Arkcher

Post 1.1.3 “Just hang in there, Dustin… This is your chance to shine!” Dustin Redden reassured himself over again, determinedly carrying out his task of law enforcement in directing traffic at a major intersection in Canon. Five o’clock in the evening, the brilliant sun seemed to be struggling to stay above the horizon, as if to just keep the unbearable heat on Dustin. Not a cloud to be found in the sky. Dustin’s heavy uniform wasn’t helping the matter, either. Much of the city was in a panicked upheaval with the presence of “zombies.” Some obscure sickness that eventually affects the way that people think, causing people to label the diseased as zombies. Citizens transporting their sick to another location, others packing up and moving out of town to get away from it, but most of them are just disturbed by their violent behavior. After clearing out several collisions from this intersection, the Canon Police Department put Constable Redden in the middle of it to regulate traffic. A good idea, under normal circumstances. Dustin was almost completely out of breath from blowing in his whistle- moreover, nobody heard it clearer than he did. It was growing more difficult to tell which direction car horns were sounding from, Dustin’s ears were almost constantly ringing from the frequent, intense use of his whistle. “Just hold on… Hang in there!” Dustin reminded himself. He was at the rank of constable, but knew police regulation inside and out. If he performed well, this may be an opportunity to turn his reputation around. Dustin was confident in his own ability, but not in the demeanor of the entirety of Canon’s citizens all in a panic. A series of noises caught Dustin’s attention- Screeching tires, car horns blaring, one loud metal crunch after another; a careless driver, coming east on Fifth street, had apparently failed to slow down in time and ran in to the stopped cars at the intersection, pushing one car in to the other, ultimately forcing a small SUV out in to moving north-bound traffic. The luggage and items stowed on top of the SUV broke free of their restraints and spilled all across the road, with one piece of equipment impacting another car’s windshield, causing the driver to panic and swerve in to other vehicles. In a short few seconds, any scrap of order or organization completely collapsed. Dustin signaled for all traffic to stop as he rushed across the broken glass to the six-car pileup. The sound of engines revving behind Dustin indicated that impatient drivers took Dustin’s temporary absence to mean that they were free to proceed unregulated. “Station six, this is Redden at Fifth and Belt Line. The whole situation just had a meltdown, I count seven collisions, and other drivers seem to disregard any signals given to them. I need more men out here, and I need them now!” Dustin commanded through the radio at his side, still waving his hands to get the attention of oncoming drivers. “Understood, Redden. I’m sending a squad your way. Weaver out.” Station control responded back shortly, dispatching an unspecified number of policemen out to the scene. Dustin surveyed over the damaged vehicles, seeing a small number of idle bodies, one or two sentient people watching him anxiously, and a few more people violently trashing around inside the overturned cars. Hesitating, Dustin realized that he may get a more intimate exposure to these so-called zombies than he had anticipated. Nonverbally, Dustin decided to address those vehicles at a later time, justifying that they might calm down with time. Following procedure as ever, he begins helping people escape their overturned cars, occasionally turning his attention back to his whistle to halt further traffic. Not two minutes had passed before the distinct sound of police sirens could be heard. “At last,” Dustin thought to himself. “Backup. We can get this situation under control with greater numbers…” His thought was interrupted by his radio’s earpiece, Station Control calling back out to him. “Constable Redome, what’s your status?” “Still at Fifth and Belt Line, holding the fort until that squad gets here. I can hear their sirens approaching, shouldn’t be long.” “Redden, I’ve been asked to call you back to Station Four as soon as your replacements arrive.” “Replacements? I didn’t ask for replacements, I need help getting this situation under control! I can do it, just not by myself!” “The order still stands, Constable.” “… Understood.” Dustin responded, with a more negative tone of voice than he had anticipated using. As soon as he had finished this response, he turned his attention to the surrounding streets and saw several squad cars evading traffic by driving across curbs and sidewalks, stopping in formations in the intersection with numerous policemen exiting the vehicles. “So soon? Weren’t you doing something else beforehand?” Dustin remarked, surprised at the almost immediate response to his call for backup. “Constable, I’ve been asked to send you back to Station Four-“ “Yes, I know.” Dustin snapped back at the other policeman, who stood considerably taller with a physically fit body and higher rank in law enforcement. The two stared at each other for a moment, before Dustin complied with his orders, angrily striding back to his unmarked constable car. Dustin watched with distaste toward the replacement squad who was immediately handling the overturned vehicles, while others regulated traffic. That was the position he had intended to fill, not constable. Dustin’s tasks mainly consisted of handling paperwork, court escorts, answering phone calls, and coordinating other policemen who actually got to get out and handle their task of law enforcement directly. Choosing not to linger, Dustin followed the eastbound traffic back toward Station Four. Hoping to rekindle his passion for law enforcement, Dustin turns on the police radio in his car. Various verbal exchanges and reports took place, only agitating Dustin more, as his rank would not allow him to directly influence peoples’ lives, rather passively regulate from a distance. Such a tactic was not how Dustin’s train of thought operated- He solved problems by addressing them, not by manipulating them. Dustin twisted the volume knob to the "off" position on the radio, and grabbed the steering wheel harshly, before deciding to seek something outside the vehicle to occupy his mind. The only people who were out on the streets looked fairly ill. All of them had slightly paler skin, with a majority of them just standing still, looking at their feet. Others were staggering around, in a way that looked like they didn’t know where they were going, but making a strong effort to just stand up straight. Undeniably, something was wrong with them, but… if they were mindless “zombies”, why were they not attacking each other, or their surroundings? They seem to have the mental capacity to stay on the sidewalk, not in the street. Presumably, any citizens who were not infected were just hiding, or else in their cars, ramming each other in main intersections. Dustin’s train of thought was interrupted by his cell phone ringing. He hesitated, and slowly pulled the phone out of his pocket, checking the caller ID. Cursing to himself, he watched the road for a moment before answering the incoming call. “This is Redden.” “Constable Redden?” “Reporting in.” Dustin rolled his eyes. “This is Chief Tapper, down in Orgonth. Canon’s Station Four redirected me to this number to contact you.” Dustin had almost expected Station Four to send him back to Fifth and Belt Line. Still, getting a call from such a dignified city as Orgonth was rare. “What can I do for you, Tapper?” “I understand that there are some vacancies over there in your county penitentiary? We have a… problematic individual over here on our end, but don’t have the means to hold him down until a court hearing.” Dustin sighed. “Yes sir, we do have a few… spaces open.” “Now, understand that this individual we have… He has quite a few convictions, he’d be lucky to not get a life sentence out of this. His criminal record has to be six inches thick, we’ve been trying to lock him up, but he manages to get a bail.” “I’ll send a notification their way. Client’s name?” Chief Tapper paused, enough time for him to check over some papers. “Stanley Isaac Nielson.” “Note taken. Anything else I can do for you?” Dustin asked politely, as he drove past some policemen on a foot-pursuit. He hadn’t even been told it was happening. “Actually, yes. As would be expected of convicts to get a life sentence, Stanley here is taking it pretty hard. As a ‘last request’, he’s asking for a religious pastor to meet him there.” “Last rites? That usually only happens for convicts on death row…?” “Yeah, I know. I told him that I couldn’t guarantee anything, especially since the penitentiary is out of our district. Figured I’d ask.” “No, no, I… I know a guy. I’ll give this pastor a call.”

