The Rotting Flesh in the Big Apple.

[Zachary]

The smell is what bothered Seaos the most.

He could deal with the ruined cars, decomposing bodies that were gnawed on to the bone, the destruction of Manhattan, with the Empire State Building crumbling down into pieces from the survivor’s foolish attempts to protect themselves from the ravenous zombie hoard shuffling their way up the building, or the monstrous infernal heat of summer that strengthened the smell he was bothered by. He could even deal with the ravenous hoard of zombies walking around, the insufferable moaning and groaning as the shuffled around that left him with a itching to stab them in the head.

But the smell is what bothered him the most. The disgusting pungent smell of rotting flesh, the stagnant smell of the Hudson and East river, and the general human waste from the carelessness by the remaining people still living in the desolate city wafted into the city, causing Seaos to curse in Greek in frustration.

Seaos was a Greek immigrant, sent by his father at the wee-age of nineteen to retrieve his sister who ran away to America. When he first arrived in the Big Apple, you could say that he did some damage to the local fashion girls of the Fashion Institute. With his dark long hair, deep Mediterranean tan coupled with his tall, lean stature, Seaos could pass as a model which they gobbled up. Seaos could’ve scored with multiple women and lead a player’s life style.

But he didn’t.

Seaos was a humble fisherman.

He tried to look for his sister on his father’s command but the zombies came and fucked all that up. Now he’s looking for his sister as he tries to survive.

If he lived that long.

He walked down the empty Broadway Street, carefully stepping over debris and gnawed on dead bodies. A gentle breeze slowly made its way past Seaos, bringing the smell on swift wings. His open shirt flapped gently in the wind as his board shorts slowly bobbed as he walked. His custom made leather sandals held up against the constant wear and tear he has been enduring for the past couple months, searching Manhattan. His sling bag held fast against his chest, carrying supplies and an extra change of clothing, but the oddest thing about Seaos was his weapon of choice that he held in his hand.

It was a trident.

It was as tall as Seaos, made out of tempered steel. The prongs were curved around the main spear, giving it a deadly appearance. The shaft was wrapped in a worn leather grip, showing its wear of use. The butt was capped with a weight, giving it perfect flight in combat.

A zombie slowly shuffled its way towards Seaos, moaning it’s low guttural voice as it raised its arms upwards in an attempt to grab Seaos, it’s belly was bulging with its last unfortunate victim. Fresh wounds decorated its body as a brownish like substance oozed its way out of them, marring the gray decaying skin with a horrible look.

Seaos broke out into a run, his chest heaving and raising as he breathed heavily. He raised his trident up and launched himself into the air towards the zombie. He lets out a yell and thrusts the trident forward violently, impaling the zombie in the head. Brains and the brown substance explode out of the wounds by the trident as Seaos ripped it out of the skull. The zombie fell to the ground, and on impact, the belly explode all over the street, showering the dirty street with disgusting bile and human flesh.

“Sorry pal.” Seaos spoke softly in Greek. He wiped the trident off on the corpse’s shirt and stood up. He noticed an open door towards a CVS, he pondered for a moment as if he should take the risk to enter it.

After a moment of considering, he took the chance and slowly walked in. The eerie silence haunted him as he swept the store of any zombies. Coming up clean, he sat on the register counter and sighed out loud.

Today was going to be a long day.

~
Just post away, just use good grammar and such, you don't have to impress me considering that post I wrote was shitty.

 

[Tailon]

Joseph didn't mind the apocalypse.

As long as he could find two people alive, one would want the other dead. He wasn't on any job that day, however, merely a supply run. As luxurious as his base was, its supplies of food and water were finite. His attire seemed odd for a zombie catastrophe, a full, black, three-piece suit, a pair of simple, black, leather gloves, and a narrow brimmed fedora pulled down over blonde hair, casting its shadow over bright, blue eyes.

Joseph's darkened figure slunk through an almost empty alleyway near Broadway, using the same skill and silence he used to eliminate the living to avoid the dead. A single walker shambled in his direction. It had no eyes, and likely had no idea there was prey ahead of it. Before it could detect him, Joseph's hand shot into and out of his jacket with trained precision, braining the decaying monster with a trench spike.

