I think our goals for this particular blog should be thus:
1. It should be a research resource, as well as a place to post ideas and ask questions.
2. To that end, what should be posted are character bios, a timeline(s) for different events/the whole story, creature descriptions, and any ideas or questions that would affect the story as a whole.
3. I'm deleting all our old stuff. It's not doing us any good on the blog, and we all have hard copies. This is a new story, it needs to be started from scratch.
4. This is a new story. The problem with the old story was that we handled everything like experts. we were kings and queens of the zombie apocalypse. in this one things need to be hard. the only thing that is off limits to do is to kill one of the 4 main characters (us). The rest is fair game. maiming is okay, as long as it gets discussed first.
5. Shoot 'em in the head.
-Doug
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
2 things
One, i think we need to dump all our old shit. forget about it, move past it, make a new story.
Two, i have creature descriptions for you.
Creature Description: Crawler.
A crawler is what most people think of when they think zombie. It is a reanimated human that moves with slow, jerky movements; as though controlled by a puppet string, or a force outside of the body itself. Crawlers are older living dead, often showing signs of extreme decay and age. Crawlers have poor motor capability and are incapable of climbing up stairs, though they can crawl up them
and rise to their feet after the climb.
However, these limitations are not to imply that this particular variety of zombie is not dangerous. They remain strong, and if they grab you their grip will remain quite vigorous as they try to take a bite out of you. They, like regular zombies, are only killed with a headshot.
Description: Crawlers are zombies that have greater than 3 weeks of being dead. Their skin is decaying, old battle wounds are widening, weak parts of the body that stress is being put on are becoming more noticeable. For example, if a crawler was shot in the kneecap during its first week of infection, I.E., when it’s in the runner stage, then the damaged kneecap, since it is a part of the body that is used frequently, will become more and more damaged as the crawler uses it with no regard for its maintenance. Since the zombie feels no pain, indeed, since the zombie also does not heal, then the limb will be used past its breaking point. Within a period of days or weeks the joint will become so damaged that it will simply snap from overuse. It is uncommon to see crawlers without such gaping, bloodless injuries.
Typical crawler description: Middle aged man, with what used to be black hair, now turned grey by dust and other debris. Graying, sagging flesh, with wide milky white staring eyes. His fingers are torn to shreds from trying to claw his way out of a room he was locked in. the fingernails are bent back and torn and you can see bits of bone poking through the flesh of his digits. His teeth, too, are shattered into a torn and terrifyingly bloodless maw from gnashing his teeth together in undead hunger. He is dressed in what look to be bedclothes: a white t shirt with, dirty, graying whitey tighties. The left arm is hanging at an odd angle, as it’s half torn off his body, a casualty of his rough escape through the broken door of the room he was locked in.
Creature Description: Runner.
Newly reanimated dead. They have not yet taken on the characteristics of a dead person. Their skin is still roughly the same color as it was before death. Their never blinking eyes are not yet glazed over by the constant dust rubbing against their retinas. In fact, the only real way to tell a runner from the average human is the incoherent scream it emits when running towards you at top speed.
That, and the massive body trauma that usually indicates contact with the undead. Like blood EVERYWHERE, or missing limbs, or torn out throats. You know, stuff that indicates, RUN FOR YOUR FUCKING LIFE! I’M GONNA EAT YOUR SOUL!!!
Runners are vicious, desperate creatures that more resemble addicts than the living dead. They need living flesh like a drug. Runners are the most dangerous of the types of the living dead simply because they have the most energy. They are no more tenacious than any of the other types, but their physical capabilities make them a force to be reckoned with.
Example encounter with Runner:
I turned the corner and came upon three of them feasting on a freshly killed corpse. A fat guy, with his bulk, he never stood a chance, a Glock 44 was clutched in his left hand, the slide racked back and empty.
I silently cursed my luck, Runners, because of their nature of screaming and chasing prey, usually inadvertently attracted more Runners, causing them to group together in packs. One screaming monster charging you at breakneck speed is terrifying enough, but when an entire gang of them comes at you… well, it’s hard NOT to shit your pants.