[whoops, forgot to italicize some text in the last entry. Use your imagination.] Post 1.1.2 Stanley Nielson knew the back alleyways of Orgonth Colorado very well. Sticking to the shadows was easy to do between large apartment complexes, the evening sun wouldn’t reach him here. After a few more turns, he would be able to blend in with the crowds downtown in their rush to get home from work. Stan resituated the backpack he kept close. Suspiciously, he turned around to check if he was being followed. Not ten minutes earlier, he had done something he wasn’t proud of but had no other choices. He saw a man in an expensive-looking business suit standing in one of the alleyways, apparently waiting for someone else to arrive. Stan was able to smooth-talk the man for a short time, before getting physical- The man was now in a crumpled, bruised heap inside a dumpster, and Stan has the backpack that the man was carrying. Stan knew he couldn’t hold down a job with his criminal record as it was. He’s stuck in this rut of crime after crime to keep himself alive. As expected, the man he robbed had quite a sum of cash, supposedly to make a blackmarket purchase. “Last time I’ll do that. I’ve got to turn around after this.” Stan thought to himself, before realizing these words were very, very familiar. He had promised himself this more than just once before. Maybe it was the appeal of the adrenaline rush that made this lifestyle so enjoyable? Without allowing himself to get too distracted, Stan considered where he was ten years ago, and where he thought he would be now. Wife, two kids, modest home, white-picket fence, maybe a job as an accountant in a bank or something. The closest he’s come to that is occasional sexual assault, another thing he swore he’d never do again but lost control of his impulses. Look where he is now- mugging people just to get from one day to the next. How else could he hope to put food on the… “table?” Downtown was in sight. Cars passing by, small crowds passing by on the sidewalks. Stan slowed his stride, hoping to decrease his heart rate and breathe slower, as to not look suspicious. Standing on the corner of the tall buildings, his wild eyes scanned the scenery, a wicked smile slowly spreading across his dirty face. His heart rate was getting higher. His adrenaline was so high, the thought of getting away with another misdemeanor, making such a clean escape- He couldn’t calm down after thinking about it. Stan withdrew himself back in to the shadows, took off the backpack and leaned against the brick wall, slowly sliding down in to a sitting position, hands covering his face. How much further could he be from the dream he once had? What would it take to remove his… addiction to crime, the rush of being chased, tension of mistrust… The thought of leaving it all behind almost scared him; this was his life. Footsteps. He couldn’t tell who or where, but Stan distinctly heard footsteps… here in this alleyway, not out on the sidewalk. Subconsciously, he places his left hand on the ground near the backpack, ready to inconspicuously get up and leave with the pack if need be. Someone had seen him. “Is that…?” “Yeah.” Still staring blankly ahead, Stan heard the footsteps become two sets as their pace quickened. Judging by the muffled sound of metal clinking, thick clothing and heavyweight strides, Stan determined that he was being followed by policemen. Stan’s heart jumped, and before he knew it, the all-too-familiar wicked smile had come back. He was looking forward to the pursuit that would soon come. The city noise, chatter of people and car engines humming all seemed to quiet down for a short moment- just enough time for Stan to assess his surroundings. His hand was in a puddle of unidentified fluid, which was not present near his feet- he would not slip on the ground when trying to escape. No crowds or groups of people immediately nearby- Stan would have to try to hide his identity and get as far away from his pursuers as possible. Drawing ever closer, he probably couldn’t afford the extra weight of whatever was in the backpack he had stolen. Stan would have to leave it behind. His last-second plan was executed with precision. His filthy hand splashed whatever pollutant across his face as he leaned forward and pushed off the ground with his legs, he was up and running in less than one second. The pursuers were shouting something, but Stan had other things to concentrate on that took precedence over eavesdropping. Stan turned sharply to the left, analyzing his surroundings as they sped by, and recognized a downtown café that he once tried to get a job at- he knew the interior of this upscale diner fairly well. Stan grabbed the door handle as he zoomed by, using his momentum to rip it open as he dashed inside- the door smashed