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Post by Admin on May 5, 2012 14:11:38 GMT -5
You find yourself in the entrance hall of what appears to be a grand mansion with no memory of how you came to be there.
You are lying on a rich, scarlet carpet that bisects the marble floor and lines the sweeping staircase as it ascends to the second floor. Above, a crystal chandelier glitters over the tier overlooking the building’s front entrance. Brass candelabras, polished and painstakingly lit, stand on either side of the stairway, providing further illumination.
A large double door leads to the west wing, while both a double and single lead to different rooms to the east. Aside from those is the front entrance, a much larger doorway that seems as though it could be an exit. It appears heavy, as though it was designed to discourage intruders. Or escapees.
Pinned to the door is a card that reads, simply: “No exit”.
A Beretta pistol lies, seemingly discarded, on the floor to your left, yet its placement seems too precise to be a simple accident. To confirm your suspicions, a second card is lying beside it, one that says: “Where are your companions? Where are your protectors? Where is your child?”
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Post by sexystrife on May 6, 2012 16:13:33 GMT -5
It had been safe to say that he was nowhere near home.
The longer he stared the more the ceiling seemed to spin, blending the bright lights and dull grays into a sickening mixture that only served to worsen his horrible migraine. The plush sensation at his back combined with the unnatural sturdiness of the floor beneath the carpet seemed to bring John from his drug induced haze, and finally gave him the strength to sit upright. The room spun, his temples throbbed, and his hands quaked as he brought them to his face in some feeble attempt to lessen the pain. He felt sick, something was wrong, what had happened? Where was he?
“W..where…?”
The near silent inquiry seemed to echo throughout the grand mansion’s enormous entrance hall, bringing the blonde quickly to his feet with a start. John’s breath hitched in a silent panic, trying his absolute best to keep his calm as he noted his change in attire and the new unfamiliar soundings. The hall was massive, and rich with elaborate decorum that he had never seen before; Untouched, beautiful, and empty…Eerily silent and without any sign of life, and yet somehow he felt as though he were being watched.
Something was wrong.
John’s eyes skirted the surrounding area once again, warily walking from one end of the hall to the other in some search of someone, anyone that could tell him what had happened before finally stopping before the massive front door. Unlocked, but the ominous sign carefully left taped between them, and the soft but constant muffled growling coming from the other side suggested that running into the unknown night would lead one to an untimely end.
John swallowed, stepping slowly away from the door as the growling from before birthed into ferocious barking, obviously able to smell fresh blood on the other side of the door. There was nothing he could do now but explore the mansion, and hopefully find someone, anyone that could help him escape. As he turned to walk deeper into the hall, he came across a discarded handgun, far too carefully placed for it to be accidental, and aside the gun he spied a note, the written message seemed to deepen the pit of dread that had already set deep within his gut.
“Claudia..”
John grit his teeth, fear setting in as he spun on his heels and began his search, taking the pistol with him.
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Post by King of Cunts on May 6, 2012 20:47:21 GMT -5
The best he could have hoped for was a crowbar. Kind of ironic, considering the birds he was running away from, but still, it would have made a great tool for getting the door open, and a weapon for afterwards to boot. There wasn’t one, of course, but who was honestly surprised by something like that being the case?
The only furniture was old, wooden and slowly mouldering into uselessness. He tried it anyway, wondering if he could lever the door open with it despite its disrepair. He picked up a chair and smashed it on the floor, leaving him with an old, wooden and slowly mouldering chair leg. He wedged it through the handle and threw his weight onto it, hoping he could break the lock.
The chair leg snapped clean in half and he slammed full-bore into the wall.
“Fuck!” he barked, kicking the door hard. It rattled, but he didn’t manage to move it.
He bent down, peering through the lock, trying to see what awaited him on the other side. He was sorely tempted to give up and find another route, but for all he knew he might have been giving up on the only safe area in the building. But he couldn’t see through the keyhole. The key was in the other side of the door.
He’d heard about thieves who could knock a key out of a lock onto a sheet of paper and pull it under the door, only this door had no crack beneath, and he didn’t have a sheet of paper. But he had fists.
