"Willamette Incident not result of nuclear plant collapse, but what may soon be coined as the beginning of the 'Zombie Apocalypse'" - Frank West

The headline, originally published by Rolling Stone magazine, shook reader's minds and imaginations, worldwide. The article, only a short summary of the horrors that the intrepid photojournalist Frank west had to endure, was initially met with skepticism, but after a brief interview with another apparent survivor, Paul Carson, on another news show, the article was confirmed, at least for the moment.
Moreover, the sudden and brutal action the government took, brought even more attention to the public's eyes. Rolling Stone magazine quickly found itself under multiple lawsuits, as well as several raids committed by SWAT.
Paul Carson was found dead, in a shallow grave, a bullet in his head.
Plus, there was always the fact that the fairly large town of Willamette, Colorado, was now completely empty...and covered in gore.
Another small group of intrepid indipendent reporters stole their way into the town before the National Guard put up their barriers once again, and found that every single person in the town was dead, their bodies laid out in the streets, like they'd been running, or wandering, before their demise. What's more, they found no trace of a nuclear reactor within the town, and even more disturbing, were the parasite bodies, usually found in the heads of the victims...
What's more, nearly every single one suffered from military-caliber rifle bullet wounds.
Instead of reporting their findings to a newspaper or magazine, this group took their work to the internet, and the news stories were spread around the world at lightspeed. Frank's original article was also revived, and he also wrote an "expansion" on it, which was also posted and distributed, netwide.
Days later, Frank West disappeared.
Of course, the United States government denied any relation to the event, President George Sears calling it a "horrible, unexplained tragedy, one that should not be forgotten."
Once again, the press found itself unabvle to report on the true nature of danger that the Willamette incident truly hinted at.
In both of his articles, Frank West spoke of the terrorist Carlito Keyes, who had apparently tried taking revenge against the government due to another "tragedy" almost twenty years ago, in a small city in South America called 'Santa Cabeza." Snippets of articles were salvaged, the claims the reporters made were eerily similar to the evidence salvaged by the independents at Willamette...
"But the history doesn't really matter," Frank West wrote, "as Carlito also infected a drug to retard the growth of the parasite. Strangely, he only prepared fifty samples. What's more, he also made a small attempt to help some war orphans," an external link was given here, to another report on the matter, "...but the efforts, strangely, failed after only fifty orphans were adopted by American families."
Frank's article implied that those fifty children were infected with the zombie parasite, and were only waiting to break out, at any time...
What's more, those fifty children were sent to fifty different states.
But that's just too perfect, isn't it?


-----------------------------------------------------------------

Well, it's not, as you have now figured out. Lately, you found your town acting strangely, some people mysteriously disappearing...then, of course, the hospital having to close down, and the sudden trips of National Guard to your city.
You didn't follow Frank's story in depth, but you've heard about it. And now you know...
You are trapped in the local mall. Well, maybe not as "local" as you'd like: Minneapolis, Minnesota. You're in the Mall of America.
Too bad nearly every exit is swarming with the undead...

Rules:

This is an M rated RPG. Obviously, if it involves swarms of zombies, it is going to involve violence and gore. They're rotting corpses, animated by the parasite and made alive again, literally wasting away before your eyes in some cases. Don't join if you're squeamish.
Don't over-do things either. I don't want a character running around, yanking people's stomachs out and wearing them for hats. These are people you've seen all your life, occasionally walking down the street, at school, maybe even dated one or two of them. These are the bodies of human beings.
Please don't become helpless in this RPG. Unfortunately, being surrounded by zombies means you're going to have to fend for yourself sometimes. Also, expect this to be unfair. The rules are literally stacked against you. Instead of suddenly pulling kung-fu moves out of thin air, be resourceful. If you can come up with a clever way to use a tape measurer as a weapon, cool. But don't just run around punching the zombies either...not only would you get tired, but you'd probably break your hands.
And finally, don't be surprised if your character simply doesn't make it out alive...