against the outside glass wall and shattered it. Not slowing down, Stan sprinted through the dining area, ignoring the disapproving shouts of staff and customers as he made his way toward the kitchen, and rammed it open with his shoulder. Another staff member immediately behind the door was knocked to the ground along with whatever dish he or she was carrying- the intruder dodged countertops and stoves as he ran through, ended up pushing open the back doors where trucks load supplies, and Stan sprinted through the back alleyways once more. Not much time passed before Stan was back on the main downtown streets- He looked from one direction to another, trying to decide the best place to run to. His train of thought was broken by a passing police car’s siren- Stan watched the car slow down to turn around, before deciding which direction to go. Another rush of adrenaline, the bittersweet anticipation of being chased with such high risk came back. Stan ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction of the pursuing policemen, lacking any real destination. Stan soon realized he had left the sidewalk and was running in to oncoming traffic- A civilian’s car horn alerted Stan of its presence. Reacting in the short time given, Stan jumped up, landed on the car’s hood and continued his sprint. A loud crashing noise indicated that a police car had collided with another vehicle. Involuntarily, Stan smiled once more. He knew that this was wrong, but he was enjoying it. Stan made a sharp turn to the left around a corner, excitedly scanning the scenery for a large group of people to hide in. Usually this part of downtown was busy at this time of day. Running various scenarios through his mind as he ran, Stan decided to examine the inside of businesses for groups of people. He sped past a bank with tinted windows. A gift shop- windows too small to take the time to check through. Something caught his eye as he passed another window- this one was another diner. Stan grabbed at an indented pillar in the city’s architecture to help stop his momentum as he stopped to turn around, and pushed open the door to the Diner. A small group of business associates were on their way out. Stan “politely” held the door open for them, holding his breath in attempt to hide his panting. After the group exited, Stan closed the door and carefully slipped behind the group, standing up straight, walking at a steady pace alongside the businessmen. “There he is!” Stan heard a voice shout behind him, but did not flinch. Staring straight ahead, he listened for what would happen next. Footsteps grew louder and closer as another policeman pursued after Stan, who ducked and ran just in time to avoid being tackled to the ground- The chase was on again. He sprinted across a corner of the city park, seeing tall buildings visible about a hundred feet away. “Cars can’t fit in these narrow alleyways,” Stan thought to himself. Making another turn, he disappeared in between tall apartment complexes. Straight ahead was another road- more opportunities to hide. Stan’s smile faded as a police car blocked the alley’s exit. Stan turned around to see the same thing- he was trapped. Thinking fast, he saw a collapsible staircase fire escape for one of the apartment buildings- Stan ran straight toward the brick wall, placing his worn shoes on the vertical surface and pushed himself upward as far as he could before jumping backward- Stan reached high, only about one meter from his target. He landed, spotted a large aluminum dumpster, and dashed over to it, scrambled on top and made another attempt at his unlikely escape. Barely touching the rusted structure, Stan had just enough surface area to curl his fingers around and support his own weight while bringing down the collapsible staircase. A loud slam- the stairs hit the pavement, Stan scurried up as fast as he could, causing the mechanism to retract upward, preventing any followers. One level after another- Stan made his was higher and higher, seeing policemen congregate down below. Stan tried to open a nearby door in to the apartments- it was locked. Stan punched it out of frustration and continued climbing up a few floors. The next door was locked. As was the next one. This fire escape did not lead to the roof. As high as the rusty appendage would take him, Stan watched with dread as more and more policemen gathered in the alleyway. Stan looked out at the streets, multiple police cars blocking each exit. Stan finally realized where he was- This apartment building had been abandoned for years. The fire exits were not just locked, they were sealed. “No… No! … NO!” Stan shouted in frustration, sinking to his knees, defeated. He was trapped. Only a matter of time before he would be walking back down “with your hands behind your head.”

