Re: The Walking Dead: The Big Easy / Episode 1

[Nexeria]

Russell J. MacReady/Anthony Holt
A Shithole

“You got a camp or something?  I’d answer fast, we don’t have much time.” Roxanne asked.

Russell examined the young girl, she couldn't be much older than his own daughter. The girl and her step-brother both seemed scared, it was obvious that they had been scavenging together since the beginning. Russell and Anthony were possibly the first living people they saw in weeks.

"Yeah, my name's Russell MacReady. That's Anthony. I used to work for FEMA. Me and my family have been holding out back at my apartment. You two are wel--"

"Shit!" Anthony exclaimed, unnerved by the sight of a blood-soaked 9-year-old boy creeping around the corner of a nearby house. The smell of its rotting flesh, its sallow skin, and the gore oozing off its teeth and fingernails brought an uneasy, nauseous feeling to Russell and Anthony both. During their stay back at the apartment building, Russell and Anthony only encountered a few of the infected locked away in their homes, and even then they had the common sense to bail out and bolt the doors shut, but out here, in the open, left them with little choice.

"Shoot it," Russell ordered Anthony, keeping his eyes fixed on the strangers.

"It's a kid, man!" Anthony yelled, back-stepping his way over to Russell.

"No it isn't! Not anymore!" Russell's gaze shifted away from the two strangers and focused onto an amassing horde gathering down the street in front his truck, but that wasn't their only problem for smaller herds of roamers had been following the vehicle ever since they had left the apartment.

Holt pulled out his revolver, aimed it at the child's head, and hesitated, "I can't do it, Russ."

BANG

A shot rang out of Russell's Beretta, passing through the child's eye and exiting out the back of its skull, as Russell exclaimed, "Goddamnit!"

Before Anthony could even react to what had just happen, Russell grabbed him by the shoulder and waved over to the strangers, "If you wanna live follow me! We need to move now!"

Russell didn't even have time to reach the truck before the dead had already surrounded it. "Shit, go back! Go back!" Russell screamed at the group while firing off rounds at the ones emerging from the neighboring houses before stopping the one Roxanne and Jon had barricaded. "Everyone get in! Now!"

[Megantron]

Trina & Cole Bohorquez

They all hopped inside the truck, with Trina, Cole, and the officer all squished in the back. Cole had to sit on his mother's lap. Luckily he was small enough. Trina held her son closely, relieved that they were still together and able to have a couple moments of peace.

The ride wasn't too long, but felt like it from the glancing stares she received from her fellow passenger. He thought he was being slick, but Trina grew up with those same looks from men over the years. Those looks that made her feel more like prey rather than an equal. It almost felt normal. Almost.

They all finally reached this place that Jamal referred to as "The Block."

A man named Malcolm came out to greet the five of them. He seemed friendly enough, but the repeated use of the N-word made Trina flinch. She didn't want Cole picking up on such language.

Sean and Jamal disappeared, leaving the three newbies alone with Malcolm, who asked, "Y'all hungry?"

Before Trina could get a word out, the officer piped up, "Is that a meal offer? I think I can safely speak for all of us when I say: if so, lead the way."

Malcolm turned to, as the officer said, lead the way and the three of them followed. "Hey. Keep an eye out, If this place seems like trouble, you come to me, okay?" Officer Torres turned and winked at her.

"Um, yeah. Thanks." Trina gripped Cole's hand tighter before picking him up to carry in order to block her chest.

"Mom, I can walk by myself," Cole argued.

"Not right now. You need your rest," she whispered to him.

_______________________________________________

Dimitri Argent

"Uh, 'scuse me! Sir! You... uh... you need any help?"

Dimitri quickly did a 180, pulling out his sword in defense. He lowered his guard at the sight of the man. His head was still pounding. He was sure it was about to erupt soon, even with how illogical that would be.

"Listen, unless you have some kind of strong pain reliever, or even some place to hide out for a while...," he began, while sheathing his sword. "Then you're not going to be much help to me and I won't be much help to you."

[Nexeria]

Malcolm Westbrook
The Block

Stepping into the apartment complex, the survivors felt a cool breeze of air flow over them all thanks to the working generators set up by the building's janitor and the two owners of nearby hardware store. "Feels like a dream, right?! If you see the custodian around 'ere give him your thanks for the working air. His name's Franklin."

"Oh my, what a handsome young man!" An old light-skinned woman piped up from behind Malcolm. She crept over to Trina and Cole before lightly pinching the young boy's right cheek.

"Uh, heh... Hey, Mrs. Regina, why don't you go get some rest? You look tired," Malcolm said awkwardly.

"Oh, Malcolm, is that you? I was just coming downstairs to look for Charlie. He's been gone for such a long time. Is he outside?" Regina asked in a shaky tone of voice.

"I... uh... I didn't see him out there, Mrs. Regina, but don't worry I'm sure he'll be back soon. Now, just let Royce take you back to your room for now," Malcolm reassured the woman, calmly taking her by the arm and walking her down the hall, before handing her off to Royce.

Once the old woman was out of earshot, Malcolm turned back to the group and explained, "Charlie is her husband. Old man went out for walk a few weeks back... and... uh... I guess he's still out on that walk. She doesn't seem remember how long it's been. Alzheimer's be a bitch like that."

After walking up to the fourth floor, Malcolm led the cop a few feet ahead of the woman and her son to speak to Wayne a little more privately.

“So, Officer Torres, is it? How are things looking on the outside? Military still around? Have the NOPD gotten their shit together yet?” Malcolm asked curiously.

"Mhm. They don't look good... I heard a few things about some Military safe houses, taking people in, but... I don't know. They're spread thin. Wouldn't know about the N'arleans PD, just got in town. I'm from a little place called Kinder, was doing a prisoner transfer down at ACF when this all started. ...As far as I know, I'm the last officer from the KPD," Torres responded.

"Huh, Kinder? I gotta cousin in Kinder," Malcolm paused for a moment, thinking about his family, before deciding to shift topics. "So, what about you and that girl, Trina? Ya'll know each other? She your girl?"

"What? No, no nothing like that. Just met her, but she seems like good people," The officer replied.

"Well, that's good to hear. This world, like it is now, is gonna need nicer folk going forward." Malcolm glanced back at the beautiful young woman and her son and shot them a friendly smile. "I'm curious, what'chu been calling dead ones? My boys around here been calling 'em skinners since they'll tear the flesh right off your bones. I knew a few other guys that called 'em decomps. Police slang for decomposing bodies."

"Agreed. Not good ones left, its up to people like us to keep 'em safe. I haven't been around much company the past few weeks, first I heard the decomp thing. I uh. Heh. I've just been calling them vampires to be honest. Doesn't seem like quite the same thing though, does it?" The cop replied.

Cracking up over the vampire thing, Malcolm responded, "Hahaha! These ain't vampires, brother."

