[Mr. Blonde]

Story:

A year and five months after the zombie outbreak, a group of Marines on a search and rescue mission in Wareham, Massachusetts, discover a Wal-Mart where it looks like survivors were holed up. Upon inspecting the inside, they discover a bloodbath. One soldier finds a composition notebook labelled "Whoever finds this..." Inside are the details of the survivors' stories spanning from May 11th till August 7th. Those stories are ours.

Rules:

There are no guns within this store. Due to this, your character can only have one gun. More may be acquired later, though, by venturing out or taking it off a player who joined in the game, who has died. However, there is ammo sold inside the store.
None of that Rambo bull****.
No taking control of other people.
No killing other people who have entered this RPG. Everyone else is fair game.
At some point, every character in this game will die. Just keep that in mind ahead of time.

NAME:
AGE:
WEIGHT & HEIGHT:
PHYSICAL DETAILS:

EQUIPMENT: (You can bring in three things with you. Note: consider what's available in a Wal-Mart and what isn't.)

ARSENAL: (Just keep it realistic with your guns.)
Weapon Name & Type: (S&W ACP semi-auto)
Caliber: (ex. .45 cal)
Location on Body: (ex. Slung over shoulder)
MELEE WEAPON:
Weapon Type: (See above.)
Location on Body: (See above.)

PERSONAL INFORMATION
DATE OF BIRTH:
OCCUPATION:
FAMILY: (Immediate)
SEX: (M/F)
PERSONALITY PROFILE: (What is your character like?)
MEDICAL HISTORY: (If any.)
SCARS: (What, how and when.)

___________________________________________________________

NAME: Chris DeJesus.
AGE: 22.
WEIGHT & HEIGHT: 5'10"/228 lbs.
PHYSICAL DETAILS: Green eyes. Dark brown hair. Caucasian. Neither muscular nor fat.

EQUIPMENT: My cat, Angelo. A Polaroid camera. Compass.

ARSENAL:
Weapon Name & Type: Beretta (taken off a cop I found killed).
Caliber: 9mm.
Location on Body: Always in my hand.
MELEE WEAPON:
Weapon Type: Hatchet, from the store.
Location on Body: In a tool belt around my waist.

PERSONAL INFORMATION
DATE OF BIRTH: 3/14/89.
OCCUPATION: Clerk at Wal-Mart.
FAMILY: Only child and parents were already dead.
SEX: M.
PERSONALITY PROFILE: Loner. Distrustful. Very persuasive. Believes in using words before using a gun.
MEDICAL HISTORY: On medication for high blood pressure as well as consistent headaches.
SCARS: Scar on my shoulder from reconstructive surgery when playing football in high school.

This post has been edited by Mr. Blonde: 05 April 2011 - 02:01 PM

[HarryKantDie]

NAME: Tidus Becker
AGE: 24
WEIGHT & HEIGHT: 5'4"
PHYSICAL DETAILS: Energetic and sporty, his body is slightly muscled.
EQUIPMENT: A cricket bat, a picture of a girl and a hunting knife
ARSENAL: N/A
Weapon Name & Type: Knife+Cricket Bat
Location on Body: Knife at his waist on a belt and cricket bat is slung over his side
MELEE WEAPON: See above
Weapon Type: See above
Location on Body: See above

PERSONAL INFORMATION
DATE OF BIRTH: 19/3/87
OCCUPATION: Amateur sportsman and Walmart Clerk
FAMILY: Related to a young scientist called Isaac Grayarn
SEX: M
PERSONALITY PROFILE: Calm and calculated, although if Tidus is pushed he will flip out and go on a rampage, attacking all those who insult him or people close to him. He is friendly and caring, and makes a good friend, although often lonely.
MEDICAL HISTORY: Heart problems
SCARS: Scars in the area of his heart where he had operations at birth.

((You can start mate, I really like this concept.))

[Frallon]

(I, to say the least, am interested. I do believe in finally having an RP limited to where we're all going to die. Very realistic. I would love to be a background color to this idea if you follow it through. Please keep a count down active, lol, don't loose track or pace of how we're moving along; on that though I say your move, sir, start us off)

NAME: Jeffery (Jeff) Engelhardt
AGE: 36
WEIGHT & HEIGHT: 152lbs 5'9"
PHYSICAL DETAILS: Strong and Agile but not Toned or particularly Muscular. Caucasian, brown thin inch long hair, brown eyes, strong chin. Wears a brand-less, one size fits all, black and gray baseball cap with red lace. Sunken cheeks, dreary, almost stoned.