[When I say a week or two, I really mean about three months. Something about a full-time job and relocating for the umpteenth time took precedence over writing things.] [A preview for this here story can be found over here. Quick reminder for how this'll go down- updates will come in waves, at least for the next few updates, as the same events have to be told from perspectives of different people as they happen at the same time, and continuity is a good thing. So the first installment of story is introducing characters, second installment is getting four people in to one group, third will be focused on just throwing them out of their natural habitat. We'll now proceed to that point.] Post 1.1.1 “Well, look on the bright side of things…” Emily Hummel comments to her friend, Callie, as they stood in a poorly kept single-file line among many others inside the Canon Colorado High School gymnasium. “We don’t have any homework assignments for today.” “What did you say?” Callie responded, unable to hear over the loud chatter of the crowd around them. “No homework today!” Emily repeats herself, speaking louder. Only a few meters away stood the medical examination stations, mostly composed of large white curtains where school teachers and staff awaited to individually check each student for an epidemic disease. This was a disease which was a big enough problem to halt all normal school routines in order to dedicate a majority of the day to screening students who had traces of a virus that supposedly caused internal hemorrhaging. “This sure was thought out well. Put all 3,000 students in one enclosed, poorly ventilated room so they can all breathe on each other while we check who’s sick and who isn’t.” Callie thought out loud. “I read that it’s supposed to be waterborne, so only the… low-income students will be screened out. You know, the ones who end up drinking unfiltered tap water all the time?” Emily replies, checking her cell phone for messages. “And suddenly the overall cosmetic condition of the school improves dramatically, now that we have an excuse to kick out all the pot-heads.” Emily smiles slyly, glancing around the room, able to point out at least four students in the short view of this crowd, who were guilty of drug abuse. They didn’t look happy about a medical examination coming. “It’s about time, too.” Another student gets beckoned behind the curtains of the medical exams. Emily realizes that there is too much noise from the crowd to eavesdrop to find out what the process was, or the results of this particular student. Moreover, the single-file lines were so poorly kept that if Emily were to move too far to peek ahead, she may lose her place. Just because the lines were sorted by the first letter of the students’ last name didn’t keep people from banding together as friends. Emily was no exception to this rebellious behavior, she realizes, as she slowly steps forward in to the vacant space in front of her with Callie nearby. “Oh, here we go! ‘Zombie Infection Originates from Africa, officials say.’ Because they’re right about everything, you know?” Callie was reading internet news headlines aloud from her own cell phone. “Or maybe this one- ‘Sign of the times: Infection is call to repentance.’” Callie snorted, truly not caring where this supposed infection came from. “I haven’t seen any evidence of this infection being real. I just think it’s a widespread excuse to stay home sick, you know? If enough people do it, then everyone else will panic and make some conspiracy theory about zombies. I haven’t seen any. None on the news on TV. Schools only run shows like this so that parents will calm down.” “You don’t think it will escalate in to a problem here at all?” Emily asks, primarily for the sake of conversation. Callie pauses for a moment before turning back to her phone. “Nah, we’re some obscure town in Colorado. Nobody cares about Colorado. Nobody travels through here to bring in a new disease even if it existed. Worst case scenario is that we’ll filter out some kids with a high fever or something.” “I’m not so sure, myself…” Again, Emily speaks her mind to no specific recipient. She stands up straighter, craning her neck to get a visual estimation of how many people were occupying this gym. A good majority of the students were enthusiastically chatting among themselves, a small number looked nervous and uncomfortable with the idea of medical examination. A few were entertaining themselves with a media player, but a sparse group stood out- several dozen students truly looked ill. They weren’t talking to anything. They weren’t listening to music. They were either staring straight ahead or down at their feet, crossing their arms, balance swaying back