search of the room doesn't tell him much, though he does find a drawing tucked away. It makes his scalp prickle. This place is military. It seems military. But it's certainly not a military he's familiar with.

Steve settles the shield on his arm, still not quite used to the feel of it, and moves very quietly into the hall and the compound beyond.

The first think he'll do is try and find a vantage point outside to see where he is. Or, alternatively, try to find someone to interrogate.
Edited 2015-07-09 18:40 (UTC)
zombae: (Default)

Kieren Walker | In The Flesh | OTA

[personal profile] zombae 2015-07-09 06:26 pm (UTC)(link)
[Nobody wants to wake up in the middle of the zombie apocalypse. Especially if it's the second time.

And all right, the last time Kieren went through this he was more sort of, part of it. He wishes he didn't remember it so well: scratching at the lid of his coffin, then punching through it. Digging his way up through the dirt. And then... the hunger. He really wishes he didn't remember the hunger.

But he's treated now. His Partially Deceased Syndrome is totally, probably under control. And if the white skin and bleached out eyes are a little uncomfortable for the living to look at, well. He's got cover up and contacts for that. Except, not here. There's none of that here. He doesn't even know who here is, or who he knows who might be crazy enough to kidnap him and lock him in a bunker.

No, all right, he knows a few people who'd be crazy enough to kidnap him and lock him in a bunker. But he doesn't know why. The business card lying on his chest when he wakes doesn't do a thing to explain it, and nor do the photos. They just make him worry about where his family actually are.

And is he alone here?

And if not, what the hell was growling at him when he woke?

There's the option of staying right where he is and letting whatever might be out there come to him, or there's the option of heading out to find it. He's not really sure which one frightens him most, but the small room he's shut in is claustrophobic and he needs to...

sort of needs to breathe. So that makes the decision for him. He pulls his hoody as close as he can over his head, too aware of his bare face, and stumbles out into the hall.]
debts: (Default)

natasha romanoff | OTA.

[personal profile] debts 2015-07-09 06:28 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Something hums. Large, like an MRI, some sort of staticky hum.

This definitely isn't New York.

Natasha knows what it's like to live in fear. She knows what it is, what it feels like, and it's kept her alive so far. She respects it in a different way than when she was younger, but that doesn't mean she should give it any less credit.

The redhead in a head-to-toe catsuit moves quickly. Having time to process isn't the priority here. The sticky knife next to her is held directly in her hand, shoulders tight with tension as she stalks across the medical bay. No files; some medicine. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a medical bag. Empty. It's small, but it'll do.

You can find her looting, cans of food, a lot of water, one set of batteries, painkillers, that Stephen King book stuffed into the bottom of that medical bag. Syringes, mostly, and morphine. Bandages. Suture thread. Surprising her in the computer room, her bag near-full and waiting at her feet might not go so well, even if she's making frustrated little noises everytime the computer chimes an ACCESS DENIED at her. Notably, the knife is no longer in her hand. A gun sits on the table next to her left.

What the hell happened on July 3rd?
]
untodawn: (pic#9311841)

John-117 | OTA

[personal profile] untodawn 2015-07-09 06:33 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The compact mirror rests in the palm of his hand; when closed it was small, round and ignore it being made from pink plastic the weight of it almost made John think of a half dollar coin. He could accidently break in his hand if he slapped it too tightly in his grip. For whatever reason, John kept it along with the thick sheet of sketch pad paper folder up and tucked away safely inside the compact.

Much of what happened between when he was last on the Infinity and when he had woken up here raised several questions John did not ask.

Instead, he pushed up off the ground (if he tried to sit on the bed again - it would have snapped in two) and walked out into the hall. 'Patrolled' would have been a more accurate work for the long, methodical steps he took that doubled the length of what an average man's' stride would take. Heavy footfalls and massive frame swallowing up the space in the narrow corridor. It was a wonder he didn't have to keep his head down just to clear the hall.

There is sign that beats erratically with failing electricity that reads MEDICAL BAY, and he means to get there.
]
Edited 2015-07-09 18:38 (UTC)
usavatar: (pic#5903224)

[personal profile] usavatar 2015-07-09 06:37 pm (UTC)(link)
[Steve hears the chiming of the computer, the sounds of displeasure, and follows them back to their source. He eases the door to the occupied room open as quietly as he can, shield raised and ready in case he has to take sudden defensive action.

He blinks.

That... sure is an outfit. She looks a bit like a frogman with gear that's too small.]