EQUIPMENT: Refillable Engraved Flip Lighter, Swiss Army Knife Multi-tool, Canteen of Lighter Fluid

ARSENAL
Weapon Name & Type: Mossberg Maverick 88
Caliber: 12 Gauge
Location on Body: Sling

MELEE WEAPON
Weapon Type: Stainless Steel Machete
Location on Body: Belt Sheath

PERSONAL INFORMATION
DATE OF BIRTH: August 6th, 1975
OCCUPATION: Machine Lift Operator
FAMILY: Wife 8 years, Margot, Deceased
SEX: Male
PERSONALITY PROFILE: Reliable, believes in doing ones part, crafty, but doesn't tend to speak more than needed. Stares out a lot, most people choose not to confront him over such matters, and believe he's just not worth talking to about his past; worked at the plant for over fifteen years and never really amounted to his potential.
MEDICAL HISTORY: Chemical Imbalance; off medication.
SCARS: Healing scrapes and bruises caused at work.

IMPORTANT INTEL: Newcomer to group, less than a month, took him six months to navigate from the other side of the city.

This post has been edited by Frallon: 05 April 2011 - 05:02 PM

[Mr. Blonde]

The warm Spring sun looms over the Wal-Mart plaza. Chris shields his eyes from it as he looks down from the roof, where he's perched, at thousands of zombies. He sighs as he grabs his Beretta off the ledge. He strides over to a hatch and descends the ladder into a back room area of the store. Upon exiting, into what used to be the Lawaway area, he passes by Tidus. Chris gives the slightest of nods as he passes.

"Your shift," Chris says, beat, not ready to hear any response Tidus could give.

Chris walks through to the register area and makes his way for register 11, specifically. Into the register, he enters his employee code and presses a few keys. Viola. The drawer opens, revealing a cheap Bic lighter and a pack of Luckies. He hops on top of the conveyor belt and lays down to light himself a cigarette.

"Could be worse," Chris says, if only to re-assure himself as he takes a drag.

This post has been edited by Mr. Blonde: 05 April 2011 - 08:35 PM

[ZombifiedBrendan]

NAME: Corey Anderson
AGE: 20
WEIGHT & HEIGHT: 5' 7"
PHYSICAL DETAILS: He's very lanky, never putting much effort into muscle build up. Black scrappy hair, medium length. Muddy green eyes.

EQUIPMENT: A laser-pointer attached to a key-chain, a Swiss pocket-watch and a black backpack.

ARSENAL:
Weapon Name & Type: Blue-engraved Beretta 92
Caliber: 9mm
Location on Body: Chest holster
MELEE WEAPON:
Weapon Type: Fire-Axe
Location on Body: Very rarely carried, but has an adjustable strap on it should it need to be slung

PERSONAL INFORMATION
DATE OF BIRTH: June 15th, 1991
OCCUPATION: Pizza Delivary Boy
FAMILY: Mum died when he was ten, Dad commited suicide at the beginning of the apocalypse.
SEX: Male
PERSONALITY PROFILE: Quiet and kept to himself. He doesn't include homself in much, instead just worrying about the job then about any sort of social interaction, however, he will always put someones safety before his own. Terrified of killing when unneccessary.
MEDICAL HISTORY: Undiagnosed depression.
SCARS: None major.

[Mr. Blonde]

Chris' butt, down to the filter. He lets it slide out of his fingers onto the floor. After spinning himself around so his legs hang over the side of the register, he looks around and sees... nothing. The store is empty, still. Alone. Chris cracks his jaw and hops off the belt then walks into the aisle and looks around in all directions.

"Angelo?" he calls out. "Where the hell is that cat?"

Chris does the best whistle he can muster, which isn't much when, from around the corner, a four-year old Bombay cat runs up to Chris and stops right at his feet. Chris sees something in the cat's mouth but can't make out what it is.

"Come here, kitty," Chris says as he pats himself on the shoulder. Angelo jumps up as he cradles Angelo in his arms.

He looks in Angelo's mouth and sees blood. Chris reaches into the cat's mouth and pulls out a bloody, decayed finger.