and forth. “Looks like I’m next up. … After this guy.” Callie brings Emily’s attention back by pointing out their position in line. One of the football players disappears behind the curtain with Mr. Walters, a Biology teacher. Callie sighs, standing up straight, mentally readying herself for whatever was to come. “Well, how are you feeling today?” Emily tries to mimic Mr. Walters’ deep, friendly voice with his overused trademark question. “Fine, Mr. Walters.” Callie jokingly retorts, also in an exaggerated voice. “I’m not a zombie. Can I go now?” Emily quietly laughs at Callie’s simulated demeanor in response, and continues mimicking their instructor. “Are you sure? You haven’t felt the urge to…. To bite people and eat their brains?” “Well there’s this one boy…” Callie breaks out of character, smiling widely. “Ssshh!” Emily puts her hand over Callie’s mouth to prevent her from finishing this statement. Both of them look at their immediate surroundings, before spotting the subject of their discussion, Matthew Harper, barely visible from a gap between students in the line adjacent to Emily. The two girls look at each other again, smiling shyly. “Callie Poole!” Mr. Walters’ voice calls for the next student in line. “Oh!” Callie organizes her possessions, adjusts her blond hair, and proceeds behind the curtain with Mr. Walters. Emily sees the football player that had gone through moments before, walking next to the wall, slouched over and looking upset, apparently about his medical screening results. Emily’s imagination wandered, briefly recalling Mr. Walters’ lessons on biology, and hearing about infectious diseases and parasites that are so small, being able to bring down massive vertebrae. Watching a physically fit and healthy sports player’s countenance change, imagining a microscopic infection bring him down… made the potential of infection very real. This was not some science fiction movie where the brilliant scientist makes the cure in spite of all odds against him, this is… a dormant condition that could strike any minute and almost kill someone in less than an hour, in some instances. A student in another line coughs loudly. Emily subconsciously turns to look at him, as he quickly recovers his composure and clears his throat politely, then turning from side to side to check if anyone was staring at him. Emily could see him move his hand up and down his throat as if it was bothering him. With a sigh, he removes his hand, uncovering his slightly swollen neck with a pink discoloration on his throat. Emily unintentionally gawks at him, imagining what would cause that condition, and what it must feel like. “Emily!” Callie calls to her friend, waving. The two make eye contact, Callie walking briskly along the wall just as the football player had, smiling and giving a thumbs-up to Emily. Emily smiled and waved back in acknowledgement and steps through the curtains with Mr. Walters. “Emily Hummel! How are you feeling today?” Mr. Walters’ warm, deep voice greets her, as he peers through a cheap pair of reading glasses, checking information on a clipboard. “I’m… well off enough, thanks for asking.” Mr. Walters paused as he sorted through the papers before him. “Emily, you have an interesting medical record. You’ve been taking your medications regularly?” “Yes, I have. If I ever forget, I get a terribly sore throat and have difficulty breathing, so… That keeps me in line!” Emily smiles, honestly stating the only motivation she has to take her prescribed medications. “Now, interestingly enough, Emily, your medical records here indicate suspiciously similar symptoms to the very same disease we’re looking for.” Mr. Walters stated, looking at her over his spectacles. Emily frowned. “Really? … I’ve had this medical condition for… what, six years now? So unless everyone else in the school has the exact same condition and just kept it a secret for so long, I mean…” Slightly flustered, Emily tried thinking of an explanation for this similarity. “No, no, I assure you that your condition is fairly unique.” Mr. Walters flipped through some of the papers he had, scribbling something indecipherable on the clipboard. “I’ll make note of this, and look for more information later. I have… plenty of other students waiting for their examination, and I haven’t even started on yours.” Again, he shuffles through papers, and begins filling a form. “What exactly is it that you’re screening for? I’ve heard some unbelievable stories about some kind of sickness running around in other countries that makes people act like zombies or something.” Emily asks, still not clear on what the purpose of this examination was. Mr. Walters pulls out an infrared thermometer and scans Emily’s forehead