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Farmland.


All around me is a stretch of unused farmland. Distantly, a pair of barns and a lone farmhouse stand out, blueish against the black horizon. Of course, there was no more daytime. Not since the Moon Came. So close now you could see the small pyramids that dotted its surface, homes of the Angels before they came here to feed I suppose.


Am I alone?

Yes, but...


Distantly, I can see activity at the farmhouse, previously my goal. I squat down in the cool grass, trying to make out what's happening. Are they humans?

Yes, and...


The still night air carries their voices. Conversations. Rational, sane conversations. Not the bizzare call and response chanting of Congregations or the insane ravings of Priests or Skinners. How many of them are there?

2 = 2[d4]


A pair of silhouettes. I should be able to handle them if they turn out to be too much of a threat. What do I have with me?

Cigars


Zippo lighter


Wooden pole


Not exactly the greatest stash of items in the world. A repurposed mop handle is a makeshift melee weapon until I found something better. I shuddered to imagine using it seriously in a fight. The cigars were of course a guilty pleasure, I couldn't pass them up, while the zippo might have some practical use. I made my way closer to the lone farmhouse, slinking through the tall grass. For once, grateful for the strange, unending darkness that the Moon brought. I was as quiet as possible. Do the others notice me?

No


I'm now close enough to make them out clearly. Are there really only two of them?

Yes


Who are they?

Humorous female soldier


Popular female scientist


A pair of females, one wearing a dirt-caked uniform, the other, wearing functional flannel and jeans, I recognized, shockingly, as a local celebrity scientist known for her work, less in the field of science, and more pop culture. Perhaps a blend of the two. What are they up to?

Debase / Joy


It looked like they were arguing, or more accurately, one of them was ranting.

2 = 2[d2]


The Scientist was on a roll, really railing at the soldier. Going on and on about "the hopelessness of the situation". Tell me about it. Were they armed?

Yes, and...


The soldier was still packing heat, her rifle slung over her shoulder while she stared at the ranting scientist. This meant I was going to have to be careful how I approached them. Do they have a car?

No, and...


the Soldier's leg looked injured somehow, she had a bandage on it, that would slow her down for sure. But Maybe it would be something I could help with?

Swimming


Dumb luck


Information gathering


Hardly. Well, things aren't going to get any easier, I approach them. "Excuse me, I don't want to alarm you," I stood slowly, hands raised placating. Do they panic?

No, and...


They hardly seem surprised, which in itself, was surprising. The soldier did in fact, level her carbine at me. "Who are you?" she asked, unperturbed. I guess compared to some of the stuff running around in the dark, a guy with a mop handle was nothing. "Nobody," I said, "Nobody important anyway." The soldier snorted, "I can't let you die without a name." "Call me Ian," I said. "And I'm hoping we can work together. You know, at least for now. You been in this house?" I didn't lower my hands.

Yes, but...


"We poked our heads in but haven't searched it," the soldier said. "I'm Kim. This is Gayle Chambers," she gestured to the scientist with her chin. "I knew I recognized you," I said, "Gayle Chambers from Channel 58?" Gayle sneered at me, "Formerly," she said. Gayle had held a weekly science show that had drawn in rave reviews. I wondered how she'd made it out of the city when the Moon descended. Speaking of, how much time did we have until the Moon rose?

6 = 6[d6]


Six hours, plenty of time to get this house searched.


"I figure we can search this house, and maybe hole up here for the night," I suggested. "Pfft. Night. Like that means anything anymore," Gayle muttered, kicking at the dirt. Kim short her a nasty glance before replying to me, "Sure thing. Let's get inside." The three of us tromped up the short flight of wooden stairs onto the simple porch of the farmhouse. I take one last look around, do we have any unwelcomed visitors?

No


The coast was clear. Kim gestured me forward with the muzzle of her rifle. Obligingly, I step up to the door and turn the cold metal knob, pushing it up on silent hinges.

Meaningfully / Smooth


The interior of the house was nearly immaculate. Very sparsely decorated but it was clear every vase of dead flowers and every dusty picture frame was specifically chosen for the purchase. How many stories?