I'm going to take a wild guess that thing doesn't belong to you. [That thing being the machine that won't let her in.]
Edited 2015-07-09 18:38 (UTC)
debts: (Default)

[personal profile] debts 2015-07-09 06:44 pm (UTC)(link)
[ To her credit: there is no dramatic point of the gun, no trigger discipline. The gun stays where it is. Her left hand twitches, just once, and then returns back to the keyboard, a steady stream of clicks and clacks. ]

You know I only work with Macbooks.

[ She shoots him a look out of her peripheral. It is, of course, not quite the Steve she was expecting.

Natasha turns. Her back straight, an air of casual conversation in her spine as she leans back, one hand clamped around the edge of the table. He doesn't look any younger, but his hair's different; there's a shift in how set his shoulders are. His shield is still shiny-metal rather than in full, iconic color.

She nods, just once.
]

You look different.
oracleofgotham: (pic#8496506)

[personal profile] oracleofgotham 2015-07-09 06:44 pm (UTC)(link)
He's so quiet coming down the hall, Barbara didn't hear him approaching her door - she nearly hits him as she rolls out of her own room, pulling up hard to avoid a collision, and narrows her eyes behind her glasses as she looks up at him. Military... just like this place, by the look of it.

"You. What the hell am I doing here?"

It's difficult to seem threatening when you have to crane your neck to look someone in the eye, but Barbara has mastered the art.
Edited 2015-07-09 18:46 (UTC)
alonetogether: (Default)

Ellie | The Last of Us | OTA/any format

[personal profile] alonetogether 2015-07-09 06:55 pm (UTC)(link)
The weather is wrong. She's barely explored enough to raid the food storage and living areas, finding a backpack and filling it with supplies, before she has to strip off her coat and sweatshirt and knot both around her waist.

DO NOT GO OUTSIDE WITHOUT A GUN AND WATER, the doors say.

No shit.

Too bad the psychotic motherfucking cannibals took all her stuff. All she has is her switchblade and the desire to use it on anyone who shows up unexpectedly.

All she has, at least until she makes it to the shooting range. She takes every gun she can carry, every half-filled pack of ammo she can stuff into her pockets and backpack, and sneaks quietly toward the gate feeling far better about her prospects.

Maybe Hollows is where she left Joel, maybe not, but either way she has to get as far from these motherfuckers as she can before she goes back to him.

She is going back to him.
usavatar: (pic#5903223)

[personal profile] usavatar 2015-07-09 06:59 pm (UTC)(link)
[His eyebrows twitch upward. He knows what. He looks what. What. At least she didn't go for the gun. Slowly:]

Have we met?

[He is FAIRLY SURE he would remember someone like her.]
mucked: (☂ just get inside -- it's almost over)

[personal profile] mucked 2015-07-09 07:01 pm (UTC)(link)
-- The shield is what she sees first. Round and telling, with the piss-poor lighting glinting off its curves in a way that made it all seem less real than it has to be. Except she doesn't believe it. Doesn't believe any of it. Peggy goes stone-still on the other side of an open door. The room was once a laboratory, she surmises. But any further thought about its previous life is wiped away as she watches the man behind the shield. He grows recognizable.

"Good God," she whispers. Soft and beneath her breath. Hardly ladylike (not that it ever mattered much) and certainly hardly spy-like, either. He is dressed almost as she remembers him -- in greens, rather than blues. But she's another woman altogether. A little softer outside the olive drab. Silk blouses and pencil skirts. Office wear. She's unarmed, though she wishes she wasn't. If only because before this very moment, she hasn't seen a single face she could dare trust.

And even then, she doesn't believe. Merely stands like a statue -- wondering whether the apparition will pass her by. Or else disappear.
usavatar: (pic#5919386)

[personal profile] usavatar 2015-07-09 07:03 pm (UTC)(link)
His salute is not as crisp as it should be, but he can forgive himself the lapse. There are slightly more important things to think about just now. He keeps his voice low.

"Ma'am. I don't know. I was hoping to find someone who could help answer that question."

The fact that she is also asking it poses a new set of possibilities, ones he can't fully extrapolate without more information. "I was in London about five minutes ago."
untodawn: (pic#9313349)

[personal profile] untodawn 2015-07-09 07:04 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Paradoxically, in full MJOLNIR - John was a ghost. Towering at over two meters in height with the suits weight reaching a staggering weight that tipped the scales at nearly half a ton, but in that dusty emerald colored veritable tank of a suit John could move through a room like a sharp breeze. ]

Wait.