with it. “I’ll tell you here in just a moment…” His usual cheerful attitude was not present. Emily wasn’t used to seeing his bushy brown beard not smiling. “Well then, how was Callie?” Emily asks, trying to keep on a conversation to avoid awkward silence. Mr. Walters hesitates. “Honestly, Emily, I’m not allowed to tell you.” Again he makes eye contact, but still, his stern countenance denotes that not all was well. Emily nods understandingly. Mr. Walters continues scribbling in notes on his clipboard, before pulling out a breathalyzer. “Alright, just like the ones cops use!” Emily exclaims, trying to shed some light on to the situation. Mr. Walters nods, smiling patiently. “Alright, I need you to take a deep breath, and exhale in to this opening.” Mr. Walters motions to the holes in the electronic device, Emily doing as she is told. After watching the readings, Mr. Walters takes the device away, removing the mouthpiece to sterilize it. Wordlessly, he makes more notes on his clipboard, Emily growing uncomfortable. “Just one more test to run, Emily…” “So, am I a zombie yet?” Emily asks jokingly, unable to shake the feeling that the past three tests did not give satisfactory results. “One more test, just to be sure.” Mr. Walters tried to reassure her with the possibility of cleanliness. He pulled out another electronic device that looked like a diabetic glucose meter. “Hold out your arm for me…” He instructed, taking Emily’s wrist and placing the pointed end of the device near her elbow. After a quick, subtle pricking sensation, a small blood sample was taken. Emily’s breath quickened, watching Mr. Walters give a sigh of disappointment, and turn back to his clipboard. “Am I alright? What does it say?” Emily demanded more forcefully than she had intended. “I’m sorry, Emily.” Mr. Walters took off his reading glasses, and looked her in the eyes. “Four out of four tests were positive. You, too, have a dormant infection somewhere inside you.” In a steadily growing panic, Emily’s breath quickened again, heart and mind racing. “No… No, No there has to be something… wrong…” Emily’s mind began welling up with fairly unpleasant conjecture. She expected tears to come to her eyes, but instead panicked after hearing that she has an incurable disease. “You must be seeing the… the other condition that I’ve had! I’ve had similar symptoms for years, you said that! You said it yourself, are you 100% sure that this is…?” “By all indications, Emily…” Mr. Walters sighed. “Yes. You have traces of a virus that is capable of causing fatal internal hemorrhaging. Now listen to me, Emily.” Mr. Walters puts both hands on Emily’s shoulders, keeping her attention. She instantly calmed down, but her breath did not regulate. “Like I said earlier, I can’t tell you… if any other students have this disease. The last thing we want is for anyone to find out that you do.” Frowning, Emily looks at a small gap between the curtains at the hundreds of students waiting for their examination. “Look at me, this is important.” Emily swallowed, still uncomfortable, but looked back at Mr. Walters. “Physically, you have a medical condition that we don’t have the cure for yet. It will come. Mentally…” He pauses for emphasis. “You are clean. I want you to walk out of here with a confident stride as if nothing is wrong. You and I both know that high school kids will handle the presence of an infected student with extreme prejudice. Lie. Do not tell anyone, don’t let on that you’re infected. Sit tight and wait for the cure to come, and it will come.” Emily realized that her friend Callie had a knack for hiding her feelings and putting on a happy face to cover up emotional hurt inside. After Callie’s examination, she walked out with an enthusiastic, confident stride. Was she infected, too? “Trust no one with this information. Just put on an act until things calm down. You can do it.” Emily nodded in acknowledgement. “Now, I’ll give you as much time as you need to collect yourself, get your composure so that you can walk out of here confidently.” “… Okay. Thanks.” Emily nodded, trying to sort out her thoughts and control herself. “Water?” Mr. Walters pulls out a bottle of water with an unfamiliar label. Emily shakes her head, not feeling comfortable with the presence of a water-borne disease. “Triple-filtered. Guaranteed clean water.” He read from the label to reassure her. Still, she turned it down. “No thanks, I’m… I’m good.” Emily stated with a nod and half-smile as she stands up straight, locates the nearest exit and follows in the same direction Callie did, walking with confidence and a bright smile on her face. She pushes the double-doors open, the brilliant noon-day sunlight temporarily blinding her.