2 = 2[d2]


How many bedrooms

2 = 1[d3]+1


The downstairs was taken up by a small hall, a living room and a kitchen to the rear. Upstairs, I guessed where the bedrooms. "You two get searching, I'll keep watch," Kim said, pausing to give Gayle a meaningful look, her eyes darting to me. Words unspoken. 'Keep an eye on him'. They didn't need to worry, though obviously they couldn't know that yet. "You want to check upstairs?" I asked.

No


"I'm not leaving you down here with Kim," Gayle said, protective despite the fight they'd been having that I interrupted. "You check out the bedrooms." "Fair enough." I adjusted the grip on my mop handle and made my way upstairs, wondering, as I did, if I might be able to sharpen one end of this thing for a makeshift spear. At the top of the stairs, I could see I was right, a bedroom left, and a bedroom right. In the hall with me was a closet and a small bathroom

Violently / Cold


It was eerie, being alone, relatively speaking, in a stranger's home. I shivered in spite of myself. I guessed the heat from this place must have been off for a while, ever since the power went down in this area. I told myself that my reaction was simply because of the piercing cold leaking in from the still night air outside. Time to get searching.

Broken cigars


Baseball bat


Wire


Road flares


The good news was I could replace my mop handle. It made a hollow wooden clatter as I dropped it on the floor in the hall, drawing my new Louisville Slugger, appreciating the heft of this new weapon. The bad news was, as I pulled open my bag to tuck in my pilfered road flares and wire (Figure out what to do with that later) I discovered my cigars had been crushed. "Damn." I dumped the fragrant contents into the open closet and closed the door. Not my mess to clean up. "Find anything worth mentioning, Gayle?" I called downstairs.

Yes, and...


Chainsaw


Ammo (.45 cal)


"Bullets," Gayle said, "And a chainsaw!" I blinked, "Well, can't go wrong there. Does the saw have gas?" I was heading down the stairs.

Yes, but...


Gayle sloshed the orange Stahl chainsaw. "Not much." "What about the bullets? Do we have a gun to go with them?"

No


Gayle shook her head.


"What about you, Kim. I'm guessing you've got bullets to go with your gun," I said. Kim eyed the bat I had casually over my shoulder. "What's it matter to you?" she asked. "Look, obviously I don't know you two very well, or at all really. But let's cut the crap. You can obviously see I'm not chanting, I'm not peeing off my skin, and I'm not trying to stab you. I think we should make more of an effort to trust one another, don't you?"

Yes


Kim and Gayle traded a look and Kim sighed.

10 = 1[d6]+4[d6]+5[d6]


"I've got ten rounds," Kim confessed. "That's more than enough to ventilate a Skinner. But if something big shows up, we're gonna have problems." "Hey, it's more than I can pull with my bat," I replied. "And Gayle's got that saw so maybe we can pull something off." "The best solution is going to be avoiding any creatures altogether," Gayle replied haughtily, setting her chainsaw down and making herself comfortable in a plush green armchair in the living room. Kim perched by a window, leaning on her good leg, keeping the lacy curtains pulled aside, just an inch or so, to look outside. "Anything out there?" I asked.

No, and...


"We haven't seen anything for two whole days," Kim said. I grunted and sat down opposite Gayle. "Well, I guess we wait." "This isn't a bad place to bed down," Kim said. "Gayle and I slept in the woods last night, I'll appreciate having a real bed." I smiled politely, but couldn't help but wonder what our plan would be long term. The world was a different place than it had been, and that was putting it mildly. "Did you see the Local 58 broadcast?" Gayle asked, startling me from my thoughts. "Which one?" I asked, "I'm not gonna lie, I didn't watch your show every week on the nose but-" "No, no," she shook her head, "THE broadcast. The one when all this started. Out of Lasker City." I paused. I did remember. Barely somehow. Nearly lost in all the chaos of that night, the last normal day, I had nearly forgotten the broadcast that had begun it all. https://youtu.be/mw_HKzo9Ync


"Yeah," I said, licking my lips, remembering the screams that night. "I remember." "His name was Charlie Ringo. The man in the studio that day who tried to warn everyone. His name was Charlie," Gayle trailed off, staring at her hands as they lay in her lap. I swallowed and stood up, "Well hey, we're past that all now. We should get some sleep while we can." How many days food and water do we have?