"Oh, ****ing--" Chris says, disgusted as he drops the finger on the ground. As he looks in Angelo's eyes, "No. That's bad. You don't eat that."

Chris sets Angelo down on the conveyor belt and looks around. "Now, to figure out where the hell you got that from?"

He steps on the cigarette as he walks away.

[HarryKantDie]

"What?" Tidus yelled out in disbelief. "It was my shift a few hours ago!" Dragging himself up from the crates that he sat on, walking over to his fellow worker. "Look." He said calmly. "I'm going to need your weapon..." He slowly looked to see a bloody finger perched on the already dirty Walmart floor, with a long, sharp, dirty fingernail protuding from the grubby stalk that had once been fully attatched to a hand, a human hand, well, not human anymore. "For god sake, what happened to this world." Tidus murmured under his breath, fighting back the urge to vomit on the finger. Looking up, Chris had already wandered off. "F***." Suddenly, the store seemed a whole lot lonlier, as the intense sounds of the undead continued to bellow out. He would have to find Chris quick, otherwise the undead would breach the doors, although heavy, it would not be able to take the strain of the mass of dead limbs pounding against it. "Hey!?" Tidus yelled. "Hey?" No answer. "F*** my life..."

[Mr. Blonde]

In the distance, Chris hears someone yell, "Hey?!" as he walks down towards the garden center.

"Go bother somebody else," Chris says, annoyed, as he looks around the area, leading with his Beretta.

He comes to the double sliding doors where a forklift has trapped two crates in front of them. Still, the smell eminating from the corpses outside is too strong to bear. He pulls his shirt up over his nose. On the floor, next to the crates, a human hand. He gets close enough to inspect it and sees that the ring finger is missing.

"So, that's where you came from," Chris says, almost proud that he solved a mini mystery by himself.

At that moment, a zombie, which had been laying down between the registers in the garden center, gets to his feet. Chris doesn't hear it at all. The zombie, wearing a blue Wal-Mart vest, gets its foot caught in a plastic bag as it sprints towards Chris. The only way Chris heard was the crinkling of the plastic.

The zombie collides with Chris, sending them both of the ground and the Beretta slides behind the crate. They wrestle around while Chris looks for something to get the upper hand. There's nothing helpful near him. Chris punches the zombie in the face which knocks the zombie off.

Chris gets to the feet as fast as the zombie does and they run down the aisle. Chris is still focused on something to use. The zombie's just focused on catching Chris. Chris finally spots something; an eight-pound dumbbell. He snags it off the shelf and turns the corner down another aisle and stops.

The zombie turns the same corner and runs straight into the dumbbell that Chris swung at him. It drops to the ground and Chris bashes its head in with the dumbbell. He does it continuously until there's nothing left on its face.

Finally, Chris runs out of energy and throws the weight away from the two of them. He looks down at the nametag on the zombie's vest, "EVAN". Chris taps him on the shoulder.

"Sorry, Evan. You deserved better than this," Chris says, solemn, before getting to his feet. "Then again, so do we."

Chris walks down to the end of the garden center where his Beretta got lodged behind the crate then makes his way for the phone at the register. He calls into it and his voice comes over the P.A. system, "Everyone, meeting at Customer Service. Now." Chris hangs up the phone and walks away.

[Frallon]

A coned tent ceiling, blue and gray, Jeff laid on his back staring up word at the folds trying to convince himself this was just a mere camping trip; perhaps like the ones he used to have with his folks decades ago. They'd probably be cooking right now, outside by a fire, for a moment he could almost smell the smoke; the carelessness, where nothing mattered, and deaths were something that only happened once or twice in one's lifetime; Margot would still be safe in France.

"Everyone, meeting at Customer Service, Now."

****ing Intercom, Jeff groaned pushing the lids of his eyes down with force, and sitting upright to the tent flap. He pushed the opening wide and came to his feet, grabbing the wooden finish of a 12 gauge that sat outside prepped and ready, while looking around at the other tents assembled in the recreation area of the famous stronghold of Wal-Mart; as he joked himself to sometimes calling it. Others arose from their huts, close to a dozen, some variegating ages but for the most part young and stupid. He didn't know how they were holding up, and frankly as long as it didn't interfere with how things were, he didn't care.