He slammed them into the door over and over again, wondering if he could rouse the person who lived there. Part of him was hesitant, questioning who the hell lived here, and why he’d ended up tied on their balcony, a feast for carrion. The other part of him wanted to get as far away from the fucking birds as possible.
They had a taste for him, and any minute now they were going to shatter that glass and rain down on him in a torrent of beaks and black feathers. He needed to get away.
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Post by sexystrife on May 7, 2012 20:51:07 GMT -5
To say John’s venture upstairs had been going well would have been a horrible lie to say the least. The second floor of the mansion seemed to have quite the zombie infestation.
John quickly pulled himself back into the main hall, promptly slamming his back against door behind him; his chest heaved, his breath came in short intervals, his were eyes wide and his pistol still bled with lingering smoke. John had quite a few run-ins with the unfortunate undead before, but it had been quite a long time since he had been forced to bring any down himself, and even longer since he had such a close call.
John exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose as he attempted to recompose himself. He could not allow himself to fall into such a close scrape with an infected again; he had to be more cautious.
After a long moment, John finally managed to peel his body away from the door and forced himself back into the eerie mansion’s upstairs balcony, quickly distancing himself from the door from which he had previously emerged. John inhaled slowly, recalling something shak had once said about the infected not too long ago, about them clawing through doors en mass in some cases after their prey. Once they had a taste for you there was no real hope of escaping them. John shuddered inwardly at the thought, trying his best to put the horrible image out of his mind until he found his thought process quickly interrupted by the horribly loud sound of someone shouting, and throwing their weight against a door somewhere close by.
John hastened his pace and swallowed his fear, following the noises until he found himself at another door that seemed to lead outside, shaking violently with each heavy boot the person on the other end afforded it. And within the shaking door’s keyhole, rested a carefully placed key.
It all seemed far too convenient.
He could not be certain that what awaited him behind that door would be another living person, but he could not allow himself to pass by without checking first. He could not, and would not leave someone else to die.
John took another breath, closing his eyes and quickly turned the key, throwing the door open.
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Post by King of Cunts on May 8, 2012 20:18:59 GMT -5
The lock snapped open. Burke didn’t know what was happening on the other side of that door and, right at that moment, he couldn’t have cared less. He rammed the door open with his shoulder, knocking it straight back at the person on the other side. He was ready to flatten the face of any hostiles he glimpsed, but quickly realised it wasn’t necessary.
He grabbed the door and threw it closed behind him. There was the sound of glass breaking outside. He heaved a sigh.
Then, he turned to look back at his rescuer.
“You? Yeah, that figures. What the hell happened anyway? Last thing I remember, we were back at the safe house. Then I wake up in this shithole.”
He scanned John Wesker’s outfit - vestments gone, casual clothing which he normally never wore - and his agitated expression. What did he know about what was going on here? And where was Red? They needed to find her.
His vision centred on the pistol clasped in his hand.
“Where the hell did you get that?” He held out a hand. “Give it to me, before you hurt yourself.”
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Post by sexystrife on May 9, 2012 17:25:16 GMT -5
John could not say that he had ever hated anyone, despite what most people thought upon meeting him, John rather enjoyed the company of others, a rather rare commodity that he had denied himself due to his rather horrible run of luck when it came to his twin. He didn’t want to drag any more innocent people down with him. Ethan Burke, on the other hand, seemed to be trying his absolute best on every occasion he was afforded to wear down the younger Wesker’s seemingly infinite supply of patience.
He was dedicated, John would give him that much.
John sighed heavily, not sure whether to be relieved or annoyed by Burke’s presence. He quickly relaxed, heaving a quick sigh of relief, “I am not a child.” John replied flatly, taking in Burke’s bloodied visage with an air of restrained concern as he holstered his gun, ignoring the larger male’s insult.
“I am not sure what’s happened. I just woke up lying on the downstairs floor like this. I can’t remember anything. I found a note on the floor…” The blonde began, his jaw tightening as another wave of dread washed over him at the thought of Claudia, he shook the thought and continued; “We have to find Miss Shak.”