4 = 4[d4]


After some quick inventory, Kim had enough MREs squirrelled away, when coupled with the non-perishables in this house, to last us four whole days. It was a long time to stay put, but it was safer than traveling aimlessly. In any case, it was enough to sleep on. "I'll take the couch down here," I said, "There's a bedroom for each of you."

No


"I'll keep watch," Kim said, "At least for a bit. You and Gayle get some sleep." I started to argue, no sense letting someone with a busted leg stay up late. But I saw in her eyes she wouldn't give up the rifle to me. At least not tonight. So much for trust. "Right then. I'll be upstairs." I climbed the wooden staircase, taken the room on the right, it looked like a teenage boys room, band posters on the wall, the subtle stink of cigarette smoke and incense. I shrugged off my pack and lay down. Another night down. I wondered what the moonrise would bring tomorrow, and then I was asleep.



Me:
Ian
SKILLS:
Swimming
Dumb luck
Information gathering

ITEMS:
Broken cigars
Baseball bat
Wire
Road flares

PARTY:
Humorous female soldier - Kim

INVENTORY:
Rifle

Popular female scientist - Gayle Chambers, Local 58

INVENTORY:
Chainsaw
Ammo (.45 cal)
So, do I get a good night's sleep?
Yes, but...
I'm haunted by dreams all night. Dreams of the Moon, nightmarishly close, its surface crystal clear.
Human Hive.
In my dreams I hear screaming and see the familiar shape of a human shambling forward. This poor wretch begs for death, no matter how gruesome. Even being burned to death is preferable to life as a Hive. Infested with strange four-legged flying, biting, stinging insects, a Hive is just that, a living home for the bugs. The bugs have tunneled through the victim's body, living in the soft, warm innards. Hives stagger aimlessly, unceasingly, unable to pause or rest presumably because they are “motivated” by the bugs within to keep travelling. They seek out more humans for more hosts, their open wounds leak pus and resin, strange silk webbing can occasionally be seen to trail from them. Frequently insane, rarely coherent.
I jerk awake as Gayle is shaking my shoulder "Kim's going to bed," she said.
My turn. I shook myself awake, driving thoughts about the buzzing, screaming Hive from my head as I lumbered down the stairs, passing Kim on her way up.
"Moon's about to come up," she said, bleary eyed. "You got this?"
"Sure," I said, "Do I get the rifle?"
No
"Fat chance." Kim passed me and closed the bedroom door.
I guess if anything dangerous arrived I was meant to use harsh language in self defense.
Calmly / Abandoned
The downstairs of the simple farmhome had lost the quaint charm it had when we'd first arrived, looking abandoned and forlorn. Yet, despite that it was strangely relaxing. It was relatively "normal" compared to the other newer, strangers parts of the world.
I saw pale silver light leaking in through the curtains. The Moon.
I resisted the urge to pull up a seat, not wanting to doze off, and instead poked the curtains open, looking up at the impossibly large moon rising silently over the horizon. It was tremendously big, taking up more space than any object ever had. I wasn't a scientist, not by any stretch, but I knew that physically, it wasn't possible the moon could be so big. It would have to be so close that gravitational tides would pull it apart or it would slam into us. And yet, here it continued its silent watch, circling the planet once every twelve hours or so. Squinting, I could just make out the strange artificial structures that dotted its surface. Towers, arches, pyramids, mysterious stone rings. A truly alien landscape. Possibly the home of the Angels that seemed in many ways the center of the events that had unfolded since that fateful night.

I needed to stay on task, and instead began a slow, quiet patrol of the house, checking and double checking that doors and windows were locked, and occasionally peaking outside. Is there anything?

No, and...

Totally dead outside. Not that I was complaining. It was unusual, but not bad.

I snagged an energy bar from my bag. Breakfast.

As I chewed I continued my patrol.

1 = 1[d6]

An hour passes. Any change?

No, but...

I could hear . . . something distantly, feeling it almost more than hearing it. I kept the blinds close, but listened.

Worshipper.

Chanting, screaming, hoarse signing. Crap.

I gripped my bat tighter and scanned the darkened horizon. I was in the back of the house, the kitchen, looking out over a small grassy yard toward what?

Lone Residence.

A second house not far away. Maybe a good five minute walk. Any sign of the Worshipper?

No

Do I still hear it?

Yes

Close?

No, but...

Getting closer.