get excited, yall. I have an outline written for a super zombie-showdown with four survivors all of whom have changed from conception, as to make their travesties more interesting. Also as they interact, there will be zombie-related challenges thrown at them so its got more balance of apocalyptic nightmare that isn't especially scary, and personalities clashing with each other. As the outline goes, it's divided in to three different parts or sections or chapters, and I'll probably post each of these three segments one at a time. I haven't written anything in a long time, and now I've taken some English classes so it should flow a lot better than previous attempts. :V Cramming this in to an awkward schedule isn't something I'm used to. (when you grow up, people like expect you to be responsible for yourself. Silly societal protocols.) So expect the introductory first-of-three parts of this here story in a week or two. To give you an idea of how long things might take, as of today I'm about 1/4 through the Intro, and it's 7 pages. Updates will be few and far between, but worth it (hopefully).

MERRY BIRTHMAS BERRY MIRTHMAS

o: i've been there before What was your impression? :x well it's been a few years. Reminded me of San Antonio's riverwalk, which is pretty awesome.

o: i've been there before

y'all should sort this stories forum by number of replies. there's some meaningful stuff in here. also bumping this 'cause Katman can't keep track of time.

bamp. should this thread be revived or remade from scratch?

I have a pretty great keyboard. Just thought I'd let you guys know.

:c I stop by HD every other day and there's usually like 2 threads that ever get updated. Best Friends of Horatio and MK's latest creation. maaaaan. there used to be like 3 pages of new threads back in the day. so I'm non-concomitantly committing to start writing some more stories and get some traffic through here by way of them search engine bots. it'll be pretty great.