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Post by King of Cunts on May 9, 2012 19:40:01 GMT -5
“No shit,” Burke grunted, “that was actually my first thought. I was gonna come looking for you once I found her.”
Still, it wasn’t like finding the priest was a bad thing. He was their mission in the first place. Now that he was accounted for, it made the process of getting out of this hole that much easier. Unfortunately, Burke probably wasn’t going to be able to convince him to just stay put while he searched the area. He’d insist on coming along. Goddamn civilians.
In a perfect world, and if he’d had rope, he’d have just tied Wesker up and left him in the hall to wait, same with any other survivors he ran into. It was usually the best way of making sure they didn’t wind up getting themselves in trouble. Same with Shak. He’d rather not risk her getting herself killed in this death trap.
He bristled when he thought of the card that had been left stuck to his hand. Someone was taunting him. But maybe that someone had said something different to Wesker. “What note?”
It occurred to Burke that he probably needed to get someone to look at the holes in his body, but he’d have to get to that later. So long as his muscles held up and didn’t start spasming from the damage they’d received, he’d probably be okay. They weren’t bleeding too badly, and infection was a non-issue. And they’d definitely been infected. There was no way a normal bird would behave like that.
“Seriously, dude. Amateur hour’s over. Give me the gun. This isn’t the time for dick-waving. I thought you were supposed to be a priest anyway. The hell do you need a gun for?”
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Post by sexystrife on May 10, 2012 20:52:40 GMT -5
“This mansion is crawling with infected, and who knows what else.” John bit out, his eyes narrowing in agitation, “Though I dislike firearms and the violence that accompanies them, Mr. Burke, I am competent enough to handle one.”
Jonathan finished evenly, smoothing the anger from his voice as he locked eyes with Burke, his face drawn and serious at first, though his eyes told a different story entirely. They glinted with something buoyant, a playful instant that shone for only a second before he continued on, his tone deadpan; “Besides, you never know, I may shoot this thing later on and actually hit something worthwhile.” John ended with a light smirk, ghosting his fingertips along his scarred forearms as he ventured forward, casting his glance over the balcony that overlooked the main entrance’s massive atrium. His brief spurt of humor dying the moment John chose to speak again;
“…It mentioned you and Miss shak, Malice too…And Claudia.” John’s stance stiffened, as though the very thought of her being in such a horrible place alone without him to protect her made his blood run cold.
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Post by King of Cunts on May 11, 2012 19:50:50 GMT -5
“Whatever you say, Wesker,” Burke said, shrugging as he brushed past and walked along the balcony, “keep it if you want. Just keep the safety on. I don’t want to get shot in the back.”
He tried the door halfway along and found it to be unlocked. Half a dozen zombies took a staggering step towards him, almost in unison, and he swung the door shut again.
“Fuck,” he grunted.
Even immunity and a fully-loaded pistol - providing he could get Wesker to play ball - didn’t make him feel any better about handling that corridor. Too much chance he’d get pulled down and eaten before he could put them all down. And he didn’t quite have Red’s poise and raw muscle power when it came to handling the ghouls.
She could rip a horde twice as strong to shreds with her bare hands. Hell, he’d seen her wading into crowds with just her fists, shattering jaws with roundhouse punches and sending bodies flying with haymakers. And she was creative. He just didn’t have that flair. But then, he hadn’t been trained to fight zombies with his hands.
He gave up on the door, figuring they’d try it later if they could find better artillery. Chances were Wesker’s gun wasn’t the only one their host, whoever he was, had left them.
He went towards the stairs. Maybe he’d try the lower floor, before the hall’s opposite side.
He didn’t make it to the ground, however. Something started rattling the door he hadn’t even noticed halfway down the stairs. He jumped away, half expecting another platoon of zombies to spill out. Instead, he could hear someone swearing. Familiar voice. Even more familiar curses.
“Red? That you?” He tried the door, but it was stuck fast. He grunted, using every fibre of muscle in his body to try to budge it. “The door’s locked. Damn it.”