Nearing the end of hallway, Malcolm stopped, leaned back against the wall, and asked, "So, Officer, what's your take on our set up here? You got any questions about anything?"

"Plenty. How many people are involved in your operation? Are you scavenging for all your supplies? Chain of command?" The officer queried.

"We got a little more than thirty people living 'round here as well as a few kids. As for scavenging, yeah, we usually send out two or three guys a day to haul in some food, meds, and weapons. I'd say Jamal and Sean are probably our best runners. Those boys usually don't come back until they've something good.

Heh, chain of command? Well, this ain't the marine corps, but as for the men charge most people are lookin' to me and Oscar for protection. Oscar can be loud, so I get why people are listening to him, but me... guess I'm just the only one willing to call Oscar on his bullshit."

"Yo! Malcolm! We need your help!" Jamal shouted in a panicked breath from back down the hallway atop the staircase.

"Huh, what's wrong?!" Malcolm hollered back, his face scrunching up in confusion.

"Just hurry! It's Jordan and Kara! They're at it again! We got Oscar, but it ain't lookin' pretty!" Jamal yelled as he ran back downstairs.

"Shit! I might need your help, Officer," Malcolm said.

Just as the two men began sprinting back down the hall, Jasmine peered her head out of her room, "Malcolm, what's goin' on?!"

"It's Jordan again! Do me a favor and keep an eye on Trina and her kid, will you?!" Malcolm yelled, stumbling over his own foot as he avoided the open door.

"Who?!" Jasmine shouted back at Malcolm before glancing over at the young Hispanic woman and her son. "Oh, uh, ya'll wanna come in? I was just cookin' up some spaghetti."

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Elijah Jefferson
7th Ward

"Listen, unless you have some kind of strong pain reliever, or even some place to hide out for a while...," he began, while sheathing his sword. "Then you're not going to be much help to me and I won't be much help to you."

"Well, you are in luck, my brother! You have just came across very charitable man. I just bagged some meds from a pharmacy 'bout an hour ago. You're more than welcome to have look for yourself," Elijah replied laying down the bag of meds before the stranger.

“Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.” Elijah preached, quoting Hebrews 13:16, as Dimitri cautiously examined the bag of meds. "My father was a pastor. Always taught me it's better help others than yourself."

"I'm Elijah and my friend over there is Thomas," Elijah informed the man while pointing over to the pilot. "As for a place to hide out, we're on our way to a place right now. You won't see any complaints from me, if you want to tag-along."

[Thade]

Thomas Rynning

Thomas stared, still holding his rifle at the ready.  He gave the man with the sword a nod, but nothing more.  In his pack he heard a faint meow, and he couldn’t help but smile just a little.  The poor thing was probably hungry, he hadn’t eaten since that refueling stop in Texas.  

Unfortunately his cat would have to wait.  There were more pressing matters at hand, such as the man with a sword, his new accomplice, and his total lack of a plane.

Roxy and Jon
Roxy: mildly irritated, hungry
Jon: covered in car grease.

The door opened quickly, and was slammed just as quickly.  Someone threw the deadbolt, and they were safe, the creatures clawing pointlessly at the solid oak door.

Light streamed in through the thin lines between the boards over the windows, illuminating the dump of what was once presumably a living room.  A few bags worth of supplies were scattered about, along with the remains of a couch and a smashed television.

“...Well, that went well, don’t you think?”  Roxy shrugged off her bag, throwing it onto the floor with the others before collapsing on the couch, her gun still grasped tight in her hand.

“We didn’t die, so yeah.  I’ll be taking that gun now though.” Jon snapped before disappearing into another room, presumably the kitchen.

“From my cold, dead hands.” Roxy called out after him, tapping the gun against the side of the sofa.

“That may be more likely than you think.”  He retorted from the other room.

“Bite me.”

“Again, considering the circumstances-”

“You’re fucking hysterical.  We got any food?”

“You tell me, you’re the one that just went out.”  Jon stepped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands with a dirty rag.  It was only a moment later that he finally seemed to notice the confused men standing near the door.  “Oh, right.  You two.”

[Megantron]

Trina & Cole Bohorquez

Her eyes darted between the men fleeing to the scene and the woman offering spaghetti. She chose the spaghetti.

Since Officer Torres was no longer within proximity, she felt it safe to set Cole down, but still kept hold of his hand as they approached the woman, still standing in her doorway.

"Thanks," Trina replied, doing her best to give a genuine smile. "It's been a minute since we had anything warm to eat."

Trina followed the woman back into the room she came from. "Um. My name is Trina and this is my son, Cole."
_________________________________________________

Dimitri Argent

He scoured over the various boxes and pill bottles, searching for anything that could help subside the pain. He knew the man was talking to him, but Dimitri wasn't quite catching what he was saying. He hoped it wasn't important.

Advil. Levofloxacin. Robitussin. Amoxicillin.

Verapamil. Jackpot.

Argent thrust the cap off the bottle and poured 5 or 6 pills down his throat, uncaring of the prolonging consequences. It might do the trick of ending his pain sooner, but it wouldn't satisfy his craving.

"Hey, sorry man." Dimitri sat and held his head in his hands. "Just give me ten minutes to see if this works and then we can talk."

[Nexeria]

Russell J. MacReady/Anthony Holt
Barricaded House

"Jesus, you just fuckin' shot that kid, man!" Anthony exclaimed.

"Shut up, will you?" Russell whispered as he pressed his ear against the oak door. The only thing he could hear was the sounds of the living dead beating against the walls and their eerie, never-ending moaning.

"This is fuckin' insane, Russ! All those goddamn infected folk out there! How the fuck is military losing to this?!" Anthony rambled on, pacing around the living room, as his heart raced in terror.

"In case you haven't noticed yet, those people out there aren't infected. Despite what Emily told you about what happened at the hospital, this is not a goddamn disease. Those people out there, they're dead. All of 'em."

"Dead? That's fuckin' crazy... how do you know that?" Anthony spoke in a panicked whisper.

"Because I saw a man outside dragging his intestines across the pavement just to get to us. Whatever those things are, they're hungry and they most certainly know where there next meal is hiding. Question is, are they gonna leave?"

"Emily said it was bites. She said that's how the infection spreads."

"Well, I wouldn't doubt her there. I saw a bunch of bite marks on there arms and legs," Russell replied, stepping far away from the front door.

"So, what? These things lurk around stalking people like wild animals?"

"Yeah... exactly."

“Oh, right. You two.” Jon said, stepping out of the kitchen, drying his hands off with a dirty rag.

"Uh, hey. In case you didn't catch it out there, name's Russell MacReady," The former FEMA worker greeted the young man. "Are you and the girl doing okay? Have you two had to deal with many of those... stalkers?"

[Thade]

Roxy and Jon

“Stalkers?  They don’t really stalk, do they?  More of a persistent shamble.  Roxy, thoughts?”  Jon tossed the rag to the floor and leaned against the wall, his hand resting cautiously on his belt.  The faint glimmer of steel gave away the presence of a knife partially hidden under a layer of fabric.