Joseph kicked the creature away and broke into a run, the nearest zombies heard the small impacts and groaned, alerting each other to the perceived prey. The assassin, however was long gone, disappeared inside a CVS pharmacy.

 

[Zachary]

Seaos looked up in surprise, raising his trident upwards in case of attack, he noticed it was a man in a suit, looking oddly out of place in the zombie apocalypse. A look of amusement slowly crept onto his face as he jumped down from the counter. A soft echo bursts through the abandoned building as Seaos' feet make contact with the cold floor. He lowered the trident and holds his tough, calloused hand up in greeting.

"I am Seaos, Seaos Karsten." He said in his Greek accent, his trident was still ready to strike in case of emergency.

 

[Tailon]

To Joseph's mild surprise, there was another man in the building. He appeared Greek, which Joseph confirmed from his accent when he spoke, identifying himself as Seaos Kransten. The man looked more like a model than a survivor, and carried a trident, of all things, yet he had made it this far, he must be somewhat useful.

"So you've come this far, Seaos," Joseph said in fluent Greek,then switched to English, "My name is Joseph, Joseph Wright. And since there's safety in numbers it looks like we're stuck with each other if only for a little while."

 

[Zachary]

Seaos' face slowly crept into a smile. This man knew how to survive, he could possibly lead him to his sister. Seaos walked past him and opened a fridge door, withdrawing two water bottles. Despite the chaos, the electricity was still on and kept the waters cold. Cool droplets ran down the sides of the bottle slowly as he handed one to Joseph. Seaos uncapped his and took a long drought out of it before speaking.

"Wearing a suit in the mist of chaos, you have to be OCD or you have a safe house around here. " He said quietly, Seaos stabbed the trident into the ground and stretched before standing upright again. A serious look carved itself into his tanned face.

"You have skills that I require, and as do you need mine. I say we propose an alliance. I'll catch the fish, you cook it. How does that sound?" Seaos mused, a hint of politeness hanging on each word.

Seaos didn't want to risk a persons life for his sister, but it was the only way to see his sister again.

 

[Blazi]

Carden was pissed.

He had come over to Manhattan, specifically New York JUST so he'd be able to get a good education for college.

Instead, the entire bloody city decided to up and turn into zombies.

"Bastards." He muttered under his breath.

Carden was sitting by the roadside, his red hair draping over his face. He cradled his machete in its sheath, rightfully stolen from an army surplus store. The blade was blackened, to help hide you better in the night.

At least, that was what Carden guessed it was for.

Carden got up, looking around. His black college jumper stood out against the pale skin of his neck, and his jeans rustled ever so slightly. His sneakers made no sound as he strapped his machete to his leg and started running.

Carden liked to run. It was the only thing that made him happy, surrounded by a desolate city. He had taken to jogging around the city, for fun and for exercise, and if any zombies got in the way, so much the better.

Speaking of which.

Carden skidded to a stop, and looked at the newcomer. The zombie might have once been pretty, if it weren't for decay and the fact there was a maggot crawling out from just beneath it's left eye socket. Carden unsheathed his machete and held it out in front of him in one smooth motion.

"''Ere we go."

Carden ran towards the zombie, and slashed. The zombie held up one of its arms, but had it sliced off. Carden sliced off the other arm, then did a full 360-spin and decapitated the zombie. The armless and headless body fell to its knees, and fell to the ground with a 'whump'. Carden sighed, and walked away, sheathing his machete.

He had started running again when he found a CVS pharmacy. The door was open, and Carden could swear he could hear voices. Unsheathing his machete, just in case, Carden walked into the pharmacy.

(I've most likely screwed something up. Oh well.)

 

[Atma]

What was a little dead flesh between friends? Thought the man in his early twenties as he look down with despondant gaze through the tinted black glass of his penthouse suite. Behind him lay the corpse of the bellboy who had turned, sprawled across the oven with a kitchen knife in his back and his flesh set alight.

Adjusting his jeans and blue t-shirt the male tossed down his black handled katana onto the black leather sofa. His parents he'd come to visit with had turned not long after being bitten and as such he'd had no choice but to eliminate them. That was not to say he ever cared for them in the first place, they were always trying to shape his life and tell him what path to follow.