Character Sheet

Name:
Age:
Gender:
Physical/Emotional Description: (If you want to, instead, explain this during the RPG, that's ok. I just want the bare bones.)
Weapon of Choice:

Remember, your character can be a "psycho," as well. For those of you who haven't played Dead Rising, basically this is a character who goes insane, and tends to go on bloody rampages, occasionally killing innocents in the process. If you're going to have a psycho, please have an interesting premise: Just having some dude go crazy isn't good enough.

PS: If this RPG sheet isn't up to par with the rest of the site, sorry. I haven't made one of these babies in over three years, so forgive me if I'm a little rusty...
PSS: I know the title is long, but it's supposed to be a newpaper article type thing...

Please consider this spot reserved!

Reserved for infection! I wanna get psycho!

Plaguewalker wrote:

Reserved for infection! I wanna get psycho!

In Dead Rising, the zombies are just that: zombies. Thye just walk around...eat things...mob humans. Pretty boring role play character. Would you rather be a human, who appears in the mall and is, well, psycho?

I think that's what he meant. "reserved for infection" is like his tag linefor whan he joins things, not that he wants to be a zombie.

Shadow Moonseye wrote:

I think that's what he meant. "reserved for infection" is like his tag linefor whan he joins things, not that he wants to be a zombie.

Ah. That's what I get for assuming things, I guess. lol
Sorry, dude.

Hmm..really phsyco, blood, gore, fun rp! I reserve.

Sweet. If we can get two or more people here, we can start. I'll be controlling how the world works, which means I dictate the movements of zombies, extra psychos, the government, weather, and any other crazy things I decide to throw at you guys. ;D Of course, if we end up short on people, I'll make a character too.
For the most part, I request that you guys let me control the NPCs. I find frequently that when people get to control the NPCs, they either make them do absolutely retarded things, or things out of character...

I would like to reserve two characters if that's all right.

That's fine. Thanks for posting.

Name: Arthur Marsden
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Physical Description: Short sandy blond hair, brown eyes and tan skin. He is 6' 0" and weighs 140 lbs. as he has a very lean body. Is currently wearing ripped long blue jeans and a bloodied T-shirt.
Emotional description: Rather shell shocked at the moment. He actually had to kill his whole family and he still hasn't recovered or decided whether he still wants to live on or not.
Weapon of Choice: Arthur had a long sword on his wall that he had bought because he thought it looked cool, fortunately for him it's also very useful and he sharpened it after killing his zombified family and going outside.
--------------------------------------------------------
Name: Claire Austen
Age: 32
Gender: Female
Physical/Emotional Description: Black hair, bloodshot green eyes with bags under them and pale skin. 5' 2" and 123 lbs. Claire is slightly overweight and wearing a leather jacket with a short skirt. Currently determined to find help.
Weapon of Choice: A rifle that her husband had in their closet in case a burglar broke in or something. She's been saving the ammo and only uses the gun when she can't simply run away from the zombies.

Both are accepted.

Hey, I've got some bad news. Plaguewalker's internet is down and he doesn't know how long it'll be out. However, if I'm allowed, I'll post up his posts for him.

Here's my char!

Name: Danielle (goes by Danny)
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Physical Description:Danny's Appearance She’s 5’ 6” and around 135lbs.
Emotional Description: Danny is mean, uncaring and down right nasty. She trusts no one but herself, Minos and privileged few gang members. She’s a loner and likes it that way. She’s made the transition to killing and fighting rather easily due to her gang activity.
Weapon of Choice: Sawed of 12 gauge shotgun. Trust me, she knows how to use it.
Other: Minos is her four year old pet Wolf dog (Wolf Hybrid)

Shadow Moonseye wrote:

Hey, I've got some bad news. Plaguewalker's internet is down and he doesn't know how long it'll be out. However, if I'm allowed, I'll post up his posts for him.

Go ahead.
Your character is accepted.

I just hope everyone's character becomes more fleshed-out as the RP goes on. I'm usually really lazy when it comes to these things, so I'm not requiring a lot at the beginning, but I expect a lot from you guys.
Just a little warning...