[ When he moves to cut the girl off at the gate out in the yard in the compound he's a hulking mass taking strides walking towards her at the speed anyone else couldn't pace with at a full tilt run until he's looming right over her. John is unarmed only in the sense he isn't carrying anything with a trigger, but there is nothing immediately threatening in how he has one hand out. Signaling her not to do what he believes she intends. ]
mucked: (☂ love of mine -- some day you'll die)

[personal profile] mucked 2015-07-09 07:08 pm (UTC)(link)
[ her best (her only) weapon is a dark, unpatterned umbrella. and so when she -- standing a few room lengths' away in the same hall -- sees a hulking shape fill the corridor's vanishing point, she raises that umbrella as confidently as she could. tip tilted up at a jaunty, defensive angle.

understandably, they might all be a bit...on edge. and if she distrusts the sudden beast of a frame in the distance, then it's only because every last instinct within the agent is screaming at her to trust no one. trust nothing.

she doesn't speak. merely stands like a lone sentinel beneath the blinking medical bay sign. and if her stance falters? why, that's only because she realizes (at the last moment) that it might be in her best interest not to threaten alarmingly large and armoured people. ]
alonetogether: (pic#9259624)

[personal profile] alonetogether 2015-07-09 07:08 pm (UTC)(link)
Jesus fuck! [WHOOP THERE'S THE 9MM S&W SHE FOUND IN THE SHED, AND THERE ARE BULLETS BEING FIRED AT HIS HEAD-DOME. She almost loses the gun when it first kicks against her palms, but her grip steadies and she empties the clip because WHAT THE HELL M8.]
withoutaworld: (I have been fighting the good fight)

Rikki Barnes | OTA

[personal profile] withoutaworld 2015-07-09 07:10 pm (UTC)(link)
"This can not be happening again," Rikki mutters under her breath as she walks slowly down the hall, trying hard to keep her footsteps light and quiet... though it's not easy in vibranium-soled boots that make a soft ringing sound with every footfall. At least she's still got her uniform - blue and gold, vaguely military, though it doesn't match any military in any world - her goggles and all her weapons. Things could be worse.

She's also cradling a small puppy in one arm. A puppy that happens to be purple. She doesn't know either, but she wasn't just going to leave it where she woke up.

When she reaches the door, she stops for a moment, staring at the message uneasily. It's dry, when she brushes a hand over it - whoever left it probably isn't still here, and she doesn't want to examine too closely what the rusty flakes the paint leaves on her fingertips are. Grimacing, she brushes it off on her pant leg, pauses a moment, and gently eases the door open so she can poke her head outside.

She keeps the puppy tucked against her left side, where it'll be protected by her shield if it's activated... just in case something lunges at her face. She can't imagine anyone left what seems like a well-stocked compound willingly...
debts: (decide which ones you want to inhabit.)

[personal profile] debts 2015-07-09 07:10 pm (UTC)(link)
[ It's not so much that she stares at him than stares past him. Her expression settles into a sort of absence— it's clear that some sort of decision is being made, but it's hard to tell on what side of the divide it falls. Especially when she looks right at his eyes like that. ]

No.

[ She says eventually. A shrug, and she hitches the strap of the medical bag over her shoulder, tapping one final key on the computer before reaching for her gun. ]

I guess not. [ And, because melodrama isn't genetic: ] I'm Natasha.
usavatar: (pic#5903223)

[personal profile] usavatar 2015-07-09 07:16 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh. Wow. She looks... amazing. Steve tries to find words, to ask what's wrong, but his brain is still short-circuiting around the fact that he's never seen her wear clothes like that except for the red dress, and thinking about the red dress- well. His brain short-circuits again.

"You... look... Do you have a mission?"

He can't think of another reason for her to be dressed as a civilian.
untodawn: (pic#9311841)

[personal profile] untodawn 2015-07-09 07:19 pm (UTC)(link)
[ John walks with that long, angled lop of someone that had spent too much time in artificially gravity that makes his shoulders sit low in a way that made him look prepared to charge at a moments notice. This was not at odds with his mindset, admittedly; only here he had no intention of posturing.

He simply couldn't help being so big. He came to a halt a respective distance of a few feet put between himself and the woman brandishing an...umbrella? She was in a uniform he didn't recognize; he doesn't see any bars to identify her rank let alone her branch of service but he has no reason to be short with her. So to speak.
]

Ma'am.

[ The gold visor of his helmet glinted in the low light of the grime coated fluorescent lights when he dipped his head. ]
mucked: (☂ mermaids!)

peggy carter | ota | prose or brackets welcome!