So, in the speculation stage of making this super-awesome zombie apocalypse story I mentioned, I've almost been overwhelmed by the number of possibilities and options that it could go in. Right now, this story has the only "good" set of characters that I've come up with- which is to say that as the story progresses, you learn more of their history and what they were like before this zombie incident, and at the same time see their personalities change as they cope with the challenges thrown at them. So I've incorporated some actual development instead of just an attention-getting set of characters that don't change. But such to the extent that this is more of a story about these four people working together, character development and long backstories, "oh by the way here's some zombies". This apocalyptic incident is no longer the focal point. It's just an excuse to stick these four goons together and watch them adapt. So. What do you think? Should things stay the way they are, watch characters work together in the adversity of zombies? should these characters be developed in a different setting? should a new set of characters be stuck in a zombie apocalypse? don't have enough information to make a decision? does this need its own thread?

o: WHOOOOAAAA

Well this was like, several months ago. So you only kinda-sorta missed out. but still, I havent seen HK for some time. :c

Just out of curiosity, when was the last time anyone heard from HK? :c

bamp

D: All these old-fashioned analog paper screens aren't working for me.

o: duuuuude I don't remember when it was, but that reminded me of a Hitchcock movie called The Lady Vanishes. Its not so much a horror story as it is a mystery-solving, light-hearted suspense. I enjoyed it.

whoops, typo'd. that one movie was War of the Worlds, not words. I reposted this on another forum, for the sake of a wider demographic, but i mentioned there and not here that one of the intentions of posting this is to get ideas for stories to write that have the aforementioned balance of your fear and realism so that it holds your attention (supposing that you have a train of thought similar to mine). Also Kat: sounds like you might enjoy the Silent Hill series. Its not so much bloody and scary as it is a crazy psychological trip. I can only get like 30 minutes in to SH2 :c its pretty crazy.

Probably just a phase in adolescence, but I've noticed that I developed a strong interest in stories that I find frightening. Not so much for the sake of being scared, but if the story has the right balance of credibility and novelty, then I find it interesting. At the same time, a story with the right balance of frightful thrills and comfortably familiar situations grasp my attention like nothing else. For instance, one of my biggest fears is anarchy. I hate the idea of society falling apart, laws not being enforced, and as such people running uncontrollably rampant- constantly defending yourself from other people and their views on things- Nothing will stop them from running at you with an axe with the intent to kill you. You get the idea. [slight tangent- a few years ago when the "War of the Words" movie was released with Tom Cruise being himself in it... The omnipotent aliens didnt scare me nearly as much as the riot. If you saw it, you may remember the scene where they try driving their van through a crowd of people to escape a riot, but they end up being overrun, they have to pull out firearms to defend themselves in close-quarters, almost lose members of their family, and do end up losing their car and firearms so they could escape with their lives. That scene really spooked me. Not the scary aliens, but a mob of people.] I've noticed that a Zombie Apocalypse scenario is a good balance of anarchy and order, so that its thrilling enough to keep my attention, but not to the intensity that I won't enjoy reading about it. If they're just "undead, cant be stopped, eat your brain" classic zombies, thats terribly unrealistic and loses my attention pretty quickly. If they're still alive, maybe by way of viral infection or disease or otherwise, their judgment and rationality has been corrupted to the point where they act like mindless zombies is the right balance of realism and far-fetched fiction. As such, I've been throwing together a story about a zombie apocalypse scenario, and i'm thoroughly enjoying it. So my question to you is... What do you consider frightening? If it was balanced properly, would it grasp your attention and you would want to read about it? Do you have a fear that could be written in to a story? I don't like horror movies very much, they're never paced right, always too fast or too slow. Horror-based video games tell a story at the pace you choose, but you're seeing it the way someone else imagines it. A horror story can be paced to your comfort (or discomfort, depending on how gripping the story is) and its only limited by your own imagination, as vivid or fake as you make it. Discuss.

I'm such a dweeb 5+ years ago. :B

HAPPY SINGLES AWARENESS DAY :B im not so much concerned about fitting in with everyone else, having a valentine, but everyone moaning and groaning and complaining about how lonely they are on V-day makes me rage. I stayed home and played Wii Sports Resort with my dad. He didn't quite figure out how to do the frisbee games.

bamp. I dont think Horatio ever did his yet.

Grandpa tried using the microwave again :c

I just wanted to make sure nothing made me miss having a post here for your birthday. Happy Official Birthday today! And it all worked out in the end. Yay birthday.