A Worshipper was an attendant with no Angel to attend. Worshipers were human. . . once. Their bodies recognizably human but swollen and distorted. Changed into something not quite what they once were.

Although, I couldn't be sure there was no Angel present. Aside from quiet but heavy breathing, and sometimes the rattle of chains as they walked, Angels themselves were silent.

I wasn't sure if it was worth waking my companions and opted to instead attempt to wait it out. Settling down in the dark kitchen, becoming just another shadow as the moon crept higher. Does the Worshipper pass on?

Yes, but...

It wasn't alone

Skinner.

I could just make them out at the edge of a field, the Worshiper walking as they do with that strange sort of purpose, like they are strolling to church no matter where they actually were. Behind it, a Skinner followed. A step below a worshiper. Skinners are humans driven mad by the Moon. Puire and simple. They don't have the twisted form of the Worshipers, but they do frequently self-modify in order to please “Them” presumably the Angels. This typically includes breaking bones, piercing themselves with sharp objects, or most commonly (hence the name) peeling off their skin. They are coherent but insane and cannot be reasoned with and seemingly feel no pain. They will kill and dismember anyone they can catch.

Unusual because they normally travel alone and rarely associate with the more "elite" Worshipers. I could see the lumpy, hunched shape of the Worshiper marching forward, it wore what looked it had once been a white bedsheet as a robe.

The Skinner was dripping blood, he'd been "practicing" recently. Strips of flesh hung like ribbons of gore from his face, stumbling along in the wake of the Worshiper. They followed the course of a wire fence on the edge of the field, moving parallel to the farm house some fifty yards distant. I could hear the Skinner chattering and muttering underneath the sound of the Worshiper's incoherent cries of revelry.

I could make out the words "Praise" and "Helen" from the Skinner and that was it. Do they head for the house?

No

I sighed in relief as they continue on.

1 = 1[d5]

The hours crawled by slowly as I continued my slow circuit of the farmhouse. As I took stock of the house, do I see any out buildings I could check?

No, but...

A cellar door protruded from the back of the house, just behind the kitchen. Something no one had noticed before. But was it a potential boon of supplies? Or a dungeon with creepy crawlies waiting inside? The only way to find out was to go inside.

I stepped into the moonlit night before I knew what I was doing, clicking the door behind myself. No risk, no reward, and no sense waking the women to check it out. If anything happened to me, I'm sure my screams would wake them. I tried not to look at the moon as I crossed the  dewy grass to the heavy wooden door. Is it locked?

No, but...

It is chocked shut with a dry-rotted shovel handle wedged under the cellar door handles. That's certainly not a good sign.

I crouch down by the rough wooden door, listening for any sign of activity within the cellar. Do I hear anything?

No

Silence wasn't always good. It just begged the question of why this door was blocked up from the outside. I steeled my nerves, hefted my bat and pulled the shovel handle out with a rasp. Hauling the door open with some effort so that moonlight spilled in to the dark recesses of the cellar, then I started down into it.

Foolishly / Exotic

The first thing I noticed where the dozen or so animal heads mounted around the walls of the cellar and the threadbare shag rug on the ground, color indeterminate. Everything looks grey in the dark. Any monsters?

Yes

Skinner.

Crap.

"It came," a husky male voice said through shredded lips. "The Angel came and took Helen away. The Angel left me here, it left me to guard this place." I opened my mouth, but no words came.

"My skin," the Skinner continued, "my flesh is his." The Skinner stepped from the shadows into the moonlight, cross-hatched cuts across his bare shins ran up to cargo shorts and a blood stained T-shirt. His face was barely recognizable as a face after the multiple lacerations it had taken, caked with dried blood and dirt from the cellar, it was like a mask of gore. It clenched a broken mirror shard in a bleeding hand.

"He gave me this gift, from his faceless maw it came, it gave me sight where I had none." The Skinner did not break eye contact with me but stopped just out of reach before saying. "I see you."

In a burst, the Skinner lunged at me, even as my bat was arcing to meet him. Was I fast enough?

Yes

I felt a solid connection of wood on flesh and bone.

Severe Injury: Incapacitating and may become Critical if untreated.

The Skinner's head snapped to the side and he fell to the shag run, fighting to get up even as his legs started to fail him. I brought the bat down again.

Killed.

