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BobSaget
Planetoid
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2015
It had been no more than 17 months since the end of everything. The end of society, the fall of the greatest and weakest of governments and modern empires. Economies experienced bouts of hyperinflation that made the modern dollar seem like nothing more than a meaningless piece of paper. The Z-Virus that was at the center of this? There was no cure. It had started on a remote island off the coast, believed to have been once isolated. But charity work that had carried western volunteers lead to the disease being airborne, and brought into the general population. And then...it spread like wildfire. An unstoppable force, first dozens and then the next moment millions. Everyone was infected by some means within the first 48 hours like some fucked up flu virus unlike anything the world had ever seen. First was insomnia, followed by the long nights of puking and overall kidney failure. Then finally came the seizures, and mental shutdown. Followed by death. Then? Reanimation. The zombies that came forth was a direct result in the cause of what has since been deemed the Apocalypse, and seven months later the light and hope once held by those still living seemed to dwindle.
Abel Latimore was serving in a refugee base out of a small town known as New Haven off the west coast of mainland Altis. Altis had previously been the most advanced country in the entirety of the modern world, races of all types ranging from humans to orcs came to this country in search of success of some kind. And now, it was reduced to nothing more than concrete blocks filled with refugees and flesh eaters. Abel was referred to as the leader of a small refugee camp based out of the remains of an old football stadium in the middle of New Haven. He oversaw activities that occurred within the stadium itself, and all interactions with the outside world. Due to scarcity of talent and people, he found himself personally involved in missions seeking supplies and potential civilians outside of the walled off stadium. It wasn’t like there was much else to do anyways.
He awoke with a startle, no later than 5 A.M. he found himself wide eyed. It was another day and seemingly nothing had changed. The refugees had asked him to take one of the box seats that were once utilized by big name executives because of “everything he had done”, but Abel was never one for the glamorous life. He instead voted to take a small room beneath the stadium itself closest to the generators that power what little electronics they could find in the aftermath of the Z-Virus.
Abel tossed his legs over the side of his cot, given to them by the government as emergency supplies before the government itself ultimately came to its own demise. Slowly he slipped his feet into what appeared to be boots that day just above his ankles. Fingers working the buttons of a white button up shirt as he made his way out of the closet-like abode he had selected for himself. Cold was an understatement, it was late November around this time and time was slowly shifting towards the end of autumn.
Ascending the stairs at the furthest end of the tight concrete hallways he made his way towards the ground level of the stadium. Strewn about were makeshift cots and beds filled with what few survivors had joined their encampment. He couldn’t have had any more than maybe thirty to forty survivors in total, yet he felt sick to his stomach knowing there’s more out there he could bring back. Running a hand through his snow-white hair he managed to look across the familiar faces as they slept, quietly walking past them as he made his way towards the door closest to the front entrance. Beside it was what used to be utilized as a ticket booth, next to that however was the old security office utilized by the stadium guards before shit had hit the fan. Before slipping inside he made sure to utilize both hands to shut the door as quietly as possible behind him.
Abel had spent the last month or two shifting the security room into a temporary office until they turned their encampment into something more permanent. The cameras still functioned due to the generators still being in working order. Most of which was pointed outside allowing them to watch potential visitors, while the table was filled with what appeared to be a mixture of letters, maps and blue prints of some kind. A large leather chair sat behind the brown wooden desk as he dropped into it with a heavy thud. The desk was nothing more than a wooden table top placed on top of two heavy metal file cabinets, shifted hurriedly to suit his needs. Fingers pulled open the top drawer on his right side, inside it sat a holstered black pistol placed into a shoulder strap. Slipping it out from the drawer he set it on the desk beside him, redirecting his attention to the red light before him. The light emanated from a lone radio he had found at an old military base on one of their first excursions outside the safety of their camp. He hadn’t heard any chatter from outside since the first weeks of the Z-Virus, since then complete silence. Yet, deep down Abel could only wish to himself that something, someone, anything would let him know that there’s something out there.
“What I’d do for a coffee.” Abel muttered to himself grimly, as he leaned back in his seat, kicking his legs up over the table as his fingers interlocked over his lap. The apocalypse, contrary to popular belief, was boring as hell.
Abel Latimore was serving in a refugee base out of a small town known as New Haven off the west coast of mainland Altis. Altis had previously been the most advanced country in the entirety of the modern world, races of all types ranging from humans to orcs came to this country in search of success of some kind. And now, it was reduced to nothing more than concrete blocks filled with refugees and flesh eaters. Abel was referred to as the leader of a small refugee camp based out of the remains of an old football stadium in the middle of New Haven. He oversaw activities that occurred within the stadium itself, and all interactions with the outside world. Due to scarcity of talent and people, he found himself personally involved in missions seeking supplies and potential civilians outside of the walled off stadium. It wasn’t like there was much else to do anyways.
He awoke with a startle, no later than 5 A.M. he found himself wide eyed. It was another day and seemingly nothing had changed. The refugees had asked him to take one of the box seats that were once utilized by big name executives because of “everything he had done”, but Abel was never one for the glamorous life. He instead voted to take a small room beneath the stadium itself closest to the generators that power what little electronics they could find in the aftermath of the Z-Virus.
Abel tossed his legs over the side of his cot, given to them by the government as emergency supplies before the government itself ultimately came to its own demise. Slowly he slipped his feet into what appeared to be boots that day just above his ankles. Fingers working the buttons of a white button up shirt as he made his way out of the closet-like abode he had selected for himself. Cold was an understatement, it was late November around this time and time was slowly shifting towards the end of autumn.
Ascending the stairs at the furthest end of the tight concrete hallways he made his way towards the ground level of the stadium. Strewn about were makeshift cots and beds filled with what few survivors had joined their encampment. He couldn’t have had any more than maybe thirty to forty survivors in total, yet he felt sick to his stomach knowing there’s more out there he could bring back. Running a hand through his snow-white hair he managed to look across the familiar faces as they slept, quietly walking past them as he made his way towards the door closest to the front entrance. Beside it was what used to be utilized as a ticket booth, next to that however was the old security office utilized by the stadium guards before shit had hit the fan. Before slipping inside he made sure to utilize both hands to shut the door as quietly as possible behind him.
Abel had spent the last month or two shifting the security room into a temporary office until they turned their encampment into something more permanent. The cameras still functioned due to the generators still being in working order. Most of which was pointed outside allowing them to watch potential visitors, while the table was filled with what appeared to be a mixture of letters, maps and blue prints of some kind. A large leather chair sat behind the brown wooden desk as he dropped into it with a heavy thud. The desk was nothing more than a wooden table top placed on top of two heavy metal file cabinets, shifted hurriedly to suit his needs. Fingers pulled open the top drawer on his right side, inside it sat a holstered black pistol placed into a shoulder strap. Slipping it out from the drawer he set it on the desk beside him, redirecting his attention to the red light before him. The light emanated from a lone radio he had found at an old military base on one of their first excursions outside the safety of their camp. He hadn’t heard any chatter from outside since the first weeks of the Z-Virus, since then complete silence. Yet, deep down Abel could only wish to himself that something, someone, anything would let him know that there’s something out there.
“What I’d do for a coffee.” Abel muttered to himself grimly, as he leaned back in his seat, kicking his legs up over the table as his fingers interlocked over his lap. The apocalypse, contrary to popular belief, was boring as hell.
