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It had been a bloody brilliant plan, Gene thought as he forced more air into his wheezing lungs. Brilliant in its simplicity. Have the bird make dinner. Eat. Drink. Smoke. Take turns keeping watch until sunrise. Leg it to the fort atop the hill.

Buffy did in the plan from the start. She refused to cook! Rubbish, that. Margaret loved to cook for him. Then again, Margaret loved to cook. All birds did. Maybe not Yank birds, though. Or birds in sodding 2008.

He hoped he'd see Margaret again.

Gene was surprised to find Buffy gone in the morning. There was no sign of violence, and he certainly hadn't made advances on the girl. Why she'd buggered off was a mystery. On one hand the bird deserved whatever she got, out there all alone and defenseless. Yet guilt gnawed at him. It weren't right, a young thing on her own in the shell of a city. He should have kept her close. Protected her.

He'd avoided the hooligans -- not bloody zombies, what nonsense! -- until the gaol* was three blocks away. Then the bleeding radio in his coat pocket decided to squawk. "--lo? Anyone there? This is Castlewood. Come in if--"

The six drunken hooligans who'd been stumbling away from them whirled around. Gene snorted as he retrieved the still yapping radio. Another sodding Yank. He wasn't worried about the hooligans. That lot was slower an' clumsier than a div.

As Gene thumbed the reply button irregular footsteps grow louder. He looked up to find two of the hooligans running. "Shite!" Gene sprinted uphill as fast as his legs would go.

"Huh?" the git on the radio returned.

Gene screamed into the radio as he ran for all he was worth. "THIS IS YOUR FAULT, TWAT!"


* The British English spelling of "jail"
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is:: distressed
 
 
03 February 2008 @ 02:21 pm

Sharon 'Boomer' Valerii woke up and gasped at the pain that the simple act had caused. She was laying on concrete in some abandoned industrial park and the cold only made everything hurt more. She carefully pushed herself up, brushed off the grit and tried to figure out what happened. She had been standing over Hera, her hand on it’s throat, thinking if she ever was going to kill something, at least something of her own choosing, it would be that child when... when blackness covered everything. Sharon looked around and a sinking thought filled her mind. Again she had acted on an instinct that felt bigger then herself and again those she thought of as family had cast her out. They were punishing her so she was dumped here…whatever here was. It wasn’t New Caprica, months there had made her familiar with it and these squat, ugly buildings were not that place. No, she thought, this must be one of the 12 Colonies, now empty, left as a tomb for both sides’ failings. She was right back where she had started. A snake biting it’s own tail.

Sharon had made it very clear she was done with humans, each to their own kind she had said back on the Basestar. Yet something deeper then the anger and the hurt made her call out into the empty quiet, “Hello? Hello?”

 
 
She was running. But, she wasn't running fast enough. They were gaining on her. Usually, she would turn around and fend them off, but she couldn't. She was scared. Terrified. She was going to die. For real. Permanently, if she didn't get away.

She tripped. The moans grew louder. Tears stung her eyes. She scrambled to get up. She found her footing. She was running again. The moans were softer now. She was almost away. She saw a door. Her legs burned. They felt heavy and detached from her body. She hated this feeling. It was new. Her breath was ragged. She was exhausted. She never got exhausted running. This was also new.

She had heard about the compound. She knew she was close, but she had no idea how close. She just needed shelter. Just for a little while.

She reached the door. It was locked. She lifted her leg to kick it open. She kicked like a girl. She barely made a dent. The moans were growing louder again. Another couple kicks. At least she still had some muscles left. The door opened. Freedom. Safety. She slammed it shut and shoved a chair against the handle.

The small house seemed to be empty. She didn't hear anything and the moans seemed to pass. They had given up. For now, it seemed. She collapsed onto the ground, but before her breathing could go back to normal, tears spilled out of her eyes. Buckets upon buckets.

She wasn't a normal girl, so why was she suddenly just a normal girl? A few days ago, she could fend off thousands upon thousands of those creatures with ease. And now...she had to run. Just like a helpless girl. And she was alone. Completely alone. And scared. God, she was so scared.

Buffy Summers was no longer a vampire slayer. She was no longer the chosen one. She was just a regular girl. Just another girl. Just like she always wished she could be. And now it was true. And she hated it more than anything.
 