I glanced behind me, I’d just lost the last set of Z’s and I couldn’t go back the way I came. I vaguely weighed the value of about forty crawlers versus three runners with the element of surprise. Taking out the runners won out… barely.
Well, I could probably take two out before they could get up and start charging… I silently unfolded the bi-pod on my rifle and squatted in preparation to get myself into the prone position. As I settled down and flicked on the red dot scope, my right foot, moving to give me better stability, kicked a loose bottle.
All three heads swiveled in my direction so fast that one zombie tore some of the already damaged ligaments hanging from its destroyed throat. For a brief eternity they stared at me, and then, at the exact same time, all three jaws opened wide and horrible screeching, tearing, screaming erupted from within. They seemed to bound off the ground like jackals, leaping towards me so fast I could barely believe these used to be people.
In panic I squeezed off a lucky shot that caught one of the Runners right above the eyebrow, the steel jacketed hollow-point .223 round tearing off the top of its skull and painting the walls with black goo: zombie brain matter. The faint smell of soured lemons reached me even from that distance.
It dropped like a rock, forward momentum causing it to tumble to the earth and into the legs of one of its partners, which also went down in a pile of screeching decomposing flesh.
The third, ignoring the misfortune of its partners pelted toward me like it was on fire. Cursing, I squeezed off three more shots, two of which went wild while the third one tore into the beast’s shoulder just as it leapt for me. The impact ruined its trajectory and its fingers, rather than its teeth, tore at my clothing.
Still on the deck I drew my sidearm and took careful aim: the .45 ACP round tore into the creature’s jaw, shattering it and sending bone splinters up into the brain before continuing on to separate the spinal column. Its screaming abruptly stopped.
Too late, I felt the powerful grip of the second runner, the one that had been waylaid by my first kill, grab my arm and sink its teeth into the sleeve of my motorcycle jacket.
Funny thing about modern motorcycle jackets: they’re lined with Kevlar. The Z had just discovered its mistake and was moving up towards my neck when my pistol turned its face into a mess resembling rotting fruit mixed with hamburger. I held my breath and rolled away from the grayish mist that was atomized brain matter. The only problem with headshots was that the virus could become temporarily airborne, resulting in infection and a slow death by fever and a rapidly decaying autoimmune system.
I was ten feet away when I dared to breathe again.
-Doug
Two, i have creature descriptions for you.
Creature Description: Crawler.
A crawler is what most people think of when they think zombie. It is a reanimated human that moves with slow, jerky movements; as though controlled by a puppet string, or a force outside of the body itself. Crawlers are older living dead, often showing signs of extreme decay and age. Crawlers have poor motor capability and are incapable of climbing up stairs, though they can crawl up them
and rise to their feet after the climb.
However, these limitations are not to imply that this particular variety of zombie is not dangerous. They remain strong, and if they grab you their grip will remain quite vigorous as they try to take a bite out of you. They, like regular zombies, are only killed with a headshot.
Description: Crawlers are zombies that have greater than 3 weeks of being dead. Their skin is decaying, old battle wounds are widening, weak parts of the body that stress is being put on are becoming more noticeable. For example, if a crawler was shot in the kneecap during its first week of infection, I.E., when it’s in the runner stage, then the damaged kneecap, since it is a part of the body that is used frequently, will become more and more damaged as the crawler uses it with no regard for its maintenance. Since the zombie feels no pain, indeed, since the zombie also does not heal, then the limb will be used past its breaking point. Within a period of days or weeks the joint will become so damaged that it will simply snap from overuse. It is uncommon to see crawlers without such gaping, bloodless injuries.
