The Event

The Event is a simple name for the day of a world-wide detonation of the entire world's collective WMDs: December 28, 2495. Due to an unknown bug in the system they all launched at once and without warning, and most of the world's population was wiped out. The earth is now scorched, the oceans sludgy and most available drinking water gone. The sky is thickly clouded with smog of dark gray and brown that allow little sunlight to pass. Many large patches of earth and water have been open to radiation exposure and fenced off by what remained of the government before it fell to anarchy and panic as people began starving and demanding the rations being held from them. After the governments fell, people began relying on themselves and whomever they could trust, often turning on those considered friends when food or clean water ran out.

Few are still alive. It's hard to say how many, now, since more and more appear and disappear with each passing day. Some are doing their best to move on, while many are scraping by from one day to the next.

Comments would be nice,
but message them or post them on my profile
and I'd be happy to quote them so they're shown off~

Characters



Name
John Doe

Sex
Male

Age
25 years

Appearance
John stands six foot, two inches tall approximately, with tanned skin and a thin but strong body suited for having grown up in a rough environment. Black hair somewhat down his back, normally in a ponytail or braid. Eyes between light and dark blue, rather large and watchful and darkly lashed under intense brows. A sharp face, high cheekbones and a narrow nose. Clothing includes mostly scavenged materials, business-type clothing, long dusters, coats, and jackets accompanied by heavy black or brown boots and gloves depending on the weather. Color of clothing varies from back to dark green or red.

Personality
Friendly and always willing to help in a time of need. Cautious and curious, will approach the unknown with a watchful eye and ready weapon. Not easily frightened and in a fight or flight situation he will always choose fight. His protective nature doesn't allow him to let anyone suffer if he can stop it, which has led to some negative situations on his part. He learns quickly from mistakes so that he rarely makes them a second time.

Quick History

John Doe got his name from a homeless ex-military man that found him as a nearly newborn baby abandoned in an alley. Since he had no identification, he was given the name John Doe and raised by the man that found him, living off what money they could get and saving up. John didn't mind his life, even if it was one of struggle.

After the Event, John found himself in the shelter his friend had created, filled with food and supplies, and pushed him into moments before detonation. He woke alone, with chaos around him, and filled his backpack with everything he could carry in the little shelter before escaping his home city and the growing revolt against a reforming government that was trying to extend to keep the surviving civilians under check.




Name
Jeremy Goff

Sex
Male

Age
56 years

Appearance
Jeremy stands a bit over six feet in height, with deeply tanned skin and a thick body, mostly muscle-based because of his work and life. Dark hair, mostly black and speckled with gray and white, rather short and messy. Light brown-amber hooded eyes, a somewhat square face with a strong jawline and thick brows, a wide nose and thin mouth, and a light beard on his chin. Clothing includes simple buttondown shirts tucked into jeans and thick work boots, leather-based jackets and coats when needed, and a heavy brown belt.

Personality
Strong in will, spirit, and body, Jeremy is a family man that is always there for those he loves and will never turn his back on a friend in need. With a traditional look on the world and the slightest bit of paranoia, Jeremy has always thought the world would somehow come to blows with one another in some way.

Quick History
Jeremy grew up on the same patch of land his whole life, learning what work and understanding of the world can do for someone and at the same time, learned a love of his family. He found a wife early on, a city-born girl named Selena that didn't like the city, and the prospect of a farm-based life on a sprawling apple orchard enticed her. Soon after their marriage they had a little girl, Rose, who took to their orchard life in a snap.

Jeremy's father was drafted for war despite being on in years, and died not long after being sent to battle. His mother, elderly after the war's end, was moved into their home and looked after until her death just a year later. After that, Jeremy began feeling a dark weight on his shoulders, as if the world was collapsing and soon they would be on their own. Because of this he began keeping stock of a hidden supply of food and water for himself and his wife and daughter.

After the Event, Jeremy, Selene, and Rose holed up in their home. They didn't leave, and have managed to negotiate with anyone that came to their home.




Name
Cassie Montague

Sex
Female

Age
12 years

Appearance
Cassie is around four feet, eight inches tall and has lightly tanned skin, and a slight, graceful body built as a dancer. Large emerald-green eyes under heavy lashes and wavy chestnut-toned hair halfway down her back that's usually in a ponytail. Clothing includes her own mismatched clothes and some oversized male clothes, generally dusty or worn after a long time of use or scavenging them from where she can find them. Most of the time she wears a light green long-sleeved shirt and white undershirt, light blue jeans and small hiking boots.

Personality
A sweet, kind type of girl that's friendly and always looking to be involved with everyone she meets. Generally cautious, however, she's careful about who she trusts. Compassionate, Cassie loves animals and wants to be a vet, and ever since she could read she took it upon herself to learn about animals. She's respectful and understanding of others, and seems a bit more grown up than the usual twelve year old.

Quick History
Cassie grew up in an upper-class family, a father who worked in law and a mother that's a doctor. She was homeschooled by a tutor that worked with her one-on-one, but she was able to make and play with friends in her neighborhood at the same time, so her social skills are well developed.