 
Leon liked to think of himself as a... relatively upstanding guy. He had helped take down Umbrella, gotten out of Raccoon City alive, and rescued the President's daughter. He wasn't a bad guy. In fact, he had no idea where all this bad karma must've come from to get him in this situation. Again.

He didn't like zombies. That was fair enough - zombies didn't like him. Well, they liked him, insofar as they wanted to have him over for dinner (literally!), but they were trying to kill him, and as far as Leon was concerned, if you were trying to kill him, you weren't being friendly. Pretty much if you were trying to chomp on his insides, you were right off the Christmas card list.

Not that he had a Christmas card list, of course, but if he did, yeah, they wouldn't be on it. He had tried the Christmas card thing once, and, well... nevermind.

Anyway, Leon and zombies didn't get along well. Hell, Leon and anything remotely zombie-like didn't get along well. Ditto that with people of the human variety who tried to kill him.

So as he tried to get into the city in his beat-up, used, hasn't seen a mechanic for anything but an oil change in three years jeep, he ended up leaving quite a few corpses in his wake, and he was starting to worry about bullets. And how he would explain the blood on the tires the next time he got them changed, but that was fleeting and rather beside the point. If there were survivors around, he ought to try and find them, though there were an awful lot of zombies.

Survivors didn't tend to stick around where there were a lot of those. Or, if they did, they didn't usually stay survivors too long. A better plan would be to look for someplace that survivors would think was safe - that's what he had done when he had a situation like this unceremoniously dumped in his lap. In Raccoon City, it had been the police station, but he wasn't seeing one here. Then again, it wasn't inconceivable that he just missed it, or it was further on.

He kept driving, at least, until his jeep started making that awful noise that meant something was wrong.

"Shit," he muttered, trying to get the stubborn machine into another gear in the hopes that would help. Leon was not, it may surprise you to know, a car guy. He drove the damn thing, but not much else - he was lucky if he knew the gas tank from the radiator. Fixing it was best left up to the professionals, when he could afford the professionals. And now his car was breaking down in the middle of Zombie Central.

Life was grand. Really.

He pulled to a stop by the side of the road, hoping (he didn't pray, but if he did, he would have been) that it was just a tire problem. Tires he could handle. And there was a gas station right there. Grabbing his handgun (standard issue service gun, leftover from his single-day stunt as a police officer) from the glove compartment and sticking it in his belt alongside his more powerful handgun for his current job (special agent for the U.S. government), he felt a bit more secure.

Finding his Desert Eagle magnum, which, after the Los Illuminados bullshit, he never left the house without, under the seat made him feel much better. If one was going to be fighting zombies, one might as well be fighting them with superior firepower.
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is:: aggravated
 
 
 
Where was she? She didn't know. It was large, a stone building and she was outside of it. Standing on the grass, stains on her skirt, mud and grass and rain. Looking behind her, she saw the great walls, monument to protections that she didn't remember getting over or through.

"Maybe I walked through them," she muttered, tone disjointed, the words coming with an odd cadence. Like water running over rocks. "Maybe they're not there..."

She walked towards them, away from the building. Had to know if they were real. Was she just imagining it? Had she imagined the people outside? They were so hungry, and they wanted to eat her. Cannibals or something worse, the black death, everybody screaming and the bodies piling up, white circles on the house doors.. Awkwardly she pushed her hair out of her face; it was damp, had it been raining? It wasn't raining now.

Maybe she was dreaming. Or it was the medicine. But she didn't think Simon had been there to give her injections for a while now. If she was dreaming, though...

"Dream you pass through," she said to herself, reaching out to touch the stone wall, cool and sticky-wet. It was solid, pressed back against her fingers like something breathing, or maybe she had moved her hand. "Now it's solid, closes behind you... castle gates. You have to keep locked up, so the plague doesn't get in."

The plague. She stood by the wall, listening to the wind. She thought she could hear the cries of people, was it plague or this cannibal disease? River wasn't sure anymore.

It sounded a lot like plague, though.
 
 
is:: curious
 
 
Sam heard a patch on his radio, and he immediately picked it up, despite the fact that he was fighting for his life. Some habits died hard; in this case both actions applied.

"DCI Sam Tyler here, state your identity and location," he shouted over the commotion, taking another one down. Fucking.. zombies? That's what he chose?
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Cuddy watched out the ambulance’s rear view mirror as she sped away from the hospital. She told herself she was checking to make sure she wasn’t being followed by a hoard of infected. But she knew that it was also to say goodbye to another dream. She had given up on some many dreams lately. The first dream she had lost was that of being a mother. There was no way she’d bring a child into the world now, not with everything that had happened.  
 