With a muffled crunch, his skull caved and the Skinner moved no more. I back away panting, my bat dripping blood onto the rug.

Did the struggle wake anyone?

Yes

Is it Gayle?

No

"What the hell happened in here?" Kim called as she made her way down the cellar steps, clicking on an LED flashlight, banishing the shadows of the room.

"Found a cellar," I said, still panting, "Thought I'd take a look."

"And tangle with a Skinner?" Kim asked, pinpointing the body with her light.

"Well," I said with a shrug more nonchalant than I felt, "You know how it is."

"Yeah, I'd say I do," Kim replied. "You gonna search this place?"

"Sure."

"Let us know what you find," Kim said and clicked her light off, headed back up the creaking steps.

That was awfully nice of her to offer to leave the light, I rolled my eyes. Well, time to get searching, could be something good in here.

Very high quality flare gun

Duct tape

M60 machinegun (7.62 mm)

Holy shit. A gold mine.

I shoved the tape in my backpack, definitely could be useful in the future. The flare gun I was less sure on. It looked pristine, likely had never been used, but I doubted how effective it was in a fight. Then there was the machine gun.

It looked beastly, a heavy, clunky, aged thing, though well maintained. I used my limited knowledge of military grade firearms to check if it was loaded.

Yes, but...

Not much ammo it looked like.

30 = 5[d10]+3[d10]+6[d10]+6[d10]+10[d10]

30 rounds wasn't bad to find in a cellar. I scooped up the gun carefully and made my way back upstairs, closing and "latching" the cellar door behind me. I intended to show my haul to Kim and Gayle.

"A machine gun?" Gayle asked, equal parts ecstatic and skeptical.

"And you know how to use it?" Kim asked, fully skeptical.

"Not at all," I said. "Center target, pull the trigger is all I know."

Kim sighed, "Honestly, you'll make a mess of it if you don't know what you're doing. You'd probably let me carry it."

I didn't object, trust runs both ways. "Sure, but how are you going to tote that and the rifle with a busted leg?"

Kim waffled for a moment. "Give Gayle the flare gun and I'll give you the rifle," she said. "Gayle can't shoot for crap."

"Hey!"

"Then maybe we shouldn't give her the flare gun," I said.

"I'm right here," Gayle said, snatching the flare gun with a lack of care that made me uneasy. To say the least. "And I've got no way to defend myself."

"Gayle, do NOT use that thing unless you have no choice. I'm serious, we could get into serious issues with it," Kim said.

"No sweat," Gayle said, checking the action of the flare gun.
Hours past and the Moon continued its slow creep across the night sky.

The three of us sat in uneasy silence in the living room of the farmhouse, enduring the uncomfortable chill. I wished we could light a fire in the soot-blakened fireplace beside me, but knew that was just asking for trouble.

"It's weird you know?" Gayle said, "The sun's gone but the grass keeps growing and we don't freeze. Shouldn't be possible."

I blinked. "So, what do you think happened anyway, Gayle?"

Oppress / The intellectual

"I think it's a sick joke against people like me," she said dejectedly. "The universe having a laugh for all we knew, or all we thought we knew." She paused to spit on the ground, "Angels." it was a curse on her tongue.

"How about you, Kim?"

Carelessness / Fame

"I think God took notice of us. I think we got too big for our britches and he had to knock us down a peg. Just chose the worst way to do it."

Kim stared at the floor as she talked. It was tough for all of us obviously. Being pitched headlong into a nightmare there was no waking from. A world with no sunlight. Monsters roaming the streets. Friends and loved ones gone mad or changed and distorted into abominations.

I didn't want to mope in the living room all day, and instead took stock of the situation, beginning another slow patrol of the house. After today, we had 2 days of food and water left, and no way to produce more here. I figured our best bet was to check out the other house I saw the Worshiper and Skinner wander past, see if there was something in there. Does my patrol reveal anything?

No

Good. It was time to start planning. How much longer until the moon goes down?

2 = 2[d3]

Two hours. We could wait.

"I want to go check out that other house," I said.

"Are you nuts?" Gayle asked, "You trying to find trouble?"

"Did you take a blow to the head you didn't tell us about?" Kim continued.