“Go fuck yourself Jon.”  She spoke through what seemed to be a mouthful of granola, having slid off the couch to her bag and digging around until she found something edible.  The gun lay on the floor next to her, she seemed to be adamant about keeping it as close by as possible.

“Hm.”  Jon stared at the two men, not with malice, but void of hospitality nonetheless.  "I think..."  Jon stepped away from the wall, turning to the girl sitting on the floor, who wiped the crumbs from her hands.  "We should hear them out.  And maybe not fire a gun when there's a horde less than a block down the street."

Roxanne Salem stood from the floor, taking the gun with her.  She glared back at him for a moment, grey eyes burning with something that wasn't hate, tinged with something that shouldn't have been there at all, something immoral.

"Fine Jon.  Let's do that."

"Good!"  The young man turned back towards the men with a bitter smile. "Jon and Roxy.  How've you been?"  

He offered his hand.

[Nexeria]

Russell J. MacReady/Anthony Holt
Roxy and Jon's Barricaded House

"Jon and Roxy. How've you been?" The young man said as he extended his hand out to Russell.

Russell leaned the head of his fire-axe on against the ground and shook Jon's hand with a rugged grip that only a blue-collar workingman would give. Afterwards, Anthony walked up greeted the boy with soft hand shake of his own that felt very reminiscent of a dead fish.

"It's nice to meet you two," Russell said, leaning back against a nearby table, as he crossed his arm. "I, uh, me and Anthony here have been cooped up in my apartment with the rest of my family for about three weeks now. We expected the military to clean up things fairly quickly, but, uh, that doesn't appear to be the case anymore. The reason we came out here was to find some food and some extra inhalers for my son. Also, we saw plane land somewhere near here. You two wouldn't happen to know the person flying it, would you? Actually, what is ya'll's story? Have you two just been hiding out in here the whole time?"

[Thade]

Roxy and Jon
The Wonder Twins  Step-Siblings  Reluctant Roommates

“Oh, no. We holed up here, what, last Thursday or so? Nearly died in the process.”

“Jon messed up the board measurements for the windows.” Roxanne had sat back down on the couch, opening and closing the cylinder of her new toy, figuring out the mechanisms rather quickly. She pried out the spent bullet casing and flung it at the back of her companion's head with an acrid smirk. Jon sighed in petty frustration.

“You don’t have to be such a bitch Roxy.”

“Then don’t be such a fuck up Jon.”

“You know, you’re really starting to get on my ne--"

“Anyway, I know the plane you’re talking about. Idiot probably ran out of gas. Touched down like a mile away or so. Should have flown the thing straight into the ocean if you ask me. He probably would have lived longer.”

“Unfortunately she’s probably right.” Added the young man as he leaned back against the wall, the wallpaper crumbling off. “Everything out there is dead, sooner or later. Too many people in this city, too many corpses.”

[Haydenn]

Simon Petrikov

Simon tossed the measley two cans of food he had collected from a small ranch-style home in a suburb behind him, into the backseat, which was a disorganized pile of supplies. Piles of food, a couple cases of water he was pretty sure crushed a bag of Doritos underneath, a small basket filled with different kind of over-the-counter medicines--Motrin, Tylenol, Advil, NyQuil, the likes. He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair as he turned the ignition to the car. With a painful sound, the engine began. He pulled forward, and only then did he noticed a Wicked emerge from behind a parked SUV. He cautiously steered himself around it, turning onto a four lane road about a block later. Simon had plenty of food, drink, medicines, he just lacked someone to entertain his company. Sure, there was that guy in Natchitoches who fired a potshot at him as he drove passed, but Simon was quite sure that man would make less than adequate company. He had since seen other roaming packs of survivors, passed a few cars on the roads, however they all seemed to avoid him. Everybody was frightened, including Simon. Lost in his train of thought, Simon failed to notice the other Wicked roaming before him. Not unlike a bowling ball pushing down the final pin, Simon's sedan careered into a Wicked, causing the rotting human to flip up, across his windshield, and into the air. A red liquid with more solid bits rested itself on Simon's hood & windshield. The man slammed his brakes hard, tightly closing his eyes. After it all was over, Simon opened one eye at a time, looking around him to ensure he was still, in fact, alive. His windshield was visibly cracked, and upon enabling his windshield wipers to clear any residue from his line of sight, he noticed the hood had been pushed up slightly. Just enough to force Simon to crane his neck a little higher to see clearly ahead. The most important factor, however, that Simon noticed in his situation was the eagerness of more Wicked, shambling towards his car. He began driving forward again, cautiously. The hood combined with the residue the wipers just seemed to be unable to capture inhibited Simon's driving abilities more than he would have liked.

After escaping the harrowing situation, Simon assessed the damages to his car. Nothing appeared too bad, however Simon's version of 'too bad' was the car smoking, anything less he assumed was still drivable. He cleaned his windshield with great care as to not worsen to intensity of the shatter left by his unfortunate target.

As he got back in his car, he remembered hearing a plane nearby not that long ago. Hoping it was the military coming to pick up any survivors from, well, whatever this world had become; Simon assumed the rescue would be happening in the inner city, and with the highrises of New Orleans emerging upon him, he drove forward.

[Nexeria]

Russell J. MacReady/Anthony Holt

"I told you looking for that pilot was a waste of time, Russ!"

"Calm down, that's not the only reason we came out here," Russell replied, scanning the tables and counter tops for medicine.

Anthony pressed his forehead against the drywall, he feel an coming migraine on from the stress of it all. He wondered how much longer they'd be stuck out here, how much longer he would be away from Emily. He prayed nothing would happen in their absence. As Russell scoured the kitchen, Anthony wiped the sweat off his brow, peered over to Roxanne and Jon, and asked, "You two related? College students?"

Without bothering to even ask, Russell walks into the bathroom and begins rummaging through the medicine cabinet full of Advil, Motrin, two packs of aspirin, bottles of ethanol, a roll of gauze, adhesive bandages, scissors, tweezers, and luckily one inhaler. Russell immediately starts shoveling everything into his backpack as the lurkers begin to build up against the front door outside.

Emily Holt/Murphy MacReady
Russell's Apartment - 10th Floor

"They've been gone a long time," Michael said, looking worriedly out the window of the high-rise apartment for a sign that his father is still alive.

"It's gonna be okay, baby. Your father is smart, Anthony is too. They know there doing," Emily reassured her son.

Meanwhile in Russell's bedroom, Murphy rummages through her father's closet searching for something to do to pass the time. Pulling down some coats from atop the highest shelf, she spied a few dusty board games hidden behind them: Trouble, Risk, Life. She then hesitated, reminiscing of a time when her family would actually all sit down and play these games; it must have been years since one of these boxes were cracked open. She sighed at the thought of it all, before finally spotting an open shoebox full of letters near her feet.