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Post by sexystrife on May 24, 2012 18:08:33 GMT -5
John rolled his eyes, shaking his head lightly as he followed in suit, making sure to keep at a safe enough distance from Burke. Far enough away to keep off his heels, but close enough to make sure if he was grabbed by one of the many scaly undead lumbering about, his screams would be heard for certain. He wasn’t certain what was worse, being grabbed by the undead or being behind burke.
John shrugged the thought away and followed in silence, trying and failing, to wrap his mind around what had exactly happened. It was madness to think that anyone would come to such a place willingly, especially unarmed, And it seemed that the more he thought on it, the more probable his brother’s involvement with the entire situation became. John ground his teeth, his fists clenching at his sides as he mulled over his thoughts over and over again. Why? Why couldn’t he remember? Why something so complicated?
Something was not right.
John was unable to finish his thoughts as he suddenly found himself jerked from his endless stream of questions when the familiar, yet muffled, sounds of swearing came within earshot, “Miss shak!” John could barely contain the relief that flooded his tone.
“Are you alright?”
((OMG I am so sorry, I thought I had posted this days ago! So sorry dave D: ))
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Post by King of Cunts on May 25, 2012 14:21:14 GMT -5
(OOC: It's cool, Rose. Don't sweat it.)
“Red? Red, get fucking back here, right now!”
Burke was no stranger to stress. He’d spent an entire year as part of a UBCS platoon whose sole duty had been to refuse people access to healthcare, food and clean water. In that job, it had been harder to live with himself than to do the job itself. Stars was a whole lot more rewarding a career, but it wasn’t exactly low on factors to make him pull his hair out in clumps.
Life-threatening situations, the constant wary eyes of those of his colleagues that knew he was a carrier, and the frankly worrying aptitude of his partner to get them both into trouble - all were constantly on his mind. Usually, he was pretty capable of keeping a clear head, but only when he had his partner at his side. It was always easier to work through things with support, and you didn’t get support much better than Shak.
And now she was running off with some “new friend”. She was a top-notch soldier and a real good person, but he wasn’t sure he trusted her as a judge of character. She was still convinced that the freak Wesker towed around could be trusted.
“Red?!” he yelled out, one last time, before slamming his fist against the door, “fuck. Fucking typical. Trapped in some crazy ass retirement home and the only reliable person in the damn place wants to go solo.”
He turned back to Wesker, his face set in a scowl.
“Alright, she’s gone. Now what? And before you mention it, I’m not waiting here for her to get lost in this nut house.”
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Post by sexystrife on Jun 9, 2012 1:49:47 GMT -5
Jonathan lowered his head somewhat; sighing softly as he once again brought his fingers habitually to his temples. He didn’t like this, he did not like that she was somewhere he could not follow. There was no doubt in his mind that Shak could indeed take care of herself, but he could not quiet the nagging voice that seemed to eat at him. Shak’s voice faded away, leaving nothing but the faint sounds of her bounding footsteps echoing on the outside patio. John bit his lip, turning back to meet Burke’s gaze as he finally relaxed himself;
“We will have to move on and meet up with her later. Surely she will find another way in...” John trailed from his thoughts momentarily, allowing his eyes to roam over the main hall once more as the strange sounds of faint voices became very much aware to him.
“Besides, I don’t think we’re alone here. We should go check for other survivors.”
((Sorry!!! I meant to have this to you sooner, but family has been here and I have just been so caught up! I promise to have my other posts to you sooner.))
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Post by King of Cunts on Jun 16, 2012 8:23:55 GMT -5
(OOC: It's cool. Sorry it took me so long to get back to you myself. We had company.)
“God damn it,” Burke grunted, banging his fist against the door one last time for good measure, “who the fuck is she with?”
He didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all. Crazy house filled with zombies and God knew what else and his partner had gone running off with a total stranger. For all he knew, this person was with the Company. This definitely smelled like some kind of crazy data gathering experiment. And if that was the case then the zombies were just the tip of the iceberg. When the rest of the freaks came crawling out of their holes, they’d all be in serious trouble.