"Hardly," I gave a tight smile. "We've got enough food to last us through today, and then two more. And that's it. I don't see any fields of wheat or anything around this house, so that's it. When it's gone, it's gone. There's another house nearby, if that has food we should get it now while we can, and then plan our next steps. We're probably going to live on the move."

Kim and Gayle were silent, it wasn't good news, or even news they wanted to think about.

"I'm going over there," I said, "When the Moon goes down."

Do either of them want to come with me?

No

Not surprising. I wait till dark.

----

It was dark out. As dark as it gets. The sky barely lit by that strange, starless, twilight haze. As if the Earth had been plucked from its cradle and dropped into an abyss with an insane twin circling it.

I once again closed the door behind me and surveyed the area. Of course I stood in the yard of the farmhouse we occupied, across from me, perhaps thirty yards distant was a plain country road.

across the road, about another hundred yards down was the second house.

1 = 1[d2]

A single story building

1 = 1[d3]

with likely only a single bedroom, very small as far as homes went.

As I started down the road toward the second house, feeling uncomfortably exposed, even in the dark, I wondered what happened to the vehicle that surely belonged to our new house. Someone may have locked that SKinner in the cellar and taken off. Maybe it was Helen? The name the Skinner mentioned. I shook my head, no sense worrying about it.

Abnormally / Healthy

The house I approached looked like a regular, quiet home. Despite its small size, it was exceptionally homey, with beautiful, if a bit overgrown, flower gardens. Is there a vehicle in the driveway?

Yes

Perfect! A car?

Yes

Four-door?

No, and...

My spirits sank as I approached the battered, two-door hatchback. I recognized it from my highschool days, just another junkyard beater a sernior could own, A 1985 Ford Escort hatchback. Not the most effective in a situation like this, but wheels are wheels. What about the house, any signs of monsters?

No, but...

The door was caved in. Something had most definitely forced its way inside.

I inched closer, breathing ragged as I tried to keep my noise down. The bat went back into my pack, and the rifle came up, not that it would do much good against something that could bowl through a door like that, but it made me feel better. Now I was close enough to touch the brick facade of the house, practically standing in the flower bed. I listened. Anything?

Yes

Sound bad?

Yes, but...

From the sound, it was just a lone Skinner. Not great, but definitely could be worse. I was still hesitant to go inside though.

I could hear that strange, calm muttering. Skinners if anything where a certain lot, they never seemed to question, or fear, or want. I decided to circle the house, do a bit more recon. I doubled back from the shattered from door and peered in through teh first window. A bedroom. Skinner inside?

No

Roughly / Rustic

It was empty, a simple setup with a charming "country" feel. I didn't have time to appreciate it since I was already circling around to the back of the house. IS there anything outback?

Yes, and...

Skinner.

Another Skinner, but maybe the same one I heard. In any case, it looked right at me with wide, lid-less, blood-rimmed eyes.

"Alone!" It shouted. I don't know if it meant me or it. The Skinner carried a piece of broken wood, maybe from a shelf or entertainment center. The jagged end was bloody. It raced for me.

I didn't have time to go for my bat, but I didn't want to shoot it either. I opted for a buttstroke, swigning the stock out. Do I connect?

Yes

Luckily, I found purchase

Severe Injury: Incapacitating and may become Critical if untreated.

A satisfying pop as its head spun, dropping to the ground. Now the hard part, the messy part. I kicked the Skinner onto its back and dropped my knees to its chest and pressed the top of the rifle into its windpipe, holding the gun by the stock and barrel and pushing down with all my weight.

The Skinner struggled, even in its dazed state, pushing back, fighting to breathe. Can I keep it down?

Yes, but...

The Skinner's eyes rolled back, arms going slack. Unconsciousness, halfway to death. Then I heard the second Skinner dash out of the house. "Vacant! Left to die! Come be with the slaughtered lambs!" it cried.

"Shit!"

I released the downed Skinner and stood up, holding the rifle across my chest. ready to strike.

The other Skinner held a kitchen knife in its hand, slick with blood, presumably its own. IT didn't slow but lifted the knife over its head, carrying forward. I swing the rifle. A hit?

No, but...

Not a solid blow, but a glancing strike tips the Skinner off balance, sending it careening, tripping over its downed "comrade" roughly falling to the ground. Do I keep my balance?

No

I go down, struggling back to my feet quickly.