She picked up the box, moved to the left side of her father's bed, and sat down before picking out a letter. Upon closer examination, the box appeared to be full of "Thank You" cards from a local church commending Russell's actions during Hurricane Katrina. Many of the cards appeared to be unopened -- some were even full of untouched money -- Murphy shook her head confused at the sight.

Why hasn't he opened these? She thought to herself.

Flipping through the cards, she spotted a few love letters that her passed between Russell and Emily back in there high school days. Murphy laughed upon reading some the more heartfelt lovey-gushy stuff that her father wrote as a teenager, "Hehehe! Holy shit, Dad! I can't believe you actually convinced Mom with this... garbage."

As she glanced over some old photographs, she caught a shimmer out of the corner of her eye coming from the window. She quickly jumped up and hurried over to the window. Upon closer examination, she spotted a Sedan driving around, and over, the creatures outside inching closer and closer toward their building.

Murphy rushed to one of her father's bags, pulled out a single road flare, and darted through the living room and onto the balcony. As Murphy lit the flare and began waving it around madly, Emily ran over to her daughter and snatched the flare out of her hands, "What are doing?!"

"Mom, someone is out there! They need help!" Murphy hollered back.

"Murphy, we don't know them! That could be anyone down there! Don't be stupid!"

"They're gonna die if we don't do something!"

"They're strangers, Murphy! They could be dangerous! Especially with Anthony and Russell gone!"

"Whoever it is might have supplies! They might have medicine for Michael! We need to try!"

Emily glared into her daughter's pleading eyes, then over to Michael who was currently standing bewildered in the doorway, and back to her daughter before finally conceding as she handed back the flare. They both began flailing their arms wildly as they attempted to signal the driver.

[Thade]

Roxy and Jon

“I suppose you could say step-siblings, but we’re not related in any sense of the w--” Jon cut himself off as he watched Russell disappear into the bathroom and start to loot it, dumping medicine into his pack. “Alright, yeah, just help yourself to our hard earned supplies. Not like we risked life and limb to get it all or anything. We’ve got some food and water too, might as well take that while you’re at it.”

Jon started to run a hand through his hair, but the sound of cracking wood made him jump upright, his expression turning from annoyance to fear.  “Oh shit.  That’s the window.”

“I told you you measured wrong.”

“You know what? Shut the fuck up Roxy. For years we lived together and you hardly said a word, and now it’s the end of the fucking world and all you can think to do is insult me.” Jon kept his eye on the window and drew his knife. He could see the wood bending, cracking under the force of the undead.

“That’s because you’re a fucking pissant.” Roxy rose from the couch, putting another bullet in her revolver and facing the window. She swallowed and took a breath, trying to calm uneasy nerves.

“I saved our hides from certain death, and I’m a pissant?! Why the hell do you hate me? What did I do in those years?!” Jon took a step back, ready to run. The boards groaned and cracked, it would probably give in under a minute.

“It’s not my fucking fault!” Her hands shook, but she did her best to hold the gun steady, blood pumping with determination. “I didn’t know what else to do!"

"What in gods name does that mean--" Jon turned to look at his step-sister and was surprised to see her looking back at him with an expression that was almost pleading.

The boards shattered. Roxy grabbed Jon's hand and dragged him towards the hall, firing twice towards the now wide open window. The young man, taken off guard, had just enough time to grab his companion's bag before being dragged off down the hallway and towards the stairs to the second floor. He hoped the other two idiots would have the common sense to follow.

[Haydenn]

Simon Petrikov

Simon noticed a red twinkle from the corner of his eye as he drove. Slowing his speed as to not collide with anything, Simon rolled his window down about half way and glared out. Squinting, he was able to make out some kind of waving red light coming from the balcony of a building. Unsure of how to process the information, Simon pulled over to think, and glance some more.

After a moment of weighing the options as to what the light meant and what he could do, Simon came to the conclusion it was most likely a group of survivors signalling the military plane that he had heard land. Simon shifted his car into Drive, and steadily moved towards the building, parking at the curb across the street. Not wanting to expose himself, as he noticed a large amount of the Wicked nearby, Simon opened his sunroof and poked his upper body through it, waving up to the balcony.
"Hello? Where is the rescue?" Simon called up, waving his arms. His voice was as loud as he could make it, though still quite mellow. He had a certain Russian accent to his voice--not too thick, but obviously still real. Simon's attention was distracted by the sound of a groan, as a Wicked emerged near him. The undead being slammed itself against the side of his car, reaching up for him with fingers stripped partially of all fleshy material. Simon cringed at the sight, and turned back up to the balcony, worriedly.
"Hello?"

[Nexeria]

Emily Holt/Murphy MacReady
Russell's Apartment - 10th Floor

"What are you doing?! Run! Hurry, get up here!" Emily calls out to the Russian man upon seeing the dead gathering around his sedan.

Murphy stares down at the decrepit creature trying to claw at the man over the side of his car. It occurs to the daughter as the blood-soaked monster slowly flails its arms unsuccessfully at the foreigner, that it's motor skills must be very limited. For some strange reason, the infected doesn't appear to be smart enough to walk around the front of the car and climb over the hood.

"I don't I think it can reach him..." Murphy informs her mother. Getting a closer look at the vehicle through her binoculars, Murphy was able to make out the man's attire. He appears to be wearing a very lucrative business suit topped off with a formal red bow tie. One could only imagine if the world was in better conditions right now, this man's brown hair would be washed, shampooed, and groomed back to perfection. Perhaps he was on an out-of-country business trip, Murphy wondered.

"If I were you, I'd be trying to get up here right now!" Murphy yelled down to the stranger, noticing more monsters creeping out of the dollar store across the street. "Grab whatever supplies you can carry and run! Take the main entrance and head for the stairs on the left side of the lobby! Make sure to close the door behind you! Tenth floor! We're on the tenth floor!"

Malcolm Westbrook/Oscar Rowe
The Block: Apartment Building

Malcolm and Wayne rush to the scene of the disturbance. Once they reach the bottom floor of the apartment, they break into the sprint down the hallway, out the entrance, and onto the barricaded street. Across from them is a small shotgun house with bright red paint chipping off of it, exposing a moldy, brown interior. It seems that a crowd of about  had already formed

"Jordan, you bitch-ass motherfucker! Open the goddamn door! Right fuckin' now," howled a very tall, heavy-weight black man from the foot of the doorstep. His bald head glistens with sweat which reflects shine back to Malcolm.

"Yo, keep cool, Oscar. Ain't no need to get violent," Jamal speaks up from the crowd on onlookers.

"Nah, man! This nigga knows what he's doing!" Oscar hollers back, kicking a dent into the metal part of the outer screen door.

"Oscar, chill the fuck out!" Malcolm pipes up as he and Wayne push there way through the rabble and up to the former boxer.

"Well, it's 'bout damn time you showed up! What you off--"

"No, don't give me that shit, Oscar! I don't wanna hear one fuckin' word from you unless it's about what's Jordan doin' in there?"