And here's Plaguewalker's Char!

Name: Chase
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Physical Description: He’s 5’10”, is clean shaven with a shaved head, plain brown eyes, wears jeans, beige muscle shirt, skater shoes, and beige fingerless gloves. He wears a large pair of headphones that are connected to a small mp3 player in his back pocket.
Emotional Description: He’s got a moderate case of schizophrenia, he doesn’t act his age, he doesn’t appear to be all that effected by the “end of the world”
Weapon of Choice: Shovel

For now he's accepted, but when his computer's fixed, I hope he adds a little more to the "personality" section...I like his premise as a psycho, though.

Apologies for the double post, but I regret to inform you all that we will have to start in about a week. Check back by next Sunday, when my father'll be back in town, and I can concentrate...

Alright, thanks for the heads up.

Name: Robert Levy
Age: 35
Gender: Male
Physical: Caucasian, with a medium build, and rather stocky, Robert stands at around 5,5. His dark brown hair is cropped, and concealed underneath a "Channel 7" news baseball cap, backwards. His eyes are olive, behind aviators glasses, and his long-sleeve stripped shirt is underneath a flak jacket, with the same news insignia inscribed on the back. the front pulls into a v-neck, with the front covered in pockets. His khaki shorts go down slightly below the kneecaps, an his feet are protected by brown sandals and socks.
Emotional: Loud and friendly, Robert likes to let his opinions be heard. Of course, a cameraman like him has seen a lot of messed up crap during his life, and an onslaught of zombies hasn't done much to help. Robert isn't doing so well mentally anymore, but he tries not to let it cloud his judgement.
Weapon of Choice: A Colt Cobra .38 Special snubnosed revolver, which he managed to scavenge out of a weapon and ammo shop.

(( I hope that this is all good for my character! ))

Sounds good to me.

As always, I am fashionably late.


He woke to the sound of birds chirping outside of his window. He let himself lie in his bed for a few minutes longer; he had no work today. Actually, he had no work any day; he was fired only a week ago. He finally convinced himself to get up and get dressed. He turned the coffee-maker on he entered his small kitchenette, then looked puzzled. It wouldn't turn on. "Shit, the thing's broken," he muttered, going to turn on the TV. "No, the power 's out. Which means a shower is out of the question, too..."
He was going to have a word with the land lord about this. He pulled on his shoes and left his apartment, locking it on the way out. He walked briskly down the halls, breifly wondering why no one else was waking up right now to to go to work or something. There was Mrs. Kitterly next door, who had four kids who all went to school. It was a Monday, and it was only seven; why weren't they out and about? Even in their apartment, they were noisy during the mornings.
These thoughts left his head as he went down the staircase, two at a time, to the bottom floor. He noticed the door to the owner's office was ajar.
He looked in and saw no one was there. "Crap." He slammed the door on his way out.
He went out to the parking lot, got in his Chevy, and started it. He wasn't thinking now. To be honest, he was a little creeped out; he still hadn't seen anyone this morning. Pulling out of the driveway, he quickly found that no one was on the road, either. There were a few cars parked on the side, but not a living soul was driving that day.
He drove for about three hours. His apartment was a little outside the city limits, so he explored the area around it. After all, what else was there to do, anyway? He didn't have a job, didn't have any hot dates. He still had a lot of money on him; didn't have to worry about gas...
He saw a car, it's front end smashed into a pole. Someone's hand was hanging out of it, blood dripping down the person's thumb and onto the pavement. "Oh Jesus-" He pulled the car to the side of the road, parked, then ran to the crashed car.
'Hey! HEY! Are you all right?!" It was obvious the person wasn't. The blood had splattered all over the back window. He came up to the driver's side of hte car and looked in.
It was an ugly crash. It was nearly impossible to tell if the person was a man or a woman; their face had been obliterated by the pole an the impact of the crash. He felt like he could puke, looking at it. Something deeper in him told him that was probably a bad idea. Something even deeper told him to look closer.
He oblidged.
There was a crack in the skull. Within it, something stirred.
His eyes widened and he jumped back. Did brains even move?! He was never very bright. Probably not. Overcoming this initial fear, he looked closer again. The thing, whatever it was, pressed up against the crack and he saw it was a white color. It reminded him of a maggot or something. It pushed itself out of the skull, and fell pitifully on the ground.
"Ugh...what the hell...?" he stepped closer, then it jumped with surprising strength at him. He jumped back, and it slid down his shirt, and hit the ground again, making another horrid splattering noise. He ran away from it and got back into his car. He drove away, and didn't look back.
------------------------------
((Feel free to introduce your characters now.))

