Zombie Apocalypse RP

Mayor Mayhem & xxxarcxangelxxx

Joe Fisher was your average, every-day, 27-year old man. He'd had a decent life and made a decent living. Had a decent job to sustain himself and a decent apartment to live in. One could say he was intent with his life. Had everything he needed; nothing more, nothing less.

But, of course, that all changed when the infection came. It was just your typical virus going around at first. People got sick and stayed home. But with this particular virus, they never got better. Instead, they died horrible, slow, gruesome deaths; aided by the many side effects of the virus. Warts, rotting skin, loss of every-day body functions, delirium... until death finally fell upon them. But that wasn't the end. Oh, no. Things had to get worse when the infected dead actually began returning to life!

Zombies, people called them. Joe was reluctant at first, but soon enough, after about a week of nonstop terror, it became apparent that that's exactly what they were. The zombies would go after anything living, and feat upon it. It was disturbing, to say the least. Even the military was having trouble sustaining a firm hold on the city, both with the infected who hadn't died yet, non-infected who were simply trying to stay alive, and murderous zombies that ran a muck and grew in number by the day.

And so, here Joe was, at a local grocery store. It's been cleaned out like there was no tomorrow. Zombies and Special Forces soldiers roamed the streets. Most common people had either left the city by now or simply barricaded themselves in their homes. But Joe needed supplies. He was planning on leaving the city and needed to be prepared first.

He stood in his casual brown T-shirt, blue jeans, and boots, looking around at the raided grocery store, a single pistol in his slightly shaking hand. It had been hell getting there, but here he was. The brown-eyed, brown-haired man slowly made his way towards one of the isles in the store. There had to be something useful in this God-forsaken place.

The soft trill of the bell at the grocery store's door was enough to send a chill down Jace's back. From where he was crouched an aisle away from the entrance, all his blue-grey eyes could see was a pair of boots as the other individual, be it a special forces operative, one of the infected, or an out-of-their-mind civilian, made their way in. If it were a civilian, like himself, he would have to give them credit, however crazy going to a convenience store may be- it was Hell out on the city's streets, so you had to be damned determined to make it even just down the block from where you lived. He should know, of course, for he'd been camped out in what was supposed to be his dorm room for weeks before he finally decided that he would be needing more supplies than the university campus' cafeteria would supply him with.

Jace was not cut out for this whole zombie rampage. He was supposed to have graduated from the university with high honors, and been set for a decent life in the city once he found a stable job. He was supposed to be living in a condo with his dorm roommate and girlfriend, splitting the rent to make ends meet. He was supposed so have visited his parents for Easter, where he might've had the pleasure of introducing his girlfriend as his fiancee- but he hadn't heard from his roommate, girlfriend, or parents in months, he hadn't been able to graduate, and he most definitely did not have a stable job in this nightmare. At 22, Jace Evans was a scavenger, at best, living off of mostly year old food and knowing what few survival ta tics he'd come up with from the video games he used to play with his roomies in order to take his mind off of studying. He'd spent his whole life working as a student, working to achieve a better future, and know he was pissed off. After all, what became of the world? He would've been better off joining the militia after high school.

Watching the set of boots carefully, Jace made the decision that he had to find out who had just entered, but how to do so... He looked about his supplies carefully: the steak knife he'd found in his sink, a brick (who knows when you'd need one), and the package of twinkies he had just found lying beneath one of the grocery isles. Frowning, he opened the box of twinkies carefully, so to be quiet, and stared at one of the packages. "I suppose it's a worthy sacrifice... I'm sorry, friend," he whispered quietly before chucking the twinkie in the direction of the boots' owner, watching to see if it hit from his crouched position.