After the event she found herself alone and afraid, running and hiding to keep herself alive and begging for food and water in hopes that others would take pity on her. She's managed to trade her basic first aid knowledge for a few days' worth of food so far.




Name
Allan Sharp

Sex
Male

Age
16 years

Appearance
Allan is almost six feet in height, but not quite. He has light skin and slightly droopy hazel eyes with brown-gold flecks, and dirty blonde hair that's slightly long and wildly windswept. He's lithe, light on his feet and rather delicately built, with a sharp, gentle face and small nose. His clothing includes mismatched things from his closet, layers from t-shirts to heavy sweaters that he doesn't wear all at once, but carries them in his bag. His most notable piece of clothing is the long, thick duster he wears.

Personality
Friendly enough, if a bit shy and standoffish in most situations. He panics easily but keeps a cool head after the initial heart attack. Trustworthy and with a keen sense of hearing and sight, he's often a little paranoid because his mind makes things up to hear or see. He's a bit nervous and is a little clumsy

Quick History
Allan's father divorced his lazy, unfit mother early in his life and as such Allan doesn't remember her. His father worked as an author and had several high-selling books, allowing them a high-class life, though he went to a public school and found a love of running and reading. He managed to get on the track team and became the fastest in his school, easily. His home life, though his father was often busy, was good, well adjusted though he had only one parent.

After the Event, Allan found himself running more than he ever had. Easily startled by the slightest of sounds, he's evaded many scrappy bandits and groups of hoarders by running through the decrepit city streets and hiding in small places he manages to squeeze his body into.

Stories



John's Stories


Jeremy's Stories


Cassie and Allan's Stories

Saved
(Reservation)

Search For Water Part I

It's been raining an awful lot lately. Acid rain. I don't like to go out in it, even though it doesn't really hurt. Not unless you're out for a long time, I mean. After a while it starts to sting. Eats away at your skin. Clothes. Makes you lose your hair. I bet it's uncomfortable. Bet it's radioactive. Whatever the case, I don't like it. So for now, I'm sitting here under this billboard. Thank God it's on a bit of a hill so the water runs away from me. It's best not to collect the stuff to drink. I mean unless you want a really painful and slow death I'd bet. That does make water really hard to come by, unless you find an underground source that's not open to contamination. Or that hasn't been broken... I've been searching for one... Think I found one...

I haven't been drinking much of what I have left... I really need to refill my bottles, they're all empty except this little one... I've just been taking little sips to save it... I don't know what the city has. Most were walled off just a couple weeks into this mess. It's been two months so far and those walls don't look too sturdy. I mean, what with the acid rain. I just don't like going to the cities, but... I don't really think I got much of a choice now.

Sighing, John closed his notebook and settled back against the buckled steel that held up part of the billboard he was calling shelter. The only way he knew what the date was now was because of his notebook, and his daily writings, be they ramblings or lamentations, because they were dated at the top. He slid it into its plastic bag, along with his pens, and put this into his backpack. The thing was large, built for weeks of camping and therefore able to be stuffed full of whatever he could find that might be useful. Within its black confines, protected by a clear plastic bag he used during runs through irradiated areas or rainy weather, a plethora of items resided.

At the top of the bag, a skin-tight protective material built solely for traversing strong radiation. Underneath, scavenged mismatched clothing, mostly items coming from relatively untouched clothing departments. No one seemed to take business-style attire, but he found use in any body covering. Underneath those, packets and cans of food. Often he came across small stashes guarded only by their dead owners, and took everything he could stuff away. Beneath that, ammunition boxes and loose bullets accompanying two small pistols and a collection of very sharp blades of varying sizes. Attached to the outside of the backpack was a gas mask built to withstand irradiated air and block powerful scents, accompanied by a Geiger counter and a machete paired with a shotgun he had stumbled across after picking the lock of a ravaged gun store's safe. No one had apparently found the key, and had tried to bust into the thing without success. Rolled atop the backpack was a thin sleeping bag stuffed with a woolen blanket.

He put the protected bag between his legs and leaned back, uncomfortable against cold, twisted steel but otherwise dry. In front of him, John could see the city he was going toward. The spires that were tall buildings stood relatively well, scorched by explosions, windowless in the aftershocks, jutting out of their tall stone and steel walls. Thunder roared above him, and lightning flashed dully, throwing a sickly yellow-brown glow over everything for a moment. He sighed, running his hands through his long black hair. He hadn't cut it since the event, and now it was rather windswept, dirty because he didn't like wasting water on his hair or even cleaning himself until it became unbearable and he felt disgusting. His head lolled to the side, his eyes closing. His sleep was disturbed by the constant noise around him, the thumping of rain on the billboard he called a shelter, the wind forcing the charred remains of trees to bend and creak, sometimes snap.

It seemed after the initial roar of thunder, the rain began to ease, though John was dozing close enough to real sleep not to notice until another clap startled him and sent him onto his side. There was a faint, shaky mist falling now, and John looked out, putting his hand into the cold air. It wasn't too far into February, but he was near enough South to not be overly bothered by the chill in the winter months. Sliding his bag onto his shoulders, he crawled out and into the clearing air, shivering a bit in the wind and hurrying down the muddy hill. The street below was dotted with vehicles that were little more than burned out shells now, some laden with their drivers and passengers. He never looked in the cars that resembled charred leaves; they never had anything inside. John looked at them as he passed, pulling back his hair as he walked and shaking his head. He could never get used to it. But then, only a couple months had passed yet. Of course he wasn't used to it.