Walking 20 paces in front of the assembling group, Jeff moved forward past ransacked isles in automotive, fabric, a second customers service racket, and finally pet appliances that singled the front of the store; he looked quietly over at the sacks of dog food and felt a keen sense wonder how long it would be before they'd have to pry into them for food. Turning his head towards the front Customer service desk, he pressed onto the check out isles, and past them to where a shaken man considerably younger looking than himself hunched over waiting for the make-shift group to assemble. Jeff had taken note to the man more than once before, he was a former employee if memory served, not that it mattered anymore and not as if professions spoke about who people were. He waited for the others to fill in behind him, from the tents, and for the obvious question to be asked by someone out to make themselves seem stupid.

"What's this about," a voice perked up from behind Jeff, "are they getting in?"

[Cornflakes]

Name: Mary Holt
Age: 31
Weight and Height: 5ft 6 and 140 pounds
Pyshical Details: Shoulder lenght straight brown hair, watery blue eyes, pale skin that has lots of freckles. Wears plan jeans and non-slogan t-shirts
Equiment: Handbag which has plasters, travel sowing equiment and
Arsenal: Snubnose .38 husband's gift, rarely uses but likes it cause its a small gun.
Location: In her handbag.

Melee weapons: Crow bar
Location on body: Hangs on her bet.

Personal information
Date of Birth: 4 Apirl 1980
Occupation: Colthes Store manager
Family: Husband (died before she got to walmart), Brother who lives in England hasn't heard from him. Parents dead before apocolayse.
Sex: Female
Personality profile: Was friendly and upbeat but has became more withdrawn, since the death of her husband. Will still be friendly and chatty but she is avoiding becoming close to people.
Medical History: Is 2 months pregant.
Scars: about 3 running from her knee to foot, still in the middle of healing, recieved it when trying to escape from a small bathroom window from zombies.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mary was sobbing on on the toilets, she knew that most pregant women suffered some light bleeding when pregant, but this was too much, she knew she having a misscarriage. She sobbed quietly feeling the sharp pains and cramps thought her stomach. If she hadn't already lost her faith when her husband died, then this would have been the finally nail on the coffin. She had been bleeding heavily for a week. She hated it, it felt as if the world and nature were taunting her and it was the last conection she had with her husband. Lifting her bag she left the stall.

Walking to the mirror she washed her face, she hadn't told the guys she was pregant, she didn't want them to treat her differently, she sighed taking one last look at her reflection, she looked older, and she noticed the lack of colour in her hair and face. She left the ladies toliets, even though it didn't matter about what toliet she used she always found that she used it, must of been habit.

Walking down the quiet store that she now called home, she smiled meekly at that thought, it looked like a warehouse, yet it was now her home. She couldn't help in find the humour that 2 years ago she took part in the gender discrimination protest against Walmart, and now it was the safest place to be.

Her thoughts were interupted by Chris talking over the P.A "Everyone meeting at customer service. Now" she frowned that didn't sound good, she stopped and grabbed some painkillers on her way, she knew that she shouldn't waste them, but after a week of painful cramps she couldn't stick the grin and bear it. She also doubted the guys would notice one small packet missing. She took two out of the packet and sallowed them dried, throwing the packet in her bag she headed towards customer service.

"What's this about...are they getting in?" Mary made it to the group and they were the first words she was greated with. "Great" she thought, "this idiot is gonna get everyone worked up." She glared at him, sliently telling him to shut up, but she could tell that some people were getting nervous because of the mans question.

This post has been edited by Cornflakes: 06 April 2011 - 11:47 AM

[HarryKantDie]

A voice shook through the building, vibrating off of all of the walls. “A meeting huh?” The halls suddenly lost their lonely feeling as he could hear people walking around in the other shopping areas, tent doors opened and a few children moaned. A few guns could be heard being cocked but other than that it was rather quiet, however total silence was being constantly put out of reach by the children and the other people who were murmuring amongst themselves. Tidus began to drag his weary body towards the tills, where Chris stood, looking under the weather and very tired. A few people yelled out, including a woman who looked rather sickly. The people were now talking loudly together, drowning out the banging on the walls of the mart. “Hey.” Tidus said loudly. “Hey!” People still wouldn’t listening. Turning to one of the metal cabinets the tills rested on, Tidus pulled out his knife and scraped it, creating a large scratching noise that alerted everyone. Tidus put his fingers to his lips and jumped up, using his energetic arms to haul himself up. “Listen, he clearly has something that we need to hear and to be honest, I wanna hear it if it could jeopardize our lives.” Tidus looked at his fellow workmate. “Carry on…”

[Mr. Blonde]

Chris stands, looking over the faces of the survivors, the solemn, weary faces. He looks down at his white T-shirt which has blood stains from Evan's skull coated on it.

