The End of the World

The undead had been terrorizing the remaining lively population of Philly since the outbreak itself, one man knew this better then most, having knew it'd happen eventually, Logan Beck had prepared, and his current position was in a building, overlooking an intersection, and next to that, directly opposite the building he was in, was a Sunoco gas station.

Logan had been in that building for 2 days, he had learned never to stay in the same place for more then a week, otherwise the dead may rise upon him. There had been minimal activity around the intersection, the odd zombie here and there, but no humanity, that changed now.

A woman had crept into the gas station, obviously she had intelligence, silently weaving between the ruined cars that were littered along the road. Logan had took this as his chance, he had crept down the staircase, to the bottom floor, and darted along the road, and to the station, and climbed through the window, before touching the ground, announcing his humanity, "I'm a friendly." Logan walked around the station, looking for her, he found her near the cooler, and said his name, "Captain Logan Beck, U.S Armed Corps, you?"

The young Canadian stood upon a street corner as if waiting for the crosswalk to clear. He held a machete in his left hand, a hockey stick--85 flex, a couple of inches too short for him to use properly to play the sport, only naturally an Yzerman curve--used as a walking stick in his right. This was Philadelphia, he believed; Connor hadn't really had the time to check a map. He'd been in Buffalo when it had all went down, trying to track down parents who had only recently settled down there--with minimal success. They'd been gone.

And given the way Toronto had been, Connor had decided the only option he had was to take what he could and drive, and drive, and drive. A long ride later his car finally broke down, so he set out on foot with what little gear he had scavenged from his own ride, from his parents' home, and from the one gas station he'd stopped at on the way. It had been almost a month since then, four weeks of running and hiding and figuring out what was going on.

So, a couple of over gun stores, gas stations, supermarkets, and days in abandoned buildings later, Connor found himself where he was now: not particularly well-outfitted, but well enough to get by, and standing alone on a street corner. He hadn't seen anyone living in two weeks, and frankly it was starting to drive him a little crazy--up until a few minutes ago, of course, where he'd noticed a few living people walk into the gas station at the end of the street. Connor had spent awhile persuading himself of the merits of meeting actual humans again, and only just stepped out of the structure he'd been hiding in - an apartment complex.

He slipped the machete into the sheath at its hip, figuring if live humans were going to get at all violent it would be better to have a gun in hand. So he drew the little Walther from its hip holster, leaned the hockey stick in the crook of his arm as he checked to ensure it was loaded. A couple of toggles later ensured that the safety was off, as much as Connor hoped to not use the thing. Killing humans wouldn't sit well on his conscience on a good day, let alone one where everybody else seemed to be dead.

So he strolled closer, careful to stay out of easy sight--and darting behind a thick bush as he heard footsteps, too rapid and loud to be walkers. He noted a man run up to the gas station and look in, with some kind of rifle in his hands. "Hello... is anyone in there?" he heard the man whisper. Connor did the naive thing and crept up behind him, clutching both P99 and hockey stick with white knuckles.

"I dunno about in there," he answered before anyone within could respond, "but I'm out here." Naturally, Connor raised his gun as he spoke, unsure of the man's intentions. He was careful not to point it too directly at the guy; it was more in position to turn things into a standoff if need be, obviously aimed a few feet to his side. Connor still didn't entirely trust himself with the gun, but there was no reason for anyone to know that, especially not when everybody and their living mom had a gun now. "Sorry, if we could avoid a scene, that'd just be stellar. I'm not here to hurt anyone, but it'd be nice if you'd return the favor."

"Oh, and there's definitely someone in there," he said just a bit more loudly. "If you guys could not kill us, too, that'd be great, huh?"

Logan kept his guard up, and listened to her explain her situation, then he lowered his gun and took out a few cans of food and a few bottles of water, then rolled them across the floor. "Those should do you n-" He was interrupted by more sounds, he half whispered, half hissed at the woman, "Get out of sight, i'll deal with 'em". As soon as he finished speaking, he stepped out of the hole, M16 still pointed at the men. "Name and business, you got 15 seconds each, the one on the left , go first."

Connor gave the man inside the gas station a bit of a tense smile. Oh, everything was going just swimmingly, he supposed, allowing his pistol's aim to drift briefly in the other man's direction. The man next to him introduced himself as Stephanos, and Connor took some comfort in the fact that he seemed pretty calm about this whole thing. The guy with the rifle, though... He looked military. Well, at least he knew how to use a gun then--assuming he hadn't just stripped the uniform from some dead soldier somewhere. But the rifle in his hands, the way he held it, rather reinforced the idea that this was a military man.

He lowered his peashooter rather reluctantly, tucked it back into its place at his hip. His now-free left hand went up to signify there wasn't a gun in his hand; his right slid up higher on the hockey stick, to clarify its location as well. Connor really wasn't interested in being shot. "Please don't shoot me. I really don't like being shot at. I'm Connor Graham," he answered after Stephanos had said his piece. "Canadian doctor. Just been wandering since it all went down. Saw you guys go in there from down the street, figured I'd pop in, say hello."

"So who're you guys? And what're you doing in Philly? I thought all the cities were supposed to be cleared out except for the idiots like me and the people who didn't get the memo."

"I have a hideout in that building there, We should go up there, and set a team of sorts up.. My crew was killed in a car crash" He pointed his gun at the third floor of the building across the road. He walked in that general direction, and saw a crew of undead down the road. Logan signalled to them that there was trouble, and they should move quickly. He kept low, and jogged across the road and up the building.

Nathan gave a little sigh as everybody left the gas station all in a hurry. Just when things seemed like they were going to calm down, they picked right back up. The undead did have a habit of dropping in unexpectedly, though, he supposed. He drew his machete regardless of any real trepidation, preparing to Gandalf his way through a horde of undead if need be.

He followed Stephanos out of the gas station, rushing his way across the street. The foreigner seemed pretty good with his shovel, certainly - enough so that Nathan had to wonder what it was he did before this all went down. For his part, the small doctor did well to avoid the grasping hands of the undead - did his best to ignore the wretched sights and smells. Medical school didn't really prepare you for the horrors of fighting off rotting corpses.

Nathan did his best to try and keep a fairly clear path, prodding and shoving away the undead that got too close with machete, hockey stick, and some good old leather-covered elbow now and then. He wasn't entirely sure how they'd gotten this close without anyone noticing, but oh well - there was nothing to do but get through. And that he did, just in time to notice Stephanos facing off with one of the things, a rather sizable dent in its head. Nathan guessed the foreigner had already hit it once, but not the best way. Well, the second time was the charm. Or was it the third? He could never remember.

A halfhearted whack with the hockey stick's blade as he hurried past sent it stumbling to the side and out of his way, and Nathan was somewhat surprised it managed to stay on his feet as he moved to Stephanos' side. His eyes scanned the crowd as he turned back for Elizabeth, hoping she'd made it through alright - after all, it wouldn't exactly be fun to have lost one of the people he'd just met, less than five minutes after meeting her.

Looking for interest in this thread, may hijack or restart. Thoughts? I'd run it so that the time would be a few months ahead of where it's at now, maybe 3/4 months into the initial outbreak. Oh and I'd ask folks to take time out of their RP to make their first post a 'What my character did when the zombies came' mini story. Sets you up for meeting us.