Other than the creaking of the charred tree trunks and whistle of the wind, it was utterly silent. John was sure that, without the wind and the haunted creaking around him, he would be able to hear his organs working within his body from the sheer, unfiltered, absolute silence. He breathed out through his mouth, puffing a cloud of mist into the air. It was odd to feel the air so cold down here. Perhaps the cloud cover above insulated the environment, making the winter colder. He could only imagine the heat of summer if that were the case. Passing through the columns that held the gates to the city, John regarded them. Two massive steel-reinforced columns began on either side of the main street, and continued on to encompass the city. The gate was open, because no one was around to operate them anymore. And just beyond the gate, a series of checkpoints that moved like an easy maze for a time. It was built with small, thin barrier walls usually made for sectioning off parts of town during quarantine, but now, no one manned the Geiger check, the illness check, or the identity check. The Geiger sweep---which resembled an old, 21st century metal detector---stood empty and in disarray, stripped for parts that may make batteries, cars, or small radios work. The medical check was stripped as well, and the computers at the end were smashed and ruined by slightly acidic rainwater.

Inside the walls, the silence was broken by shifting rock and scuttling sounds around every corner. Rats that survived. Humans that were still finding life within the city and were too terrified to brave whatever was on the outside. But because of that, whoever remained began running short of food, getting more and more desperate. They began trapping rats, eating them, and when they couldn't catch the rats they turned on one another. John had seen the result of cannibalism already, the mess that was made. Somehow, it turned the person into a madman. He had to kill some of these psychopaths, and John always reasoned with himself that death was better than being addled, thoughtless, some... animal that didn't seem to think. As if they were rabid. John shook himself, wrapped his arms around himself. He didn't like the cold. The quiet. The slight scuttling in the quiet. Looking up, John sighed at the ugly sky. It hadn't broken since the Event's first day, when the dust settled and the survivors began climbing out of their hiding places. He longed to see blue sky.

Passing a small warehouse, John stopped and looked around for a sign. It was rare to find one that could still be read, but he did, lying against the side after its chains rusted and fell: "Waterworks" He didn't know what used to happen here, but he knew that there had to be a way down. A way into the sewers. There was always a clean water return somewhere. Pipes. A reservoir. They had to be clearly marked. He just needed some clean water somehow. Stepping in, he looked around carefully. No sound emanated from within, but John was careful nonetheless. Whatever used to be in here was gone, and replaced by beds. Cots. It had become a shelter for those that had survived, before the government cracked at the foundation and came tumbling down among anarchy. He passed the stripped beds, turning over pillows and feeling them here and there if they seemed a bit lumpy or misshapen. But he found nothing, and went to the back, through a door that looked to be locked, but wasn't. Through here, empty bags and bottles were scattered about, and in the corner he found something else.

Slowly, he moved forward, pulling the door closed behind him. The form didn't move. It was a human, that much he could tell. But it looked... dead. It was dead. So thin it reminded him of those heart-wrenching ads for overseas countries whose children were dying of hunger and so thin one could count virtually every bone in their body. He was always glad for the small amounts of food he did have before the event hit, and even more grateful now. He backed away from the figure and went through another door, into a dark area. Fumbling, John nearly tripped over something that rolled under his feet and fell down the stairs in front of him. Reaching down, his hand met a cold steel tube. A flashlight. His hand moved up, finding a button, and he clicked it. The beam was dim, but it was there nonetheless. The sign beside him read "Sewer System". Sighing, John grimaced and started down the stairs. He didn't look forward to going down to such disgusting tunnels, but his mouth was already drying out. The water left in his single bottle simply wouldn't last another day.

His footfalls echoed with a metalac tone all the way down the stairs, and he grimaced at the way the noise seemed to expand and echo, as if anyone within the city could hear it. But he made it without awakening whatever he was sure resided just within hearing range of his activity, putting a hand on the door at the bottom of the staircase. It was wooden, and padlocked with a rather rusty lock and plate. With a sigh, John took out his switchblade and flipped it open, levering it between the plate and the door and wiggling it. Only a bit of space formed before he had to give up and pocket his knife, and he stepped back toward the stairs to shrug out of his backpack and perch the flashlight on top of it. Bracing his arm against him, John sprinted as quickly as he could in such a confined space and smashed into the door, hearing a splintering noise come from the hinges. He brought up his left leg and kicked the weakened door frame, busting the entire door off its hinges.

Rubbing his pounding shoulder and arm, John shrugged his bag back on and shook the flashlight when it flickered a little. He desperately hoped it would keep up its shine throughout his search but didn’t like his chances. Recently he had been on a rather hard luck path, stranded and attacked, stuck in the rain twice. He breathed out, shining the light into the tunnel and then sliding inside. He could already hear water running somewhere, and hoped it was clean.