"Look, right now, things are good. We're healthy... in a way, we're secure and most importantly, we're alive. But what happens when we're not? Eventually, they'll get in here and when they do, we'd better have a plan to escape. We've been content to just survive here that I don't think--"

A voice calls out from the crowd, "Who the **** put you in charge anyway?!"

Chris looks back at the man who made that statement.

"Nobody. You want to be in charge? Be my guest, all right? You got some kinda master plan for what we have to do?" Chris barked, frustrated with the interruption.

The crowd on onlookers murmur to themselves.

"If you don't like what I have to offer, don't listen to me. I'm not forcing anything on you. Titus and I have known each other a while, here, but if he didn't go along with me, that's his decision and it's yours, too," Chris says. "But, the doors are built to hold. Not forever, but right now, they're ok. We have the roof if we need to make a quick escape. From there, I haven't come up with anything yet, but a zombie was in here. Somehow, it got in. And, if one can get in... they all can get in and we had better be ready to expect it. Questions or thoughts?"

[Heson]

NAME: Butcher Bobby
AGE: 43
WEIGHT & HEIGHT: 314 pounds and 6'3"
PHYSICAL DETAILS: A fat man that looks like he could eat a small baby for breakfast whole. His voice is deep and his laugh is booming. He used to shave his head and keep a beard, but in accordance with saving supplies he's cut back and let his curly brown hair grow out.

EQUIPMENT: Keys to the Wal-Mart Butchery, butcher's knife and cleaver, harmonica

ARSENAL:
MELEE WEAPON: Butcher's knife and cleaver (separate from the ones he prepares the meat with)
Weapon Type: stab/cleaving.
Location on Body: On his butcher's belt.

PERSONAL INFORMATION
DATE OF BIRTH: April 15, 1968
OCCUPATION: Wal-Mart Butcher
FAMILY: his "life partner" was killed in the outbreak and he doesn't know anything about his adopted daughter
SEX: Male
PERSONALITY PROFILE: Butcher Bobby is a homosexual. Getting on in age though he doesn't hit on any of the other guys (minus jokingly), not being interested in forming a relationship like that. His general good nature and friendly additude has made him a sort of father/uncle figure for the group. Bobby has also been a good cook for the group, cooking up meals from items that are about to go bad and making them taste amazing with what he has. Bobby may look mean, but he is a gentle soul and even hesitates to kill undead.
SCARS: He has some scars across his face from being the victim of a hate crime in the past for being gay.

-----------------

Bobby rubbed the head of the little girl and set her down on the ground as the PA rang out. "Now go find your mother Hannah. Uncle Bobby's gotta go yak about stuff with the employees." The girl nodded and ran off, Bobby giving a deep chuckle before making his way over the forming crowd at customer service. He never had much input to give at these meetings, but he attended anyways because they were more important these days. That and was usually the one to talk over the changes with the children if any were made. They were precious souls that needed to be taken care of and needed to be gentle with and Bobby volunteered to do that job because he loved children and they loved him back.

[HarryKantDie]

Tidus coughed arrogantly, the crowd stirred and looked at him, listening closely. “Tidus…my names Tidus.” He spoke with a flare of annoyance in his tone, he was always called Tidus, by his cousin Isaac. What’d happened to him, he was working on a water project up in L.A the last Tidus had heard of him. ‘Hmmm, hope the rest of the family’s alright…’ “Everyone, he has a point, we cannot let ourselves get lazy, right now those things, beasts, horrors of people killed and brought back to life are out there, waiting to feast on you!” Tidus put extra emphasis on the ‘you’. “They will not stop, they will not feel pain, they will not show compassion, they will kill you, that is for sure, we’ve come too far to die, let’s start defending our home!” Suddenly Tidus blushed, he hadn’t been used to speeches like that, although he was proud, dignified even, to have given a speech to about 50 people, it was still a terrible feeling. Turning away, he gazed at the cut that he had put in the metal desk, proud at his achievement. He felt a few eyes on him as he turned and he was correct, a few of the children and older people still stared at him, some in awe and some in misplaced hatred, the blood flushed from Tidus’s face and he looked around, setting his eyes on a sick looking woman. He turned and looked at Chris, leaning in the whisper in his ear. “I think we got an infec’” He said worriedly, turning back to the woman.