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

"Shut up." Arthur mumbled after yawning loudly as he unplugged his alarm clock and quickly tried to fall back asleep, deciding to sleep in today since work didn't start for him until two P.M. . It was rather light outside as the sun shined through Arthur's thin metallic blinds, lighting up his room and making it nearly impossible for Arthur to fall asleep.
So the boy just lied still instead and stared at the ceiling, thinking about unimportant things that really affected no one in particular.

But then there was the thump. Arthur paid no attention to it until he heard it again, it was coming from his parents room above. "Of come on? At seven in the morning? Really?!" The young adult complained as he crawled out of bed, not making it but instead going to his closet to put on some pants. He ended up choosing his ripped blue jeans, since interesting things always seemed to happen when Arthur wore them and Arthur felt bored, he was hoping something unusal could happen to him today, just to change things up again. And of course right after he had zipped them up, things began to change.

"Mommy!? Mom-Aaaaaaaaaaaiiiih!!!" Katie, Arhurs younger sister screamed from the upstairs. "What the ****?" Arthur wondered as he turned around and looked up as though it would somehow allow him to see what was going on upstairs. But of course it didn't and thus a second later Arthur was running out of his room and was headed for the stairs.

When he finally reached his sisters room on the second floor Arthur saw the most horrific thing he had ever experienced in his life. His sister was on the floor bleeding, her eyes staring at Arthur as the life in them faded away, and his mother....His mother was biting onto Katie's neck and ripping it to shreds as though his sister were a piece of meat. "Mom? Kate?" Arthur asked reluctantly as his eyes took in the scene before him, noting the blood on his mother's chest and the wild look in her eyes as they left his sister and looked straight at him.

"What the- why? Wh-Dad?" Arthur whispered in shock before he heard a crashing noise down the hall and saw his father running for him. Arthur leaped back down the stairs without a second thought as instinct took over. The boy ran to his room as he heard multiple sets of footsteps behind him. "The MS, that should hold them back, what the **** is this?" The boy's thoughts rushed through his head as tears began to fall out of his eyes.

When Arthur reached his room he quickly jumped onto his bed and grabbed a Master Sword copy made of actual metal. His mother and friends had teased him for wasting so much money on a stupid blade just because he had seen it in a video game, but the nerd in Arthur had to have it of course these issues were currently unimportant to Arthur as he turned around with the blade unsheathed as he was going to use it to threaten his Father to back off while he called the police. Unfortunately, or rather one should say fortunately, Arthur's father was faster then the boy expected and the man had been right behind his son when Arthur had spun around with the sword.

His father's forehead went right through the metal as the monster had been lunging at his son moments earlier. "Gross." Was the first thing Arthur said as he didn't just realize what he had done, nor would these actions catch up to the boy until he had committed his second kill, who was walking right though the door in the form of the boy's mother. Arthur quickly pulled the sword out of his father's corpse, a task that was harder then the boy would have fought, and by the time it was out the zombie was feet away from.
Arthur swung the blade quickly at his Mom's neck and the sword actually cut right through th woman's body which sent the head to the other side of the boy's room, near his closet. Unfortunately the blade then went into the wall and got stuck.

After that Arthur saw the second most disgusting sight he would see that day. His dead mother's head, was still moving, struggling one should say. It was then that Arthur threw up on his Father's corpse, the tears beginning to fall again, this time harder then ever. After another minute of Arthur crying rather loudly the boy wiped his face, smearing blood on it of course, and he then removed the Master Sword replica from his wall and walked up to his mother's head to put her out of it's misery.

