((Corey Esposito continued from The Heavy Weapons Guy.))
Corey stopped in front of the large grey building, staring at the sliding glass doors, or what remained of them. The doors themselves were resting just inside the building, leaving a large gap in the entrance.
There was a weird smell wafting from the entrance, not as bad as the smell in the barn, and definitely not as strong. It was a different kind of smell, though. The smell of disease and death. It was nothing like the hospitals he'd already been in, and Corey realized that this was because of the hospital's abandoned state. There was no one to sterilize the place, and so the smell of asepsis with replaced by the smell of... well... sepsis.
Corey wanted to take a small detour, just to check out the hospital. If they could find writing supplies in here, they wouldn't have to travel all the way to the shopping mall.
"Let's look inside, before we move on. I think we should be able find some writing materials in here. You know, hospital records and all that. At the very least, we should be able to gather some supplies."
He took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
Can't watch TV here, guys. The reception's terrible.
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CondorTalon
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- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 6:17 am
((Rachael Langdon continued from The Heavy Weapons Guy))
Rachael stayed close with the boys as they walked across the island. Having awoken in a hayloft, she sort of assumed the island would be more rural, with tiny towns and very few landmarks. The map, and the ruined areas she walked past, proved otherwise. This island had a large population, and it was all gone, and it looked like it had been abandoned for a long while.
The hospital was a good landmark of the former civilization of the island. Corey wanted to check it out for any supplies. There might be some writing items in the place to help Michael speak. Hospitals were supposed to be file heavy establishments, so there had to be plenty of spare paper around.
"Yeah," she said. "We should start with the front desk. They'd probably have some paper for Michael and some pens."
Rachael moved into the lobby area, covering her mouth and nose. Something smelled really terrible, and she finally caught a whiff of it. They really were in a mausoleum.
It's like we've entered Harrenhal, and we're smelling the remains of Harren the Black. Oh god, why did I have to evoke such a comparison? Eyah, forget about it.
Rachael began to look at her friends. There had to be something they could use here.
Rachael stayed close with the boys as they walked across the island. Having awoken in a hayloft, she sort of assumed the island would be more rural, with tiny towns and very few landmarks. The map, and the ruined areas she walked past, proved otherwise. This island had a large population, and it was all gone, and it looked like it had been abandoned for a long while.
The hospital was a good landmark of the former civilization of the island. Corey wanted to check it out for any supplies. There might be some writing items in the place to help Michael speak. Hospitals were supposed to be file heavy establishments, so there had to be plenty of spare paper around.
"Yeah," she said. "We should start with the front desk. They'd probably have some paper for Michael and some pens."
Rachael moved into the lobby area, covering her mouth and nose. Something smelled really terrible, and she finally caught a whiff of it. They really were in a mausoleum.
It's like we've entered Harrenhal, and we're smelling the remains of Harren the Black. Oh god, why did I have to evoke such a comparison? Eyah, forget about it.
Rachael began to look at her friends. There had to be something they could use here.
((Michael Mitchellson: Continued from The Heavy Weapons Guy))
Guh, who the hell thought going to the hospital was a good idea? What, we couldn't just loot some trashy souvenir shop, find some novelty paper with a bitchin' seashell theme?
Michael frowned as he gazed up at the drab-looking building, noting the place's extreme state of disrepair. Place looked like a fuckin' death trap to him. Sure, there might be medicine left, but would the assholes that kidnapped them really have left any in there? Whatever supplies that were left behind probably wouldn't be of any use to them, anyway. They weren't doctors, the heavy-duty shit was far beyond their capabilities to use safely.
As he stepped into the building after Asshole and Rachael, Michael started coughing violently as the disgusting stench reached him.
Christ, did some prick kill this island's population and shove 'em underneath the floorboards? There are better ways to dispose of corpses, you freakin' morons!
Alright, it wasn't exactly that bad. Still, it only reinforced his reluctance to stay for any longer than strictly necessary. It did raise the question, however, of what exactly had happened to everyone that used to live in the tourist trap. There were traces of habitation left all over the place, but there certainly weren't any people left.
Maybe my "WHAT THE FUCK IS A NUCLEAR POWER PLANT DOING HERE" theory wasn't so far off, after all.
Well, whatever it was that happened, it didn't really concern Michael right now. All that mattered was that he was in some run-down shithole that smelled like death, and if he wanted to get out any time soon he'd better start looking around. Michael walked over to the front desk and started searching for any paper or writing utensils he'd be able to use.
Guh, who the hell thought going to the hospital was a good idea? What, we couldn't just loot some trashy souvenir shop, find some novelty paper with a bitchin' seashell theme?
Michael frowned as he gazed up at the drab-looking building, noting the place's extreme state of disrepair. Place looked like a fuckin' death trap to him. Sure, there might be medicine left, but would the assholes that kidnapped them really have left any in there? Whatever supplies that were left behind probably wouldn't be of any use to them, anyway. They weren't doctors, the heavy-duty shit was far beyond their capabilities to use safely.
As he stepped into the building after Asshole and Rachael, Michael started coughing violently as the disgusting stench reached him.