With an indignant tut he took a casual stride through to the black tiled en suite bathroom, rinsing blood from his hands and splashing his face with the cool relief. Taking a deep breath in the clinical cleanliness and scented smells of soaps and salves was gone. That burning corpse was becoming more prominent with a thin layer of smoke filtering about the apartment.

"My my.." His tone was deep and smooth, his disapproval betrayed in the small mutter. He could hear shuffling steps and groaning voices beating at the door as he donned his black jacket, decorated with a silver thorn design down the arms. As the thudding of dead meat against the door became louder and more groans added to the pack he remembered the blade...

..Picking up the katana he delicately examined the fine steel, cleaning the blood away with a handkerchief and gaining a feel for the balance of it. There were no others weapons he knew of in the suite and he had no desire to be caught with his back to a beserk flesh eating horde. Holding the ebony sheath in hs left, facing downwards and the katana in the other he composed himself, standing straight with eyes focused on the door.

"Adam, my boy..." Came the silky tone once more, a tension in his voice prominent. "...This is quite a situation you've worked yourself into." But no sooner had he finished the sentence had he lunged and retracted with the sword, perforating some ghoulish thing on the other side as signified by a small flow of blood then the gnashing of teeth as muscle, sinew and bone were torn and snapped from the wounded.

Now he had some brief measure of time to secure a few choice things...

 

[Zachary]

Seaos saw a red-headed man rush in with a machete drawn with wildness in his eyes. Seaos tossed his water bottle to the side and spun around, grabbing his trident in a fluid motion. He spun it around his hands for a couple moments before taking a stance with the tips positioned near the red-headed man. Seaos tensed his muscles in anticipation of a move.

"Who are you?" He said with authority, trying to imitate his father. It probably came out too deep sounding, Seaos wasn't a leader type anyways.

 

[Toru]

With a hum and a whistle, the curly brown haired man, just hit 20, strutted down the wide streets of New York City, abandoned cars scattered across the road. He adjusted the straps on his rucksack - it was pretty heavy, and full of supplies. He had chose to don a stripey blue t shirt, each stripe a different shade of blue. On top of that, a blue hoodie, almost on the border of being seen as a shade of green, yet the hooded top was not turquoise. It also boasted some fashionable crusty maroon specks on it. Dried blood was very fashionable this season. The question is, however, what Season is it?

Zombie Killing Season.

"Oh hey - another horde."

Sighing, Toby shook himself loose, and walked up to the horde of rotting flesh, swinging his metal baseball bat up to rest on one shoulder. His walk turned into a jog, and he suddenly sprinted into the small batallion of undead. With quick and nimble swings, he carved a path through them. With a brutal assault, Toby bludgeoned his way through the zombies, and turned around. A couple were running at him. He looked left and right, and spied a police officer's riot shield, abandoned after the first hour of outbreaks. Picking it up, he shunted the zombie down. He quickly ran down a corner, away from the undead's sight. He put his back to the wall of the building he turned into, and clipped the riot shield onto the back of his bag by the handle on the inside.

There was a reason Mr. Toby Jones was out in NYC, 'patrolling' the streets, but only he knew the answer. Maybe if he met some people who were actually alive, he could tell them why.

 

[Atma]

No more than a few minutes after the gnashing and crunching subsided the decomposing mass was hammering the door again, wood buckling and splintering progressively. By this time the aggrovated male was standing ready, a messenger bag with the same silver thorn design in a pentagram shape set upon it slung over his shoulder.

In one hand the kitchen knife he'd dislodged from the well charred corpse now tossed on the floor alongside his parents and the other the same katana wielded earlier. The only other discernable difference was a breather and filter only gas mask, no fabric besides straps securing it over his mouth and nose. This was due to the heavy smoke that now filled the suite which in his brief pause had started to choke his breathing. So good of his father to keep that little panic stock in the bedroom...

Casting away the thought as what equated to the upper right quater of the door came away a well executed throw into the most prominent individual of the hungering undead resulted in a clean execution point through the right eye and into the brain, outstretching hands and combined weight of the many outweighing the one and breaking down the door completely.

