[Hella backdated] "We don't go there anymore."

[trustycrowbar]

Date & Time: During the zombie apocalypse
Location: Apt 303, City Streets
Characters: Gordon, Blaine, Samus, Anyone else looking to fight some zombies.
Summary: A lot of talking and then zombies are killed. The end.
Warnings: Violence, gore, angst, hazard suits in silly colors.

[Action, Room 303, locked to Blaine and Chloe]

The smell of rotten flesh was a distinct one, not easy to forget. Gordon had been trying to forget it all over again since he'd heard about the contagion. It seems like just yesterday he'd found himself in a very similar situation about a half-mile under the New Mexico desert. Even sooner he was stuck in a small town in the middle of nowhere completely blotted out by zombies. He'd watched his fellow scientists writhe and howl as their chest cavities forcibly ripped themselves open by the unnatural contortions of their own muscle tissue. Giving up on going home implied that he'd never had to deal with that again... At least he thought. It seems he was wrong.

The victims were curable if they were reached in time, he knew this, but most of them were too far gone by now. They needed firepower, not research. Gordon knew this, and yet he found himself in the Lab more than ever.

Goddammit. He just didn't want to do it all over again, that's all! The pain, screaming, crunching of bone and the splatter of blood and ichor against stained concrete. He could live without any more of that shit, thanks. He's not a coward, but... he's already been to Ravenholm once. Once was enough for any man.

Up in the apartment, he runs a hand over his face and turns away from the window.

[Action, later, City Streets, open]

The zombies are everywhere. Most of the citizens have all vacated for their own safety, leaving volunteers to keep the streets safe.

Either that or they've already been turned.

Will you fight them?

Comments

[strategic_guile]

"Why should it be you?" He asks this seriously. Just because someone has to doesn't mean it should be you. Especially if you have no idea what you're doing. Gordon had survived once, but he might not be so lucky the next time. Blaine was itching to go out as well, but he had tempered his urges to think about it more. Being a zombie sucked, and even if he would come back to life that didn't mean he was going to throw himself out there for shits and giggles.

[trustycrowbar]

"Because no one else is going to do it. You know it, I know it. And I've got experience blowing the everloving shit out of these things."

He hesitates a moment then disappears into his room, returning with... is that a shotgun?

"Thing is, I'm going to have to make it to the Lab to get my suit."

[strategic_guile]

Blaine laughed a little. "We have super powered people and you're saying they won't do anything?" He finishes off his cup while Gordon steels himself and then goes to his room. The blonde gets up, puts his cup in the sink and fills it with water before Gordon comes back.

"You've got one shotgun? Jesus, Gordon. You're making me come and watch after your ass." Well, not really. No one can make Blaine do anything, but he strolls back to his room and comes back out with a sawed-off shot gun, a semi-auto pistol, and a few boxes of rounds. Nevermind the gun that's still hidden under his jacket.

[trustycrowbar]

He quirks an eyebrow at the small armory Blaine has just produced.

"I'm assuming they won't and hoping I'm wrong... Where the hell did you get all this?"

He sounds genuinely curious, and a little surprised.

[strategic_guile]

There's more in his room, but there's only so much you can carry. The rifle is too cumbersome to bring when they were going to be on the move, so large caliber handguns were the way to go. "The Initiative stock, of course." They probably knew he had it, too, but they'd have to come tear it away from him if they wanted it back.

"I know I'm not the only one who keeps a gun or two," or five or six, "handy just in case shit goes down. As it has gone down many times since I've been here. Bombs. Monsters. Now zombies."

[trustycrowbar]

"I see."

Unspoken: But there's still something you're not telling me, is there?

[strategic_guile]

Blaine just grinned at him. The unspoken question totally ignored. "Pick your weapon."

[trustycrowbar]

...

He hefts a .44 revolver and holster and slings it over his shoulder. Shotgun, handheld canon, and crowbar. Should cover all the bases.

"...thanks. I figure I owe you ammo and a beer for this, at least."

[strategic_guile]

"I'll hold you to that," he said, flashing a canine briefly before he got a holster to strap around his waist to hold the shotgun and some of the shells. They'd be ready at a moments notice for a reload while he piled the shells into a pouch on the other side in an orderly manner so he could just reach in, pull out two and reload with ease. "Suit up, Freeman. Time to go zombie hunting."

He's not excited. Not at all.