Christ, did some prick kill this island's population and shove 'em underneath the floorboards? There are better ways to dispose of corpses, you freakin' morons!
Alright, it wasn't exactly that bad. Still, it only reinforced his reluctance to stay for any longer than strictly necessary. It did raise the question, however, of what exactly had happened to everyone that used to live in the tourist trap. There were traces of habitation left all over the place, but there certainly weren't any people left.
Maybe my "WHAT THE FUCK IS A NUCLEAR POWER PLANT DOING HERE" theory wasn't so far off, after all.
Well, whatever it was that happened, it didn't really concern Michael right now. All that mattered was that he was in some run-down shithole that smelled like death, and if he wanted to get out any time soon he'd better start looking around. Michael walked over to the front desk and started searching for any paper or writing utensils he'd be able to use.
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CondorTalon
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Corey moved over to the front desk, standing behind and finding a file rack. He pulled out a big handful of files, dumping them on top of the desk itself. He grabbed a folder, flipping through the papers inside. Damn. There's like no room on this thing.
"Alright, uh... there's paper here, but most of it's no good. It's all already filled in and blacked out. No space."
He closed the folder, putting it to side, and pulled out another folder. Maybe this one would have some unfilled sheets. He flicked through the pages to find that, nope, this one was fully marked, as well.
"Aagh... though, if it comes down to it, we could probably write on the folders themselves."
He put the second folder to the side and took a step back, scratching his head. He moved over to the desk drawers. Opening then in turn to find most of them empty, or filled with useless stuff. Opening the leftmost top drawer, however, revealed about a few dozen pens. He scooped them up, out of the drawer and put those down on the desk as well.
"Hey Rachael," he called out, "can you help me out over here? Maybe one of these pens still work."
He picked one up and scribbled on the top of the folder he'd just put down. Nothing. He dropped it back in the drawer and tried another one.
"Alright, uh... there's paper here, but most of it's no good. It's all already filled in and blacked out. No space."
He closed the folder, putting it to side, and pulled out another folder. Maybe this one would have some unfilled sheets. He flicked through the pages to find that, nope, this one was fully marked, as well.
"Aagh... though, if it comes down to it, we could probably write on the folders themselves."
He put the second folder to the side and took a step back, scratching his head. He moved over to the desk drawers. Opening then in turn to find most of them empty, or filled with useless stuff. Opening the leftmost top drawer, however, revealed about a few dozen pens. He scooped them up, out of the drawer and put those down on the desk as well.
"Hey Rachael," he called out, "can you help me out over here? Maybe one of these pens still work."
He picked one up and scribbled on the top of the folder he'd just put down. Nothing. He dropped it back in the drawer and tried another one.
Corey had moved behind the counter and began to search through the files. He called Rachael over, and she quickly moved over. She looked over the papers he had already begun to spread out. It looked like the terrorists had made the effort to black out all information on the documents. Every patient's name and information was now lost to the ages, along with any information that could possibly signal where they were.
Wow, that sounds like a very tedious task. Oh well, paper for Michael.
Rachael began to search some of the other files. Almost all of them had writing on them of some kind, making it hard to find any pieces that had blank space.
Come on, there has to be something. We have to help Michael talk.
In that moment, Rachael then found a folder with one-sided pages. There didn't seem to be a whole ton of information on the papers, so it looked like Michael could at least write on the blank sides.
"I found some," she told Corey.
Rachael began to look around the desk. Now they just had to find something for Michael to write with, as well as a pad he could use and a way to keep it on hand at all times. There had to be something they could use.
Wow, that sounds like a very tedious task. Oh well, paper for Michael.
Rachael began to search some of the other files. Almost all of them had writing on them of some kind, making it hard to find any pieces that had blank space.
Come on, there has to be something. We have to help Michael talk.
In that moment, Rachael then found a folder with one-sided pages. There didn't seem to be a whole ton of information on the papers, so it looked like Michael could at least write on the blank sides.
"I found some," she told Corey.
Rachael began to look around the desk. Now they just had to find something for Michael to write with, as well as a pad he could use and a way to keep it on hand at all times. There had to be something they could use.
((Timothy Abrams continued from The Heavy Weapons Guy))
Timothy stood outside the hospital while the others went inside. Thankfully, this provided him with an opportunity to remove the weight from his shoulders and place it on the ground. Shielding the sun from his eyes, he looked up at the ruined building in front of him. He had always had a particular weakness for old buildings, and this was no exception. It was such a shame that this one had gone to waste. He tried to imagine all the people who had worked here, been treated here, even those who walked past on their way to work. There was likely so much of a great history around this place, now lost forever because of some terrorists' stupid game.
Timothy was jolted out of his daydreaming as he looked around, noticing that the others had all left him and entered the hospital. He really had to stop doing that. At least the consequences weren't so severe this time. He pulled the pack of the flamethrower back on and walked in through the double doors in front of him.
As he did, he saw that the others had been searching for a few minutes and had already found some paper and writing utensils. He felt embarrassed that he didn't help, but at least they got what they came for. He gave a sheepish grin as he spoke to the others.
"Um, sorry for taking so long outside. Congrats on finding the paper though."