Flipping the black glass table over onto what of the fallen creatures he could the blue eyed businessman's son turned executioner gave a leap to atop the table, not-quite-as-strong-as-advertised glass cracking under his weight before he gave a second bound over the small gathering, landing on one knee with hand on the ground to steady himself.

"Well, that was a better outcome than I'd estimated..." Came the mutter before he delivered a slash to the back of a few collective necks and kept on running down the corridoor in persuit of a lift.

 

[Tailon]

Joseph took the surprisingly cold water bottle Seaos handed him, he opened it and took a sip, but before he could reply to the Greek man's offer of alliance another man barged into the store, a machete in hand.

Once again Jason's hand darted into and out of his jacket, drawing a SIG Sauer P220 from its shoulder holster, aiming it at the red-haired man. The assassin took another sip from his water bottle as Seaos questioned the newcomer.

 

[Toru]

"Well, things are looking okay for me now, I guess. I wonder if New York is the only place that's been hit by this outbreak? And how did it start? Maybe it was like Resi Evil Five! Or maybe it'll stay unknown, like in High School Of The Dead..."

The first 'obvious' sign of insanity was being merrily acted out by the leader of the group - well, that's what he wished he was. He didn't even have a group! For the time being, he was a loner. At least 10 minutes after his last encounter, he'd distanced himself with the sluggish group of Zombies. The lad parted his short curly hair to one side, and steadily walked down the smooth NYC roads. A loud and distinct moan of an infected broke the peace Toby was in, however. Turing to face the sound, his baseball bat scraping the tarmac, he looked up to a fancy looking hotel. He saw a dark figure, very agile, sweep past a window - blood gushing out of a dismembered limb, and obstructing his view into said window.

"Well, looks like there's some fun to be had up there!"

With a confident expression, Toby kicked open the automatic doors to the hotel before they even had a chance to register his dramatic arrival. Looking left and right, it appeared to be just like all of the other places he'd scavenged - items scattered on the floor, indicating the panic and rush of the mass evacuation which Toby presumed had happened. Giblets and guts were dashed and splattered on the floor. This meant not everyone had escaped. What actually caught his gaze was the elevator, dead ahead of him. This 'figure' up on the higher floors might have the common sense to take it down, instead of bothering with the stairs, which were probably littered with undea - yes, yes they were.

Toby brandished his baseball bat, just as Zombies collapsed down the stairs to smother him with bloody hands. Flipping his head back, his hood slipped off, and the metal bat collided into the side of another public enemy. He'd hold off the Zombies down here, and see if the survivor upstairs was coming down for a visit. Now, the massacre truly begins.

 

[Atma]

When with a rattle, a crash and a bang followed generously with the sound of lift breaks screeching to an incredible halt floors below, he could safely deduce that it was broken. Giving a sigh he turned and jogged towards the fire escape, essentially consisting of stairs leading to the helipad on the roof as with most penthouse suites, an elevator was the only way up. Atop the roof was a small cluster of zombies accompanied by the blood smeared form of his father's private helicopter.

There was no way that old fashioned ignorant pilot had survived this long ... It was a physcial impossibility with his large stature. Unwilling to fight the zombies considering his plan the slight psychopath evaluated his other options and arrived at a conclusion of simply running past them. Sheathing and securing his katana to his waist he promptly skirted around them and discovered a barely recognisable hunk of meat, pistol gripped in dismembered hand.

"I knew you wouldn't survive... Ha, not the worst loss of the day!" Giving a slightly insane smile he leant into the chopped and extracted one of two emergency parachutes, putting the other into his messenger bag. Swiping up the mostly empty pistol he fastened the parachute on and prepared himself for the next step.... A leap of faith.

Pacing to the edge of the roof he stared down into the street below. Fires, more blood and more bodies. Regardless he performed his leap of faith, body steeled to meet the commands of his mine as parachute was deployed and some two levels above espied commotion... Unloaded what remained of the gun into a window, performed a broad turn and breached clean through it. Discarding the parachute and acquiring a few cuts and a reasonable jolt to his knee the male tucked away the gun into his bag and drew his sword again, luckily for him this floor seemed reasonably devoid of creatures.