[Mr. Blonde]

Chris whispers back in Tidus' ear, "What's her name, Mary, I think? All right, we'll take her somewhere quiet and have a chat with her."

Chris turns and faces the group, "All right, guys, if there's nothing else anybody has to add, we'll say this is meeting adjourned."

Tidus hops off the counter and walks with Chris up to a woman in the group, Mary. Chris signals for Mary to follow the two of them as they walk past. They head to the hallway where the bathrooms are and stand in a small, huddled group.

"Mary, you feeling all right?" Chris asks in an almost accusing voice.

[ZombifiedBrendan]

Corey's hoodie was pulled low over his head, hiding most of the young mans face from the people that stood by him. He was just another figure in the small audience, one neither special or normal. When everybody else murmured as their 'leader' Chris gave his speech. He could over hear the couple beside him saying softly that there was no need to worry, if that one managed to get in, they would have all already managed to get in. Corey saw very little wisdom in the couples words trying to calm eachother and focused on hearing a conversation being taken up by the two brothers infront of him. He could only catch mere glimpses of their conversation but coud make out the words leaving and soon. Corey did a half hearted shrug as he overheard more tiny conversations as people discussed their future. Corey had no real future, the only thing he was here for was to survive a pitiful existance and that's exactly what he planned on doing.

As Chris spoke to the audience before him for the last time, Corey found that he had gained nothing interesting from this 'meeting'. He glared at Chris as he walked away alongside Tidus and towards a woman Corey had seen around the place, pretty in a unique way. The brothers before him spoke again as they also watched Chris leave and out towards the woman who was looking unhealthy. "See James! I told you infection was creeping inside. Look at Mary, we've all seen that before." One of the men infront swayed heavily, an angry and distressfull movement though. "i think you could be right Dale. I'm not liking this at all." The brother who had been identified as James swung his head over his shoulders and looked over to the small frame of Corey. Corey didn't move his eyes as he glared at the man before and recieved a snarl from James. The head eventully turned away and towards the ear of the brother Dale. The lips moved fast and Corey couldn't make out a singe word but he knew what they were saying. Dale gave a quick look to Corey before the two brothers departed from the crowd and dissolved into the aisles of Wal-Mart.

Corey didn't care about them, he hadn't cared for anyone in a long time. As the people began moving away with nothing to say Corey walked slowly off, his head low and his near all black clothes concealing him from the people around.

[Frallon]

Just as swiftly, and intruding, as the meeting had come it finished. A few harsh words, spoken by Titus or Tidus whatever his name was, echoed around Jeffs conscious for a few moments. He glanced around, looking at the people he'd stationed himself with after the long hall across town, and connected the people who seemed shaken to the sentences that were put out before the group; Let ourselves get lazy, people killed, waiting to feast on you, will not stop, they will kill you... Pride wasn't a think swollen amongst the others, they did their part, but at the end of the day everyone was trying to still cope and keep their humanity in check. Saying these things, especially after telling everyone they were no longer safe inside, was irrational and irresponsible.

Taking a look over at Tidus and Chris, the two speakers whom the loathing pep talk had come from, Jeff noticed a woman was being talked down to. He strained over the very edge of the dispersing crowd for a better view, pushing the tip of his cap up word doing so, and noticed with regret the woman in question was being lead away to an isolated area; looking back at the others, already straddling off towards the back of the shop, he saw that no one seemed to care of this matter. Perhaps they'd all seen this sort of thing before, he told himself, assuring he didn't want any part of it.

Letting the 12 gauge drape over his elbow; Jeff pulled a black jacket he wore, out of habit, tightly together and zipped it making sure to tug his cap back down when he was done. No one from the group had left towards the draw ladder that lead to the rooftop hatch, meaning no one was probably on post, and thus if something happened no one would know; the word responsible left a bitter taste on his tongue but if he didn't do it he doubted anyone would. Sliding the 88 loosely across his abdomen, Jeff hoofed towards the employees only section, and worked his way through the back-storage towards the draw ladder to up top.

[Mr. Blonde]

"It's not a big thing," Chris says to Mary, "we just want to be sure that you're okay."