Typical crawler description: Middle aged man, with what used to be black hair, now turned grey by dust and other debris. Graying, sagging flesh, with wide milky white staring eyes. His fingers are torn to shreds from trying to claw his way out of a room he was locked in. the fingernails are bent back and torn and you can see bits of bone poking through the flesh of his digits. His teeth, too, are shattered into a torn and terrifyingly bloodless maw from gnashing his teeth together in undead hunger. He is dressed in what look to be bedclothes: a white t shirt with, dirty, graying whitey tighties. The left arm is hanging at an odd angle, as it’s half torn off his body, a casualty of his rough escape through the broken door of the room he was locked in.
Creature Description: Runner.
Newly reanimated dead. They have not yet taken on the characteristics of a dead person. Their skin is still roughly the same color as it was before death. Their never blinking eyes are not yet glazed over by the constant dust rubbing against their retinas. In fact, the only real way to tell a runner from the average human is the incoherent scream it emits when running towards you at top speed.
That, and the massive body trauma that usually indicates contact with the undead. Like blood EVERYWHERE, or missing limbs, or torn out throats. You know, stuff that indicates, RUN FOR YOUR FUCKING LIFE! I’M GONNA EAT YOUR SOUL!!!
Runners are vicious, desperate creatures that more resemble addicts than the living dead. They need living flesh like a drug. Runners are the most dangerous of the types of the living dead simply because they have the most energy. They are no more tenacious than any of the other types, but their physical capabilities make them a force to be reckoned with.
Example encounter with Runner:
I turned the corner and came upon three of them feasting on a freshly killed corpse. A fat guy, with his bulk, he never stood a chance, a Glock 44 was clutched in his left hand, the slide racked back and empty.
I silently cursed my luck, Runners, because of their nature of screaming and chasing prey, usually inadvertently attracted more Runners, causing them to group together in packs. One screaming monster charging you at breakneck speed is terrifying enough, but when an entire gang of them comes at you… well, it’s hard NOT to shit your pants.
I glanced behind me, I’d just lost the last set of Z’s and I couldn’t go back the way I came. I vaguely weighed the value of about forty crawlers versus three runners with the element of surprise. Taking out the runners won out… barely.
Well, I could probably take two out before they could get up and start charging… I silently unfolded the bi-pod on my rifle and squatted in preparation to get myself into the prone position. As I settled down and flicked on the red dot scope, my right foot, moving to give me better stability, kicked a loose bottle.
All three heads swiveled in my direction so fast that one zombie tore some of the already damaged ligaments hanging from its destroyed throat. For a brief eternity they stared at me, and then, at the exact same time, all three jaws opened wide and horrible screeching, tearing, screaming erupted from within. They seemed to bound off the ground like jackals, leaping towards me so fast I could barely believe these used to be people.
In panic I squeezed off a lucky shot that caught one of the Runners right above the eyebrow, the steel jacketed hollow-point .223 round tearing off the top of its skull and painting the walls with black goo: zombie brain matter. The faint smell of soured lemons reached me even from that distance.
It dropped like a rock, forward momentum causing it to tumble to the earth and into the legs of one of its partners, which also went down in a pile of screeching decomposing flesh.
The third, ignoring the misfortune of its partners pelted toward me like it was on fire. Cursing, I squeezed off three more shots, two of which went wild while the third one tore into the beast’s shoulder just as it leapt for me. The impact ruined its trajectory and its fingers, rather than its teeth, tore at my clothing.
Still on the deck I drew my sidearm and took careful aim: the .45 ACP round tore into the creature’s jaw, shattering it and sending bone splinters up into the brain before continuing on to separate the spinal column. Its screaming abruptly stopped.
Too late, I felt the powerful grip of the second runner, the one that had been waylaid by my first kill, grab my arm and sink its teeth into the sleeve of my motorcycle jacket.
Funny thing about modern motorcycle jackets: they’re lined with Kevlar. The Z had just discovered its mistake and was moving up towards my neck when my pistol turned its face into a mess resembling rotting fruit mixed with hamburger. I held my breath and rolled away from the grayish mist that was atomized brain matter. The only problem with headshots was that the virus could become temporarily airborne, resulting in infection and a slow death by fever and a rapidly decaying autoimmune system.
I was ten feet away when I dared to breathe again.
-Doug
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