The next dream to go was of finding a cure to protect the people in her life and save them. Most of her staff had abandoned the hospital long ago. She didn’t know which ones had found safe harbor and which had perished. The few doctors that had stayed behind with her were all dead now, or infected. She’d never forgive herself for that.
 
And now she was giving up on her last dream, the hospital itself. In many ways, it was her ‘baby’. But it wasn’t safe there anymore. It never was. She should have been smart and left with House and the others to find more secure compounds ages ago.   She didn’t know if any of them had any luck, but it might have saved her the pain of watching her hospital fall apart. Lifting a hand from the wheel, she wiped away a tear and vowed to try not to shed anymore. Tears didn’t help. 
 
Sticking to the back roads, she managed to avoid dangers and even refuel on occasion. At least she had been able to fill the ambulance with supplies before she left.   But she knew she wouldn’t be able to survive on her own, for much longer. She needed to find other survivors fast. 
 
Picking up the ambulance radio, she sent out a message. “If anyone has survived the infection and can hear me - I’m a doctor. I have food, clean drinking water and medical supplies. I’m looking for a safe shelter. If you’re hearing this, please respond.”
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15 January 2008 @ 12:44 am
Two weeks had passed. Still, his Byakugan had not returned to him, nor had his ability to mold chakra into ninjutsu and the like.

Frustrated, he slammed his palms into the makeshift totem he'd constructed for his daily training. He was a shinobi by birth, and to go even a single day without training (that is, if he was not bed-ridden by deadly injuries) made him uncomfortable and snappy.

The totem cracked slightly under the force, but didn't splinter into shards as it usually would have done, if he had had chakra to mold. With a shout, he continued to vent his anger on the wood with his Eight Palms.
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Number six was out roaming the halls once again; everyone else was generally sleeping this time of night, but as Cylons required such a minimal time for rest... She was up. Always up. Alert and waiting for...

"Me."

Gaius. To return. Then again, even if she knew where he was... where she was; it wouldn't help. She was a Cylon and he a human, maybe--

Sensitive ears picked up the anguished, fearful screams of a terrorized girl. Running to the door and out through the courtyard, she spied the slip of a creature, frowning darkly. If she let the girl in, she could be infected, but if she left her for dead...

"A conscience? Oh, isn't that precious."

"Shut up," she snapped, creeping to the edge of the fence to get a better look.

The metallic smell the girl was emitting alarmed her initially. Blood. She, of all.. people, would know there was more than one way to get the stuff on one's... person. Frack. Well.. it couldn't hurt to try.

"Hello? Human girl?" she called out, moving until she was several feet away from the frightened creature.

"You're just made of charisma," Gaius snorted, examining his nails closely where he leant against the gate.
 
 
 
Thump.

River's eyes fly open. Dark in the eyes. But not shipdark- not Serenity. Planetside then.

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04 January 2008 @ 11:34 pm
Ripley dragged the body bag through to the medical ward. Fortunately for her, the ward was just inside the door- not much distance to lug the poor bastard.

She heaved the bag onto the table. "Why I agreed to do this, I'll never know." She stepped back and found gloves and a mask laid out, ready for her. 
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After being released, Caprica 6 took the liberty of exploring the base on her own two feet. Well, Gaius was, of course, going to accompany her wherever those feet happen to take her, but still. Some thinking had to be good.. right? Heaving a sigh, she tried shoving her hands into oversized pockets--that seemed to work for humans, didn't it? Displaced nerves and.. whatever else always seemed to disappear with the simple occupying of one's hands. Of course, she could think of other, more effective ways of occupying them...

What was this? A libido? She loved Gaius Baltar, a human man. Yes, they had intercourse. Yes, it was enjoyable. But these feelings... made no sense. What had this place done to her? She felt almost.. like them. Human.

"That's stupid." A familiar, mocking voice, and she shook it off, continuing blindly down the corridor.

...And crashing right into the good doctor himself. Frack.
 
 
It was too much. He wasn't valued. And Kaylee wasn't here, or Inara, or Wash or Zoe or - hell, even Mal. He missed Mal. River was gone, too.

But he could still help her.