[personal profile] mucked 2015-07-09 07:20 pm (UTC)(link)
-- In the immediate moment following Agent Carter's departure from her strange new quarters (if they can be called that), her first act is to remove her shoes. The well-made kitten heels are simply too loud with every strike they make upon the compound's floor, and she isn't interested in alerting the whole damned place in her every movement. For now, she walks carefully with the backs of her shoes hooked over her fingers. And in her other hand? A long and sinister looking horn, poached from God knows what manner of animal. Certainly none she knows. After an unfortunate mishap with the only other makeshift weapon left to her (a damp umbrella) was ruined, this horn is her one thin defence against...whatever the hell might be outside. Or inside -- after all, what spurs her onwards but the sobs and cries she heard upon waking?

But before she can even begin to consider her sortie, she must do something about this pencil skirt. Something else about the stocking'd feet she now uses to pad her way semi-silently through the corridors. She isn't above sneaking her way into the other small rooms (yours, perhaps?) and rifling through their lockers and beneath their beds. Her own particular brand of looting.

Later, she can be found perched primly on the bed of a military truck. Heeled shoes rather abandoned, she bent to the work tying a pair of more substantial combat boots. A bowie knife sits on the truck-bed beside her, alongside a tightly-tied satchel. Whoever she is, she looks as though she's gearing up for a field trip.
Edited 2015-07-09 19:43 (UTC)
usavatar: (pic#5903220)

[personal profile] usavatar 2015-07-09 07:20 pm (UTC)(link)
He sees the girl in the odd outfit just in time to catch her opening the door. And yes, he did plan to explore himself. But he also thinks it's a bad idea for her to go alone, one, and two, the way she's dressed makes her fit in here more comfortably than anyone else he's encountered. It could be that they've all been drawn and left here, but why?

"Hey, hold on." He wishes he had the harness that Howard made him to hold the shield secure against his back. "Excuse me!"

Hopefully she doesn't try to shoot him. His luck has been pretty good on that front so far.
mucked: (☂ fell for laura kensington)

[personal profile] mucked 2015-07-09 07:24 pm (UTC)(link)
It speaks! The apparition speaks -- and with the sweet half-remembered tones she'd tried to conjure again and again in quieter moments. Oh, the SSR had reels of Steve's appearance and voice and mannerisms committed to tape. But Peggy never cared for the painful crackle hiding in the recording. All the scratches and whines of technology that drove home how artificial it all was. But not now -- when he speaks, it sounds proper.

She sucks in one long breath. It fills her lungs until she feels them ache. Then, in one bursting sigh: "Not exactly, no," Peggy answers. But her voice is fraught with confusion and more than a little panic. She doesn't sound like a woman merely standing in a doorway. A battle might have been raging 'round them for how on edge she is.

Peggy steps forward and lays one palm on the open door's frame. "How impossible!"
untodawn: (pic#9311840)

[personal profile] untodawn 2015-07-09 07:25 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Rude. The only reaction that gets out of John is when his head snaps to the right when a bullet ricochets off the side of his helmet. The helmet itself remains unscathed, but now his left ear was ringing something terrible. ]

That isn't going to help.

[ A poor choice of words to be sure, especially when John simply meant that wasting ammunition was helping no one and certainly not in the hands of someone this twitch. John closes the distance and makes to disarm her with a speed that defied that massive armor he wore. He was careful, of course; he could snap her arm like a twig and he absolutely did not want that. He just wanted weapons out of the hands of someone too tightly wound to be handling them. ]
oracleofgotham: (pic#8496501)

[personal profile] oracleofgotham 2015-07-09 07:27 pm (UTC)(link)
She raises an eyebrow, studying him for a moment before she says anything. She's not sure she buys it... but if he were going to lie to her, he could at least have changed out of the uniform first, so she'll work on the assumption he's as confused as she is for now.

"If you just woke up like I did, you have no idea how long it's been since you were in London." She rolls back a little, glances past him down the hallway. "Was that you yelling a couple minutes ago?"
mucked: (☂ we will save your cousins)

[personal profile] mucked 2015-07-09 07:28 pm (UTC)(link)
[ it talks! no, he talks. she could hear the distinct rumble of a man's voice. and when his tone is placating -- and when he doesn't advance more than is polite -- she allows herself a modicum of relaxation. a glimmer of ease.

the umbrella's tip drops. and peggy tries to look at that sepia-toned visor as though she's looking into someone's eyes. ]


Where am I? [ arch. curious. isn't it an easy enough mistake to think he belongs here -- in this atrocious lighting and these steel doors? ]