"Good bye mum, see you in...wherever this ends. ...is that...clawing?" Arthur wondered as he looked towards the doorway and saw his sister. Her neck actually had a gap missing from it which made the girls head lean forward in a sickly looking way, the fourth worst thing Arthur would see that day. "Zombies." Arthur said quietly as he realized what was going on, that his lazy friend Joey had actually been correct, that those reports and stories on the internet and from Rolling Stone was also true, that the government had lied and killed it's own people.

"I-i'm sorry Kate, so sorry." Arthur said with tears in his eyes before he finally killed the last member of his family.

((I don't mean to sound condescending, but that comment about "the Rolling Stones" gave me an image of Mick Jagger running through the streets shouting "The end is nigh!" Anyway, you know that "Rolling Stone" is an independent magazine that has nothing to do with the band, right?))

As he drove through the streets of his home city, he was starting to notice more and more cars parked by the side of the road, or crashed into the walls. With the cars, the body count went higher and higher, until it was obvious that there was something more going on than he initially thought. It seemed that in the confusion of...well, whatever this was, people had started moving farther down town, to try and mkae it to the mayor's office, perhaps. He drove by the city hall, and sure enough, there were several hundred people gathered outside the doors. He passed them by. He never liked angry mobs, especially ones that seemed to literally be throwing themselves against the doors.
Then one of them turned and saw him.
His eyes widened, and he stepped on the gas. The person's eyes were totally blank. The person opened his mouth and black bile streamed from his mouth in sickening strands. Then the person took off toward the speeding vehicle. Despite pushing his car up to sixty miles an hour, he knew he wasn't going to get past that person in time for him to turn around, or turn out of the way. Time seemed to slow as the moment of truth neared.
"Jacob, if someone's blood were to be on your hands, what would you do?" he remembered a Sunday School teacher asking him one day, back as a child. He had thought for a moment, then answered, somewhat timidly:
"I'd never forgive myself."
The car's front bumper threw the person about three feet. The person literally bounced back up, seemed to grin, the black bile flowing through his teeth like rancid water through a sewer drain. Then he ran towards the car again, straight toward it.
The bumped finally met with the person's torso again, knocking them flat on their back. As he heard the person's bones snap under the wheels, he remembered the children laughing at him for his answer. They went down the line, answering "I'd kill another person!" or "It would only be in self defense!"
He sped up to seventy miles an hour to try and run away from the guilt filling his heart. He quietly noted, deep in his mind, that the person didn't scream.

Rogers pick-up truck never had good gas mileage. The thing was pre-vietnam, a relic he had picked up at a convention, a memory to the great American car industry. Regardless of nostalgia, the thing needed to re-fuel a lot.

It was for this, that Roger was parked at the "Happy Shell" gas station, pumping the fossil fuel into his truck. The only other patron was a short man, well dressed, chatting into a cell phone. He looked distressed, or at least what Roger could tell from what he could see. The man was wearing dark glasses, which effectively shielded his expression.

As the pump dinged, Roger pulled it from the gas canister, screwing the cap back on. Patting his wallet, he walked towards the convenience store, to pay, and maybe buy a soda. As Roger walked past sunglasses, the short man suddenly cut off conversation. Pulling the cell phone from his ear, Roger heard him mutter "...service, always cutting out...".

The only person behind the counter was a tall, lanky 20-something. The man obviously did not look interested in his job, staring at the pages of a newspaper, instead of Roger as the door opened.

As Roger pulled open the drink cooler, a noise sounded out. Just as Roger turned, he caught sight of a woman in a scarlet dress, grab ahold of the business man. His sunglasses clattered to the asphalt, as he fell, himself collapsing to the pavement.

Roger closed the cooler door, and took a step closer to the plate glass windows. It was at that moment that a young man, maybe in his thirties, his head covered in a beanie, his chest and arms covered in blood, pushed through the doors, and collapsed.