Simon wasn't the type to wallow in misery alone for hours on end. He liked to be productive. So he sat in the medical bay, glad that for once it was deserted, and took the opportunity to work on hypotheses about River's condition. He scrawled his notes on a piece of paper in Mandarin, paranoid even now to let the information out freely.

The work was as frustrating as usual, and he didn't expect to make any progress, but by now it was almost soothing. He knew every reaction she'd had to every medication, by heart; he still went over them. Through it all, he had to believe he would see her again. Otherwise his entire life from Osiris on had been a waste.

He was too tired for this. It'd been days since House had forcibly injected that sedative, and Simon still hadn't forgiven him, for that or for disregarding him at every turn. In short...

He was kind of lonely.
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03 January 2008 @ 03:09 pm

Flagg opened his eyes groggily to find himself not where he last remembered laying down to rest. At this sudden and terrifying realization, the man lifted himself quickly into a sitting position and looked around. The room was dirty, damaged, and stunk of an odor that Flagg was all too familiar with: Death. Grunting heavily, he looked into his own self and tried to remember how he'd gotten here. After a few moments, Flagg stopped, unable to penetrate the thick fog that clouded his memory. It was an odd occurrence for the man; he could usually remember a month or so into his past before it became foggy and dim. He began to breathe heavily as he came to the realization. Anger, an emotion not unfamiliar to him, began to well up, making him want to find the nearest human being and...

Stop, Flagg, he told himself. Now is not the time. Standing up. He closed his eyes and stretched his arms out. He cleared his mind and thought the incantation that most often comforted him. I am Iam Iam Iam I AM! The same burst of calm ran through him, but the other effect, the spectacular one, never came. He was still rooted to the ground, as if someone placed iron weights in his heavy boots. Panicked, the man ran out of the room and into a long hallway as dirty and delapidated as the room.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING?!" he shouted at the top of his lungs as he burst out of the hall into the outside, where he saw a city street that looked as if a war had just taken place.

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03 January 2008 @ 03:01 pm
Where the frack was she? Cataloguing her surroundings, she honestly didn't know. Her sisters had left her for dead.

"This is obviously Earth." The voice caused her to start, even though she knew where it was coming from.

"Earth was destroyed, Gaius," she hissed, pulling on the only clothes available to her--why was she naked? How did this happen? The only way to find out was to get out there and investigate.

Ignoring any further protest from her favorite figment, she moved a slight hand towards her face to brush her curls out of her way--they were done up in a loose bun. Curious, but she wasn't going to question it. Dressed in loose men's clothing that felt as though it would fall off even at the prospect of movement, she skirted around the perimeter of the small house, frowning when it disappeared upon her exit.

Her emotions swirled within her, but she had to contain them--she had to survive.. whatever this was and get back up there; up to Gaius and the humans.

Just then she heard a rustling noise and jumped. Her heart started racing--when had it ever done that? Weird. When the creature lunged at her from the bushes, she didn't even have the sense to defend herself, or even react. The thing looked human, but not its eyes, though the blood that coated its jacket was certainly homo sapiens.

"Zombies," Gaius murmured, and gave a small shudder.

"I don't know what the frack that means, but I'm thinking I should run."
 
 
Dr. House was a busy man.  Or at least, for the sake of avoiding the more paranoid members of the compound, he made a career of pretending he was.  Today he was supposedly aiding to a member that had given himself a concussion in solitary confinement.  (Solitary confinement consisted of cells with metal bars and wet floors- you do the math.)  Instead, the doctor had plunked himself down into a dirty chair at the single, dirty table in the room.  Carelessly, he'd left his PSP off in a different memory and an entirely different world --so the butterfly knife that he'd swiped from concussion man would have to do.  The weapon flashed in House's hands as he deftly jerked it about, flipping the sides to reveal the blade before snapping them cleanly shut again.

These days there wasn't much left to think about.  His medical genius was reduced to treating minor cuts, scrapes, and the occasional missing limb.  The equivalent of a Mommy to kiss everyone's zombie-inflicted booboos.  Oh and, never mind the fact that he was trapped inside a prison where everyday was a pathetic clutch to survival.  Needless to say, House was more than a little crankier than usual.

Although in the end, three months in the compound had clarified one thing that'd left him with a grim sense of satisfaction.  There was no way God existed; not on this Earth.  Not with all that had happened.

The knife snapped closed again and he pressed the cool metal of its sheath to his chin. 
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is:: bored