Am I faster than the Skinner?

Yes

Somehow, I get the drop on it, it's still regaining balance. I toss the rifle away into the grass, I don't want to break it beating up this thing, and draw my bat. Now, the Skinner has wheeled around and is coming for me. I swing for its head, success?

No, and...

I swing wide, losing balance, and the Skinner swipes for my arm

Negligible: Nick/Scratch/Bruise.

By some kind of cosmic fluke, I avoid a maiming injury, the knife blade barely nicks me.

I kick the thing back, or I try to. Do i?

Yes

Does it go down?

Yes, and...

I cringe at the soft crunching sound as the staggering Skinner stepped on the prone Skinner's wind pipe. Dead for sure now. No time to give a eulogy, I step forward, bat raised over my head and bring it down . . . to triumph?

Yes, and...

Another crack, the thing's head bounced like a balloon, recoiling from the impact of my bat which sent shudders up my arm.

Severe Injury: Incapacitating and may become Critical if untreated.

"Damn you!" I hit it again

Critical Injury: Requires immediate attention; clearly life-threatening if not immediately deadly.

An eye burst and some teeth chips sailed into the night, even as I hammered away at its head, the thing kept howling and trying to speak, bubbles of blood bursting from its mouth. I pointed the end of the bat at its forehead, hauled back, and drove it forward

Killed.

And it mercifully fell silent. I stood panting, leaning on the bat planted in the Skinner's smashed head. I could see blood spatter on my shoes and jeans, and of course the bat was soaked. But I couldn't pause now. Is anything else coming out of the house?

Yes

LaMoE.

You have got to be kidding me.

The man who stepped from the house, looked to be in worse shape than me, he was drenched, head to toe in blood and looked badly beaten as well, one eye swollen shut. I didn't think that was all his blood.

"Another one, huh?" he asked me, a hunting rifle held jauntily at ready.

I suspected what this man was. A LaMoE. Last Man on Earth.

Perhaps the worst thing about the Hatching was the humans who turned on their own kind. Lamoes are rare, but do exist. In effect, they are humans who kill anything and anyone on sight. They can sometimes be insane, or close to it, and can be often difficult to recognize when compared to a skinner for instance. In this case, I could tell the Skinners had done a number on him. The two big differences, were the fact that the monsters didn't typically seem to fight among themselves, and that the person was carrying a fairly advanced weapon in the form of his hunting rifle.

I knew taking this guy would be tough to impossible. I had to try to talk him down.

"Hey man, were you holed up in there?" I asked casually, leaning on my bat.

The Lamoe cocked his head, rotating to point his rifle at me. "I didn't know these things were turning on each other, Might make my job easier, that's for damn sure."

I shook my head, "No way, I'm like you. We're survivors."

Does he buy it?

No, but...

A dry 'click' came from his gun as he pulled the trigger. Either his round was a dud, or the gun was empty. No better chance to act. I rushed him, the end of my bat already swinging for his temple. Do I hit?

No, but...

At the last moment, the startled Lamoe lifted his rifle and deflected my attack, though the force of my charge propelled the Lamoe back into the house. Two questions, one does his gun break? I hit it pretty hard.

Yes

Two, does he fall over?

No, and...

The splinters of the wooden gunstock fly through the air and its components separate under the force of my slugger. The Lamoe angled himself so the two of us collide with the doorframe, helping him stay on his feet. At the same time, I saw him draw a large, wicked looking knife from a pouch on his belt. I need to stop him, fast. Am I faster?

No

He stabs at me, at this range, there's no dodging it

Critical Injury: Requires immediate attention; clearly life-threatening if not immediately deadly.

I'm going to use one of my skills. Dumb Luck. I feel a thud in my gut where the knife goes into my flank, but hear a strange crunch, not the sound I'd expected, and it didn't feel like I'd been stabbed. I wasn't going to dwell on it. I punch the Lamoe in the jaw hoping to knock him silly. Does it work?

No, and...

My fist connects, but doesn't do much other than hurt my hand, and maybe dislocate his jaw. I see the Lamoe has drawn his knife back for a second strike. Don't bring a bat to a knife fight, I know that now. I need to get some space from this guy, can I pull away?

No, and...

He drives the knife home again as we struggle

Negligible: Nick/Scratch/Bruise.