"Well, what the fuck do you think he's doing? Same shit as always! Fuckin' dumbass nigga in there right now tryin' to drive a yellow submarine through a snowstorm."

"What? Wait, this motherfucka trippin' on acid and coke in there?" Malcolm asks, lowering his voice as they step further away from the crowd.

"Yeah, and here I was thinkin' we taught him lesson the last time we caught him," Oscar replies in a gravelly tone.

"Wait, what about Kara?" Malcolm asks, arching an eyebrow as he scratches his chin.

"Don't know. Could've sworn I heard her screamin' something from behind the door, but I ain't heard anything else after that."

Malcolm lets out an annoyed sigh, turns back to the crowd, and says, "Yo, everyone! I want ya'll ta head on back to ya'll's rooms and get some rest! Jordan appears to have lost his damn mind again, so me and Oscar are gonna go in have a little talk! Shouldn't be anything to worry about, but I'd rather not have everyone out here just in case Jordan does something crazy!" Malcolm glances back over to Wayne before continuing, "To make sure things go smoothly, I'd like to introduce you all to Officer Wayne Torres over there! S'good to finally have some experienced law enforcement around 'ere."

As soon as everyone begins to disperse from the scene, Malcolm turns his attention back to Wayne, and asks, "Well, Officer, you ready? Concerns? Questions? Hell, I know I'd have questions if someone dragged me into this kinda shit."

Jasmine Rowe
The Block: Apartments - 4th Floor

"Um. My name is Trina and this is my son, Cole."

"Jasmine Rowe," The woman replies in a friendly tone, pointing at herself with a spoon covered in tomato sauce, as she leads the Trina and Cole back into her kitchen. "Don't know if you met him yet, but I'm Oscar's sister. Trust me, you'll know when you see him, he's kinda hard to miss."

Jasmine around dining table, reaches into a drawer, and pulls out four clean plates. As the young woman begins laying out the plates, Trina eyes starts to scan over Jasmine. She's young, slim, and is dressed in a vibrant blue tank-top exposing both her midriff and the colorful butterfly tattoos spreading across her right arm.

"You know, for someone that probably hasn't bathed in week or two, your hair is remarkably beautiful. I really like the color, I assume it's natural, right? Wait, no, let me guess!" Jasmine leans in closer to Trina to examine her hair.

"Oh yeah, that's gotta be your natural hair color. Sorry 'bout invading your personal space, it's just ever since this plague started, the beauty salon I was running has been closed down... indefinitely," Jasmine sighs before continuing to ramble on, "Man, I miss Sheila. That girl knew how to make best out of a bad time. Hope she got out of the city okay. Be a real sha--"

DING!

"Oh, it's done!" Jasmine jolts over to the spaghetti, grabs a handkerchief, lifts off the pot releasing a cloud of steam into the air before turning around to call out to someone in another room, "Calvin, get in 'ere! Food's done, baby!"

From across the living room, wearing a solid black beanie and a Saints jacket one size too big for him, a little 9-year-old black boy emerged from a bedroom, still trying to wipe the sleep out of his eyes, and made his way over to the kitchen table where he immediately plopped down on the nearest chair.

"This is my son, Calvin. He's nine," Jasmine informed her guests before glancing back toward her own child. "Calvin, this is Trina and her son Cole. They're gonna be having dinner with us today."

"Hi," Calvin waves at the Bohorquez's and begins to dig into his spaghetti. "I thought Mr. Westbrook was gonna eat with us?"

"Yeah, me too, but he ran off with some police officer to go take care of something, he might drop by later though," Jasmine responds, slightly disappointed with Malcolm's sudden departure.

"Okay," The kid replies with a mouth full of spaghetti.

"Trina, girl, I've said quite enough about me, why not tell me about yourself? Where are you from and end up in this place?" Jasmine asks, finally getting a chance to sit down at the table and have a conversation with her newly-acquainted gal pal.

[Fi Skirata]

Officer Wayne Torres

Wayne raced after Malcolm, following him outside onto the street where a crowd had gathered to watch a massive beast of a man calling out someone inside a house. Wayne gathered that this was Oscar. Dude wouldn't look out of place back in prison.

Wayne shoved his way through the crowd, keeping his 12 gauge close so as not to hit someone with the barrel... uh... or worse. Once he got close, he realized Oscar was even bigger than he thought. The curly haired cop may have even been intimidated if he hadn't seen it all before.

Torres' eyes shifted towards the house as Oscar explained the situation. He wasn't equipped to deal with this. He didn't know how. His whole experience with drugheads was ignoring them, this wasn't his area of expertise. And worse, this guy mixed his poisons. He wasn't sure, but Wayne had a nagging feeling in his gut that it wasn't something one should do.

Torres didn't realize he had gone silent until Malcolm glanced over at him. Somehow he had blocked out the presence of the entire crowd and gone off somewhere in his own thoughts again. Whatever, he needed to think.

"To make sure things go smoothly, I'd like to introduce you all to Officer Wayne Torres over there!"

The newly introduced Officer did a double take from the crowd to the house and back. Uh. What the hell was he supposed to do here? He was trying to do a job here and he had to make niceties?... Ah fuck it...

Wayne half heartedly waved towards the crowd. Thankfully, he looked more stoic and focused than panicking and pissy.

"S'good to finally have some experienced law enforcement around 'ere."

Torres gave a curt nod to the crowd before it dispersed and Malcolm addressed him.

"Well, Officer, you ready?"

No.

Wayne directed his attention back towards the building, his hand on his hip, giving a sigh and rolling his tongue around his mouth before nodding "Yeah."

Malcolm continued to speak as they moved closer to the building "Concerns? Questions? Hell, I know I'd have questions if someone dragged me into this kinda shit."

I got alot of fucking concerns alright, number one being that I don't know what the fuck you expect out of me. God fucking damn I hope I look like I know what I'm doing.

Wayne tilted his head and asked the few pertinent questions that came to mind "'Mentioned he's done this before. He dangerous? Said something about a "Kara" too, she in there? Relation? There a way in, or am I kicking a door down?"

This was shit. He didn't want to deal with this. Why couldn't it have been vampires, or a fight? Why did it have to fucking be complicated? He was going to have to chat with, and calm down, someone who wasn't in their right fucking mind. The thought of it gave him a headache.

But not once did the thought of backing out even occur to him. Being a coward and backing away from the burden didn't cross his mind. Maybe Wayne needed people to depend on him, or maybe he just liked having the responsibility. Or maybe he was a fucking lying coward pretending to be something he wasn't. Either way, he had come too far to turn back now.

[Haydenn]

Simon Petrikov

Simon heeded this command as he saw a cluster of Wicked emerge from behind a store. He ducked back into his sedan, grabbing a small empty Jansport backpack he had kept for emergencies, and dumped as much medicine from the wicker basket in as he could. He then scooped up as many packages of food as he could, and nervously ripped open a package of water, placing a few bottles in the now bulging bag as well. He tucked his gun underneath his belt, and put the ax in his hands. He climbed halfway out of the sunroof once again, cupped his mouth with one trembling hand, and called up to those floors above him,
"On the way, friend!"