Chris walks away and whispers in Tidus' ear, "Watch out for her..." as he passes. He gives Mary a light, almost brotherly, hug before leaving the area.

He walks out, back to register 11 and opens the cash drawer again and pulls out a bottle of Excedrin which only has six pills left in it. He takes them all at once and swallows them without water. Chris rubs his eyes, obviously tired, but a thought passes through his head. With everyone at the meeting, no one's keeping watch on the roof. Oh, well. "I guess I could do another shift," Chris mutters to himself.

Chris walks back through lawaway and climbs the ladder to the roof. Once there, he sees Jeff keeping watch. He pauses and knows that Jeff's watching so he doesn't have to, but Chris climbs up all the way anyway.

"Hey... Jeff, right? Can I talk to you about something real fast?" Chris asks of the person who's relatively unknown to him. "It's, uh... Well, I'm not much of a leader but I was just wondering what you thought. You know, if I'm ****ing crazy having people get all paranoid or if it's deserved."

[Frallon]

Sun light hit down hard as Jeff opened the hatch to the Wal-Mart roof top. He went blind for a second, having been out of a day shift for the past week, and grabbed on tighter to the ladders bar and the comforts of his 88. Adjusting to the brightness, a whiff of cool air brought his senses calm, and taking a deep breath he ventured the rest of the way to the post. The top of the roof was pretty vacant, just a couple air ducts, the hatch, and a lawn chair seated at the front over an entrance to the store. Pebbles kicked up as he crossed his way behind the chair, coming to the front to prop the 88 against the ledge, and just before he settled to sit down a glance across the parking lot made his skin crawl underneath his jacket.

There weren't just hundreds anymore in front of the store, their numbers had multiplied in the past week, the couple hundred from his last day post had transfigured into easily over a thousand. How much of the town was out front, Jeff wondered sitting down, and how many had he brought there upon his arrival? He wish he knew the town figures, that he'd paid attention every time he drove past the small sign at the edge of town saying the population, because with how things looked outside it made sense that the barricades weren't holding them all. Every crack, every small crawl space, the dead would be pressed skin tight against it and find a way inside. A hand drifted inside a chest pocket on the front of his jacket, rattling around a montage of 12 gauge shells, and making his palms begin to sweat; if the barricades didn't hold they didn't have enough ammunition to hold them off; it would be impossible.

Mr. Blonde, on 06 April 2011 - 05:40 PM, said:

"Hey... Jeff, right? Can I talk to you about something real fast?" Chris asks of the person who's relatively unknown to him. "It's, uh... Well, I'm not much of a leader but I was just wondering what you thought. You know, if I'm ****ing crazy having people get all paranoid or if it's deserved."

Scraping metal from the hatch behind Jeff made him turn sharply and visually greet the presence of the young man, Chris, who looked over a bit dumb founded and pushed the rest of the way up to the roof. The look on the young mans face as he began to speak made Jeff feel uneasy, no one opened up to him, and he spent a lot of his time convincing himself to be content over such phenomenon never occurring again. The way the words formed though, desperate, and filled with emotion like a typical self-absorbed lost generation made a bit of red flicker under Jeffs skin as he thought what to say to such a question.

"Uh," Jeff said clearing his throat not used to the sound of his own voice, "if you ask me, kid, these people don't want to be lead." He took things slow, planning out each word, and searching for truth amongst this thoughts that would be hopefully received. "They don't need a leader, I don't need a leader, what we need is a system people agree on, and to try and beckon people to keep this place safe, find some things they could do around here, keep them busy; let them do their part. Everyone wants that, everyone needs that, instead of just staying here waiting to die and listening to these talks that's supposed to help us, when really they don't do anything." He swallowed the words hard and nodded off back to the parking lot. "We need ammunition, not orders, but you were right about one thing this morning; we need a plan." More could be said, but for now he'd given what was asked of him, and more wasn't remotely a possibility.

This post has been edited by Frallon: 06 April 2011 - 06:40 PM

[Mr. Blonde]

"Maybe I should've just killed myself right after all this started," Chris joked, with a sick desperation in his voice. "Thanks for taking this shift, though. I don't know if I could've made it through it again so soon."

Chris shakes Jeff's hand and crawls back down the ladder into the store. He pulls the pack of Luckies and the lighter out and lights himself another cigarette.

"You should've done it, Chris. Deifintely should have," Chris murmurs to himself on his way back to the registers.