Welcome to the United States of Zombieland - OPEN

[Mordred Le Fey]

It had surprised Mordred quite how quickly he had become pretty adept at scavenging. He’d always thought, in his life before, that if the unimaginable happened and the world ended then he’d just find someone to do the scavenging for him, bring him what he needed, and his life would go on more less the way it had always done. After all, when you’ve spent your life living in the lap of luxury paying people to do everything for you, having to fend for yourself wasn’t something you really considered as a possibility.

Turned out having money didn’t mean much in Zombieland.

it hadn’t taken Mordred all that long to realise that, or to realise that he was pretty much alone in this new world. When he didn’t have money he had no reason for people to stick around; it was every man for himself now, after all. So that was how Mordred found himself, a few short weeks after the outbreak, rummaging through the stock cupboard of an abandoned convenience store. Most of the shelves were empty, there was little left of use, but Mordred had quickly learned that if you had the brains and the patience there was always something to be found. Everyone had hidden things before, now it was just a case of finding the hiding spots.

Reaching up to the highest shelf, Mordred pulled a dusty box labelled ‘Spam’ down, grinning as he looked inside and pulled out a cartlm of cigarettes. “Score,” He muttered, dropping the empty box with a muffled clatter and ripping open the carton, pulling a lighter out of his pocket and lighting one of his newly found cigarettes. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes for a moment as he leaned back against the shelving, savouring the hit of nicotine. He really missed cigarettes.

He snapped his eyes open again as he heard a noise coming from the shop. He paused for a second, listening intently, holding the cigarette between his lips. As he heard another sound, he grabbed the crossbow that rested against the shelf beside him, swinging it round and aiming it towards the open stock room door. He waited for the noise-maker to appear in the doorway, ready to shoot either living or dead square between the eyes.

[Aiden Mumble]

When the door swung forward on its hinges, there, silhouetted by a dim light pouring out of the stock room, was a large man. His eyes were sunken in, the skin around them so deteriorated, it was a small miracle they hadn't completely fallen out. Other patches of his body hadn't been so lucky. Rotten organs peeked out from ugly looking wounds and he was completely missing one arm. All that's not to mention that there was something blooming out of his neck. There was long moment of hesitation before the knife pulled all the way across and the zombie's big head toppled to the ground with a loud thud.

As his body crumpled, his killer was revealed to be a girl of half his size. Her face revealed mild annoyance, but little else as she wiped her dagger on her dirty jeans. Her shirt was brown and torn, it original style and color long lost. It was tied in knots to keep it in place and a rag had been wrapped right above her right knee where she'd managed to injure herself a few days prior.

Her gaze flashed to the man with the crossbow, blue eyes piercing against her dirt smudged skin. She kept her dagger gripped in her hand as she eyed him and placed her free hand on another slung onto her hip with the help of a couple old belts. "Shoot me of you want." she said coldly, though she looked ready to run of she had too. Weather he was a zombie or not, at this point people were murdering each other just to get their hands on a extra pair of boots. Aiden had come across quite a few interested in her knives. She was only any kind of decent with them in her hands because her parents forced her into years of stage combat. She wondered if their training was helping them at all...wherever they were.

[Dusty Fae]

Dusty pulled a piece of metal out from underneath a pile of rubbage. It was pretty flimsy and had been painted white at some point though the paint was chipping now. It probably wasn't very good metal, but hopefully she'd be able to melt it down to make more bullets. She was fairly well stocked with bullets, but being prepared was never a bad thing. And a time and place like this one required as many bullets as she could make. She tucked the metal into her backpack carefully, then moved along. She was steady and slow, taking deep breaths to keep the panic away. When she reached the convenience store she peeked in carefully before pulling the door open and stepping through.

There wasn't a lot she could salvage here, but there might be a few treasures. She pulled out her pistol from where it hung on her hip in it's holster. She crept in as quietly as she could, her bag of bullets bounced on her belt, making a soft metallic clang with every step, peeking around corners to make sure that she could see any zombies before they saw her. But then she turned a corner and saw a gruesome scene. At the other end of the aisle stood a girl wielding a knife and on the floor beside her was one of the walkers no longer walking.

She cleared her throat just to make a little noise and she adjusted the bandana that covered the lower half of her face. It was a practical idea to keep from getting any zombies blood in her nose or mouth and to keep the awful smell of death at Bay. “Anything useful on the body?” She called. “I reckon you'd better check if you ain't yet.” She didn't approach the girl. She looked wild and fierce and just as likely to kill Dusty. Kill or be killed seemed to be the motto these days and it made a lot of folks trigger happy. Kill first, ask questions later. It was making the death toll even higher than it needed to be. So she stood her ground to give herself a bit of safety. People were crazier alive than undead after all.