Simon took a deep breath and said a short prayer before taking one last look. All the wicked were approaching quickly, and beginning to crowd around his already messy and damaged vehicle. He threw the drivers door open, knocking a Wicked onto its back. As the wicked struggled to return to an upright position, his friends turning attention towards Simon, the well-dressed man made a dart for the front door of the apartment complex. He was unusually fast for his attire. He jiggled the door, pushing it, before making the realization it was, in fact, a pull. Simon burst through the door, and scanned the area for a staircase. In the back corner of the room he spotted a sign indicating a stairwell behind a shut metal door with a musty window. Simon cautiously opened the door, checking behind it for any Wicked. Simon began up the stairs, bag of supplies draped over one shoulder, small ax in his right hand. He counted each level as he passed it.
"Second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth..." As the man reached the seventh level he was immediately caught off guard by a Wicked, what was once a young woman with a rainbow beanie hat and a stylish blouse was rearing her now not so pretty face. Simon pushed her back against the railing, however his strength was questionable. The Wicked wriggled against the force of Simon's weight, attempting to bite his arm. As much as Simon hated it, he had to kill this one. Killing what once was a human still was hard for Simon to come to terms with, to this point he tried his best to avoid them. As Simon prepared himself mentally for a fatal strike against the Wicked, he only them realized his ax was on the floor, a few feet away. He had accidentally dropped it. Simon closed his eyes and began thinking of a better plan, when the Wicked slipped in the sludge protruding from her own body, falling against the railing momentarily. The railing made a loud creaking noise. Simon, it seemed, had a lightbulb go off in his head. With all his might he lifted the Wicked over the railing, letting out what sounded to be a very unhealthy heave. The wicked grabbed at him, but to no avail. She dropped off the edge, to the bottom of the stairwell. Simon, panting, continued up, grabbing his ax as he left. A single tear formed in his eye, though he purposely held it in.
"You must be strong in this world." he thought to himself as he entered the corridor on the tenth floor.

Simon knew the room would be on the side facing the road, and so he began knocking on each door. The first was wide open and ransacked. The next boarded up. It was obvious which ones these people would not be in. So Simon narrowed his choice to about seven doors, and began knocking on each, calling out "Hello? It is me from outside!" or some saying of similar magnitude as he knocked on each door.

[Megantron]

Trina & Cole Bohorquez

Tucking her hair behind her eyes, Trina managed to mutter out a thanks.

Trina bent down to become level with her son, "Cole, why don't you go sit next to Calvin. I'm sure it'd be nice to talk to someone your own age, wouldn't it?"

Trina slowly shifted over to Jasmine, taking a seat beside her, slightly awkward. She wasn't the best at talking with other women. Most abashed her for having a child so young, so that fear of judgment consistently gnawed at her even if they were in the same position she was in. "I must say, it's really nice to see another kid alive and well..."

Both Cole and her dug into their pasta, swallowing whole bites without even chewing. Trina made sure to clear her mouth before speaking, "We actually drove over here from Florida. Panama City, to be exact. Our car broke down just as all this madness started and we've been scavenging ever since."

More shovels of pasta and Trina wasn't even halfway done with her plate before already feeling full. Not eating well will do that to you. "Actually. You know Sean? We were hiding out in his family's house before he found us and, fortunately, brought us here. What's unfortunate is what happened to his family..."

Trina leaned back in her chair, satisfied with the full feeling in her belly. "But I'm tired of thinking about all that. So, to change the subject, your tattoos. Any particular meaning or only for artsy reasons?"

[Nexeria]

Russell J. MacReady/Anthony Holt

“Alright, yeah, just help yourself to our hard earned supplies. Not like we risked life and limb to get it all or anything. We’ve got some food and water too, might as well take that while you’re at it.”

"Well, excuse me, kid, but I kinda assumed you'd be coming with us since your safe-house is ground floor in the middle of this shitstorm," Russell rudely replies as he crams everything into the bag. He couldn't help but think about Michael. Hopefully, he'd be okay until they got back.

“Oh shit.  That’s the window.”

Alarmed by the crackling sounds of the boards, Russell scoops everything into the backpack before bolting out of the bathroom and back into the kitchen.

As the two step-siblings argued, Russell - only half paying attention to them - aims his Beretta at the window and fires two shots before realizing his gun is out of ammo. "Shit! Anthony, the window! Shoot them!"

"Fuck, fuck!" Anthony exclaims as the pressure of the situation starting to get to him. He scrambles into the kitchen, pulls the revolver out, and begins firing blindly into the mass building up against the window. Three of shamblers drop dead in their tracks, but are almost immediately replaced and trampled over by the infected behind them. "This isn't doing shit, Russ!"

At that moment, the boards snap in two and the dead being pouring in like a Black Friday sale. As the college kids take off upstairs, Anthony darts after them leaving Russell to deal with the horde alone. Sweating in fear, Russell tightly grips his fire axe and plants the bladed end into a nearby crawler. The second lurker stumbles over the corpse the of the first, letting out this terrifying hissing-growl sound, as it lurches forward for Russell's neck. Russell raises his leg, presses his boot against the creatures stomach, and kicks the monster back into the crowd. Russell takes advantage of the opening and dashes upstairs.

Linking back up with the group, Russell hollers, "Shit, they're coming up! You two better have some sort of escape plan because those things are all over the place down there!"

Malcolm Westbrook/Oscar Rowe
The Block: Jordan's House

"Mentioned he's done this before. He dangerous? Said something about a "Kara" too, she in there? Relation? There a way in, or am I kicking a door down?"

"Dangerous? He's a quick little bastard I'll give him that, but the boy's been tweekin' since kindergarten so physically he's about as dangerous as the fuckin' gingerbread man. Now, if he's gotta gun in there, we're playin' in a whole different ballpark," Malcolm informs the police officer.

"I'm pretty damn sure Jordan was on gate duty last night. If so, there's a chance he's still got his piece on him," Oscar tells the other two men as he attempts to peer through the boarded-up windows.

"As for Kara, she's Jordan's girl... or was... not really sure what's going on with them? She's gotta little bit of a drug habit herself, but not quite as bad as Jordan. She's usually been his voice of reason, I'd go to her when I wanted that damn kid to do something. In all honesty, the fact that she ain't respondin' has me worried, so how about we cut the chatter and just get in there," Malcolm's gaze shifts over to the bald heavyweight man, "Oscar, door."

Oscar gives an affirmative nod while Malcolm prompts Wayne to ready his weapon as they prepare to breach. Malcolm holds his hand in front of the door and begins to signal a countdown with his fingers. As soon as Malcolm hits the third mark, Oscar slams his boot against the center of the door. The door flies open, the handle bashes a hole into drywall, as a loud bang echoes down throughout the house. Malcolm quickly enters the house, his Glock 17 raised at eye level, and his finger resting easy against the trigger guard. He had no intentions to shoot Jordan if didn't have to.