They needed to be tight. They had numbers in their favour - four survivors thus far. If they could get together they’d stand a better chance of surviving. It was simple as that.
“Fuck this shit. Okay, upstairs is out. Too many of those walkers. Sounded like she was going towards the east, so we take the downstairs route. Maybe we’ll find the other way around.”
Of course, a place like this could have had a million dead ends. But they weren’t accomplishing anything just standing around like this.
He took the steps to the lower floor two at a time and marched across the hall to the double doors on the east side. He threw them open and found himself staring straight down the throat of a ghoul. He spat a curse and kicked it hard in the stomach, sending it careening backwards on unsteady legs. It toppled like a tree falling, almost unbearably slow, and its skull cracked on the corner of a stone block at the middle of the room. It rolled onto its face, wearing the shape of the pedestal as an indentation in its cranium. Dark, almost black, blood was oozing from the distortion.
He looked around, hardly stopping to pay the thing a second glance. They were in a gallery of some kind. Tile floor, track lights, paintings all over the walls. A statue of a woman’s upper body carrying an urn over its shoulder was placed atop the pedestal, still dripping with the zombie’s brain matter.
“This place just keeps getting creepier and creepier,” he grunted, shooting a look back over his shoulder, “you’d better not have anything to do with this, Wesker.”
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Post by sexystrife on Jun 16, 2012 21:48:36 GMT -5
(No big deal, dave! Company comes first <3 )
Jonathan followed his would-be companion in silence for a long while, dismissing the other’s lowered swearing as he stalked towards the mansion’s lower east wing. How strange, Jonathan thought, his eyes scanning the main hall once more in search of something that wasn’t there. He could have sworn he had heard something, voices, it had to of been. John soon found his thoughts cut short as the low guttural roar of a shambling ghoul tore through the silent air of the mansion. John’s breath caught in the back of his throat at the sudden emergence of the ghoul, and he only found it ok to breathe again after the poor soul’s head had been completely destroyed after a good kicking from Burke.
John followed slowly, his form still shaking somewhat as the sudden shock seemed to dissipate. The acrid air within the room wafted to meet him, causing the blonde’s face to scrunch in distaste.
“Yes, of course. This is obviously all my doing.” John replied dryly, his tone dripping in sarcasm as he quickly closed the distance between them while bringing his hands over his nose and mouth in a vain attempt to block the stench. It would do him no good.
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Post by King of Cunts on Jun 18, 2012 19:14:11 GMT -5
Burke snorted. “Yeah, I can’t imagine why the guy who wears priest robes but isn’t actually a priest and pals around with a freaking B.O.W might be suspect. Silly me.”
The gallery was a bust, nothing there. There was a door, and a doorway, covered only by a curtain. He picked the latter, figuring it was best to clear the “room” before moving on. He brushed aside the curtain and found himself staring at more paintings. Some had been covered over, but others had just been stacked haphazardly, like the owner of the mansion had too many and couldn’t decide which to display.
He walked along the passage, his footsteps sending up clouds of dust with every stride. Either this place had stood abandoned for awhile, or the dust had been added to the places that looked like they needed it. He didn’t know which was weirder.
Around the bend, a complete one-eighty, he came to a dead end. Another carrier was lying on the floor, playing that peculiar game of possum they sometimes played. He’d seen bodies that looked like they’d been dead lie for minutes, sometimes even hours, before spontaneously springing to life. Maybe it had something to do with the degradation of the zombies, the time since they’d become infected. Maybe it just took them that long to realise there was fresh meat nearby.
He didn’t take any chances. He stamped on its head several times, and then pressed his boot down on its neck until its vertebrae popped like a string of pearls coming off their chain. He stepped over its corpse and examined the shelves behind it. Tools for rehanging pictures, including a small hammer, rested on them. He took the hammer and slipped it into his belt.
There were boxes of nails, but - he was sad to note - no nail gun. The house was determined to recreate that authentic “old-fashioned way” of doing things, it seemed.
“Nothing here,” he yelled back to Wesker, “let’s try that other door.”
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