Dumb luck isn't going to protect me again, but somehow I twisted away enough that his blade scored a light lien across my side, tearing my shirt but not much else. Getting away isn't an option, I'm going to try to wrest the knife from him. I drop the bat and grab his knife hand, the two of us struggling for the blade. He had to be weak from whatever he'd just been through. can I disarm him?

Yes

The knife comes away, do I hold onto it?

Yes

And now the blood-slick handle is in my grasp. I plunge it into the Lamoe to a scream.

Critical Injury: Requires immediate attention; clearly life-threatening if not immediately deadly.

The man recoils, trying to get away from the pain, I feel the knife, now my knife, scrape bone, maybe a rib as he does. I draw back and stab him again while he tries to flee, do I get him?

Yes, but...

I stab him in the back, but the knife breaks off from the handle.

Moderate Injury: Hampers action significantly; will require first aid/medical attention.

The Lamoe grunted and staggered, trying to run now. I knew if I let him go he likely wouldn't live much longer anyway, but I didn't want to let him live. I scoop up my bat and then my rifle. Pausing to go back form the blood-coated kitchen knife a Skinner used on me earlier, then pursue the Lamoe into a darkened field behind the house.

"Get away!" the Lamoe shouts, "leave me alone!" I could barely see him, but I could hear him, and more than that, I could follow the bloody tracks in the grass. Do I catch him?

No, but...

Skinner.

"Another lost lamb!" A hoares voice shouts ahead. I throw myself to the ground in time to see another human silhouette pop u beside the Lamoe and fall on him with an animalistic screech. I lay still until the screaming stops. This little adventure had turned out to be way more than I bargained for. I hadn't known this area was so think with Skinners, likely all drawn by the noise this Lamoe had been making previous to me arriving here.

"You'll be sorry when the Angels take you," the Skinner said to the dead Lamoe, kneeling beside him.

The sounds it made as it cut off and ate pieces of the body turned my stomach. "Someday the glory of the Angels will shine down and clean this place. I saw a dark man with long robes and he sent me here to find you."

Does the Skinner leave?

Yes

I lay still for an impossibly long time as the Skinner ate its fill before moving on. Once I was sure it was gone, I stood from my hiding place and crept forward until I found the Lamoe's remains. I paused a moment.

"Whoever you were, and whatever broke your mind. You were one tough bastard." That said, I searched the body.

Pen

Great. A pen.

I tossed it back on the body and started the trek back to the small house. Did Kim and Gayle come to investigate any of that?

No

Great, at least I know no one would have noticed if I died. I toss the kitchen knife beside its previous user, it would be a crudy weapon anyway, likely to break at the worst time. Well, now that there is NO WAY there is anything else in this house, I search it, top to bottom.

Roll of quarters

Cordless drill

Worn-out steak knife

I really don't need another crappy knife, or any quarters. Cordless drill though. Could potentially be of some use. What about food?

4 = 4[d4]

A treasure trove in the small kitchen. Whoever lived here wasn't big on "From scratch" canned food, packaged food, junk food, non-perishables everywhere. I'd need Kim and Gayle to help me carry it all. I set off to find them to start shuttling it back to our new home. I figure the next step is to turn it into a fortress, then we could begin branching out, scouting the surrounding area. If Gayle was right, and the grass DID still grow, we may even be able to start a small garden to supplement our supplies, though I was getting ahead of myself.



Me:
Ian
SKILLS:
Swimming
Dumb luck
Information gathering

ITEMS:

[Baseball bat]
Zippo lighter
Wire
Road flares
Duct tape
Rifle [10]
Cordless Drill

PARTY:
Humorous female soldier - Kim
INVENTORY:
M60 machine gun (7.62 mm) [30]
Popular female scientist - Gayle Chambers, Local 58

INVENTORY:
Chainsaw
Ammo (.45 cal)
Very high quality flare gun

6 days food and water (after today)

Day 2
Hey, guy, so...this is excellent. You're a great writer.
What setting is this? One of your own design? Very curious about it.
(04-24-2017, 05:12 PM)ochabox Wrote: [ -> ]Hey, guy, so...this is excellent. You're a great writer.
What setting is this? One of your own design? Very curious about it.

It looks like an original setting. I'm really impressed with it as well. 
Any chance for more upcoming?