As the officer follows suit, Malcolm rounds the corner of the hallway where he's met with an unnerving sight. Kara's ankles are tied to the legs of a wooden dining chair, her hands are bound behind her back with zip-ties, and her mouth has been duct taped shut as she sits there bleeding from several open wounds. Her face is bruised and battered, her left eye is swollen shut, and blood is slowly flowing out of deep incision from within her abdomen. "Shit! Yo, Oscar, we gotta serious problem in here! Kara's hurt real bad!"

"What?!" Oscar peers into the kitchen where the young woman is being held, "Fuckin' hell, I'll go find a doc! You just deal with Jordan!"

As Oscar bolts off back towards the apartment building, Malcolm kneels down closer to Kara and examines her injuries further. Fortunately, she's still breathing, but who knows for how long. For now, they just need focus on one thing. Find Jordan.

Glancing back at the officer, Malcolm's nostrils flare out, and his voice drops to a cold volume as he says, "Just so we're clear, Officer, I want to bring him in alive. I'd like to have a few words with Jordan, if you catch my meaning. This is just... unforgivable."

[Fi Skirata]

Officer Torres

The acidic burn of bile sizzled in Wayne's throat when his eyes fell on the girl. He wanted to hurl. His every bodily instinct screamed at him to wretch his lunch right then and there on the atrocious shit brown carpet. He swallowed hard, resisting the overwhelming urge.

This girl was nearly gutted by someone she trusted. It was disgusting. Unforgivable. Unthinkable, but there it was.

Wayne pulled the 'nam era knife from his belt and passed the blade to Malcolm "Cut her free. Lay her down, stop the bleeding before Oscar gets back with medical help." He gave a trusting nod to Malcolm and gripped his shotgun tightly, running his thumb across the safety antsily. It was in the off position, but he kept double checking. He had to be sure. He had to know.

"I'll find Jordan. Stay with the girl." Wayne raised his gun and stepped carefully around the corner into the next room, as Malcolm made it absolutely clear that he wanted Jordan alive. "No worries. I'm trained for this."

No I'm not.

His steps were silent, each boot falling on the board stiff carpet in steady pace, as Wayne's eyes flickered left and right, scanning every corner for the slightest movement. Every few steps he would nudge a piece of discarded paper, or bump an empty soda can, starting at the noise.

Is the safety off? I can't remember...

His palms felt like waterfalls, his eyes felt like a desert, he couldn't bring himself to blink and miss a moment. Even his lungs were on the verge of exploding, at some point he simply stopped breathing for fear of the sound preventing him from hearing something important.

The safety is off, right? I didn't forget?

Every agonizing step he took through the apartment was its own little eternal purgatory.

Yeah. Yeah its off.

Wayne Torres had no idea what he was doing.

Right? Off?

Wayne Torres looked like he knew precisely what he was doing.

Okay, definitely off.

He would have preferred the world to end before he found Jordan.

He knew it was his responsibility to see that he found the man before it actually did.

Then again, the world pretty much ended a few weeks ago.

It's a mad world.

[Nexeria]

Emily Holt/Murphy MacReady
Russell's Apartment - 10th Floor

"Hello? It is me from outside!" The Eastern European man calls out to the family, his voice muffled by the thick wooden door, as he desperately scours the hallway in search of the correct room.

Upon hearing the man's pleading calls, the mother and daughter exchange a look of concern before ultimately unlocking the door. Emily leans her upper body out into the hallway and quickly spots the stranger on the other end of the hall preparing to open a random door. "Hey, you! Over here! Trust me, you do not want to open that!"

The man's neck suddenly cranes to the right upon hearing the woman's voice. After bolting back down the hall, the man was ushered inside the apartment by a tall brunette woman about the same age as himself. Scanning the room, the foreigner noticed a much younger woman, assuming she was probably in her late teens, and a brown-haired teenage boy resting on a couch in the corner of the room.

The room remains silent - with the exception of the stranger's exhausted breathing - before the older woman finally sticks her hand out, gives a warm smile, and introduces herself, "Um, hi, I'm Emily. These are my children, Murphy and Michael."

Malcolm Westbrook
The Block: Jordan's House

Officer Torres cautiously makes his way around the dark crowded house, the entire place looks as if it were straight out of an episode of Hoarders: Empty beer cans and glass bottles littered across the floor, bookshelves filled with nothing but worn-and-torn classic novels and candy wrappers, and a little more than six television sets, DVD players, and gaming consoles sits in the living room alone. Wayne assumes most, if not all, of them are stolen.

To make matters more frustrating, the only light sources Officer Torres has is the one bright light beaming in through the front door and what little sunlight could penetrate the cardboard duct taped against the windows.

To great surprise and much confusion, upon breaching the bedroom door, Wayne is greeted by a cleaver-wielding maniac spouting out a barrage of obscenities and something about flesh-eaters. Officer Torres staggers backwards, braces his left arm against his face, and turns to the right. The blade, originally aiming for Wayne's throat, is instead wedged about two inches deep into his left shoulder.

Dropping his handgun to the floor upon feeling the pain, the junkie pushes Wayne aside and swiftly scoops it up. Jordan then turns around, aims the pistol directly at the officer's head, and fir--

"THE FUCK?!" Jordan hollers out, glaring bewildered at the weapon.

Apparently, the safety is on.

[Fi Skirata]

Officer Torres

It all went by in a blur. Screaming, a blade aimed at his throat, then searing pain burning into his shoulder as hot blood poured down his arm. With no time to react, Wayne could only stare in cold horror as Jordan pulled the tri--

The safety was on.

Wayne snatched the compacted baton from his belt and extended it with a harsh swing towards Jordan's hands, rapping the steel against the man's knuckles. The gun flew to some distant corner of the room as Jordan recoiled. Wayne spared a moment to look at his cleaver wound earning himself a DVD player smashed over his head for the trouble.

Torres stumbled backwards into a bookshelf, dropping his baton to the sea of junk on the ground. He blinked hard, trying to shake off the stars in his vision. He cleared his vision just in time to see Jordan rush him with baseball bat.

Where the fuck are you getting these things?!

Wayne pushed off the bookshelf and into Jordan's swing,grabbing the bat. A sharp pain in his shoulder reminded him of his wound and he cried out in pain. Jordan grabbed the handle of the cleaver and ripped it out of the Officer's arm, swiping at his face with it.

Wayne recoiled backwards as the blade narrowly missed his eyes, gashing his forehead instead, pouring blood over his eyes. "Fuck!" Wayne crashed against a coffee table, cans and beer bottles sent flying. He desperately brushed the blood out his eyes, only to see Jordan coming towards him with the bat.

Wayne grabbed everything he could reach, flinging it at his aggressor. An ash tray shattered against the wall, a book fluttered through the air, until Wayne's hand gripped the neck of a half empty beer bottle. With all of his force he flung it at his foe, and it crashed hard against the man's face, sending him careening to the ground.

Wayne got to his feet as best he could and knelt over Jordan grabbing for his wrists. The skinnier man struggled, punching and kicking wildly, screaming murder. Wayne was sick of it, and delivered a hard right straight to the man's nose, feeling it snap from the blow. Jordan clutched his nose and Wayne forcibly grabbed his wrists, cinching them together with a zip tie from his police belt.

After similarly zip tying the man's feet, Wayne slid to the ground and clutched the wound on his shoulder. Jordan continued to scream about his nose, about flesh eaters, about police brutality. Wayne just groaned "You have the right to remain silent. Please use it."

[Thade]

Roxy and Jon

“Escape plan? Who the hell do I look like, Houdini? You’re a terrible house guest by the way,” Jon snapped back.

Roxy refrained from saying anything. Chaos and noise and the threat of imminent death overwhelmed her. Sweat dripped from her brow, and her ears were ringing slightly from the gunshots. In one hand she gripped a revolver, and on her belt hung a hammer with more blood on it than what would be considered the norm. Downstairs was quickly filling to the brim with corpses that wanted to eat her, and Jon was being Jon, which never helped a situation.

So she had had better days.

She pocketed the revolver and took a breath, grasping for the handle of the hammer and ignoring her trembling fingers. If those fools wouldn't do anything to save their skins, she would.

“And another thing! you and your friend here--”

The young man was interrupted by the sound of a shattering window pane followed by shuffling as his step-sister hoisted herself out and onto the roof of the back porch; the rear of the house being relatively clear of the infected, at least for the moment.

“...Oh.”

[Haydenn]

Simon Petrikov

Simon was ushered into an apartment, where his eyes met a small group of people. Simon was slightly shocked at the sight of the two teenagers and older woman, and it took a moment for him to process everything that had just happened. After snapping back to reality Simon took the woman's extended hand for a shake and smiled weakly.
"Hello, I am Simon Petrikov." He then nodded to the two teenagers as if to say 'hello.'
"I apologize if I am intruding on your house. I noticed you all were shining lights out from your window, I was hoping maybe you were summoning the rescue team I heard go by in a plane... Do you know where that plane went?" Simon had taken his backpack off, holding it with one hand, while he dug inside with his free hand.
"I have brought medicines and foods, as well." Simon smiled.

[Nexeria]

Emily Holt/Murphy MacReady
Russell's Apartment - 10th Floor

"I apologize if I am intruding on your house. I noticed you all were shining lights out from your window, I was hoping maybe you were summoning the rescue team I heard go by in a plane... Do you know where that plane went?"

"It no intrusion, really." Emily reassured the man. "My hus--"

"I have brought medicines and foods, as well."

"Oh my god, you're a life saver!" Murphy piped up as she quickly begins rifling through the wicker basket full of supplies. "Yes, inhalers! Michael, there's inhalers!" Murphy quickly rushed the basket over to her brother.

With a sigh of relief, Emily turned her attention back towards the foreigner. "Simon, is it? My name's Emily. That's my daughter, Murphy, and my son, Michael. As for that plane you saw, my husband and my... ex-husband took off a while ago to investigate and gather some extra supplies," Emily's face morphs into a look of concern, "I really hope they get back soon. It shouldn't be taking this long."

Emily's attention switched back to Simon, "Anyways, I'm just happy to see another living person. Um, I guess you can make yourself at home. I'll explain everything to Anthony and Russell once they get back."

Russell J. MacReady/Anthony Holt

"Time to go! Let's get the hell out of here!" Anthony hollered, scrambling to pull himself out the window and onto the roof as Russell and Jon quickly followed. As soon as everyone was huddled atop the roof, Russell shut the window behind them and frantically scanned the area for clear path back to his car.

Looking down, Russell spotted several lurkers directly below desperately grasping at air just waiting to stuff their disease-infested maw with human flesh. A fetid odor rose up from huddled mass, a smell so foul Anthony barfed up a mixture of Coca-cola, peanuts, and Spaghetti-O's before quickly swallowing it all back down. "Oh, fuck! That's gross! Jesus fucking Christ!"

"Pull yourself together, man," Russell ordered before forming a circle with Roxy and Jon. "Okay, it's clear to me now that we kinda got off to a bad start, I apologize for that. This ain't really an average for me so I'm a little tense. But, look, my truck is right over there on that road, the dead have mostly migrated away from that area and moved into the house. It doesn't look like there's too many of them below us, so I say wait for an opening and make a break for it. We cover your back, you cover ours, and I'll make you two have a warm place to sleep tonight. What do ya say?"

Jasmine Rowe
The Block: Apartments - 4th Floor

"But I'm tired of thinking about all that. So, to change the subject, your tattoos. Any particular meaning or only for artsy reasons?"

"Heh," Jasmine glanced down at her own arm, examining every little detail put into the tattoos, as she reflected upon fonder memories. "Sonny's idea, Calvin's father. He was a tattoo artist and somehow I let him convince me to get these dumb butterfly tattoos. My father always hated tattoos and never really forgave me for getting them. Hell, he near about took a baseball bat to Sonny's house for simply doodling on my arm."

Having heard this story before, Calvin just decided to ignore it entirely. Instead, he turned his attention to Cole and quietly asked, "So, what's it like outside? Did you see any of those monsters?"

Meanwhile, Jasmine continued with her story, "I was really pissed off with Sonny for a long time after that, but..." Jasmine closed her eyes tight trying to retain her emotions, "...he ended up coming down with Leukemia... just right of out the blue. He lasted almost a year after the diagnoses, longer than anyone expected him to. Didn't stop me from being shocked the day he finally passed. It's kinda funny, he never looked healthier the day he died..."

"I've been trying to move on for a long time now, but it's hard to forget a man like that. The tattoos never really meant anything to me until he was gone. Now, I just find myself staring at them most days. Sometimes, they make me feel so alone... while other times they make me happy that I at least got to know someone like him. I just wish Calvin had a chance to grow up with him, he was only three when Sonny passed."

[Megantron]

Trina & Cole Bohorquez

Trina listened to Jasmine's story with sympathy. All her life had been filled with empty relationships so it was difficult to truly empathize with Jasmine's grief. Trina placed a comforting hand on Jasmine's. "At least you have your son and these tattoos as reminders. Some people are left with nothing at all."

Trina looked to Cole and couldn't help but think of his father and how Cole was nothing like that man at all. It made her proud. "On the bright side, at least Sonny didn't have to see what the world has come to today... however long this hell may last."

On the other end of the table, Calvin spoke to Cole, "So, what's it like outside? Did you see any of those monsters?"

Cole looked at the other boy and nodded. "Some look like people until you get real close." Cole looked down at his now empty plate. "Others look like demons."

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