He shuffled his feet on the carpet as he waited for the attention to shift off of him. Well, at least maybe this will teach him not to daydream so much. And, hey, at least they got the paper. Things were looking better and better for the book club. All they needed was to find Daniel and the others and they'd be all set.
Timothy stood outside the hospital while the others went inside. Thankfully, this provided him with an opportunity to remove the weight from his shoulders and place it on the ground. Shielding the sun from his eyes, he looked up at the ruined building in front of him. He had always had a particular weakness for old buildings, and this was no exception. It was such a shame that this one had gone to waste. He tried to imagine all the people who had worked here, been treated here, even those who walked past on their way to work. There was likely so much of a great history around this place, now lost forever because of some terrorists' stupid game.
Timothy was jolted out of his daydreaming as he looked around, noticing that the others had all left him and entered the hospital. He really had to stop doing that. At least the consequences weren't so severe this time. He pulled the pack of the flamethrower back on and walked in through the double doors in front of him.
As he did, he saw that the others had been searching for a few minutes and had already found some paper and writing utensils. He felt embarrassed that he didn't help, but at least they got what they came for. He gave a sheepish grin as he spoke to the others.
"Um, sorry for taking so long outside. Congrats on finding the paper though."
He shuffled his feet on the carpet as he waited for the attention to shift off of him. Well, at least maybe this will teach him not to daydream so much. And, hey, at least they got the paper. Things were looking better and better for the book club. All they needed was to find Daniel and the others and they'd be all set.
Oh, sweet. Asshole (Michael grudgingly promoted him to Some Guy) and Rachael had managed to scrounge up some paper and pens. Michael casually slid over to the desk and nabbed a sheet of paper and a pen. Success. Michael posed there for a second, dramatically looming over the paper, pen in hand. Watch the fuck out, everyone, 'cause history was about to be made.
Pen met paper.
Pen failed to produce any marks on paper.
Michael glowered at the pen.
You have failed me for the first and last time, motherfucker.
He tossed the pen away. Out of sight, out of mind. Ain't got no time to waste worrying about such trivial details as putting things back in their proper place. The Hospital was fucked up beyond any hope of salvation, anyway. One more piece of debris wouldn't change anything. Hell, it might even add some class to the place. The discarded writing utensils symbolized society's fear of knowledge, or some shit like that. Art.
Michael grabbed a second pen. Hopefully it would be more cooperative than its comrade. Pen met paper, producing a neat, black dot. Perfect. It could live, for now. Michael scribbled down a quick greeting to the others.
"Sup, bitches? The Man tried to keep the Mitchellson down, but now he's back! The revolution will not be silenced! We shall reclaim this territory for the glory of our homeland! Down with the tyrants! Down with Danya! Also, thanks for the paper. Seriously.
After a moment's contemplation, Michael added a quick doodle of a stick figure wearing sunglasses, just standing around and being the chillest motherfucker on the whole damn island. Truly an inspiration to them all.
Pen met paper.
Pen failed to produce any marks on paper.
Michael glowered at the pen.
You have failed me for the first and last time, motherfucker.
He tossed the pen away. Out of sight, out of mind. Ain't got no time to waste worrying about such trivial details as putting things back in their proper place. The Hospital was fucked up beyond any hope of salvation, anyway. One more piece of debris wouldn't change anything. Hell, it might even add some class to the place. The discarded writing utensils symbolized society's fear of knowledge, or some shit like that. Art.
Michael grabbed a second pen. Hopefully it would be more cooperative than its comrade. Pen met paper, producing a neat, black dot. Perfect. It could live, for now. Michael scribbled down a quick greeting to the others.
"Sup, bitches? The Man tried to keep the Mitchellson down, but now he's back! The revolution will not be silenced! We shall reclaim this territory for the glory of our homeland! Down with the tyrants! Down with Danya! Also, thanks for the paper. Seriously.
After a moment's contemplation, Michael added a quick doodle of a stick figure wearing sunglasses, just standing around and being the chillest motherfucker on the whole damn island. Truly an inspiration to them all.
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CondorTalon
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- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 6:17 am
Corey's second pen also failed to work, but on the plus side, Rachael managed to find some paper that had blank sides. Alright, well that was one down.
Michael had managed to find a pen that worked too, and wrote a small message to them. Great, now they were well on their way.
"Alright, let's gather up as much as we can."
He moved out from in front of the desk.
"Okay, we've got a way for Michael to communicate, now we can-"
He was cut off by the sound of a gun shot coming from above.
Michael had managed to find a pen that worked too, and wrote a small message to them. Great, now they were well on their way.
"Alright, let's gather up as much as we can."
He moved out from in front of the desk.
"Okay, we've got a way for Michael to communicate, now we can-"
He was cut off by the sound of a gun shot coming from above.
Rachael continued to look around the desk for anything else that might be useful for Michael. Carrying that paper was likely to be heavy, and he'd need a way to keep it on hand and ready to use. She continued to look over the desk until she found an old clipboard. She held it up and removed the paper from it.
"Hey, let's take this," she said to Corey, showing the clipboard to him.
Rachael looked over and saw that Michael had found a pen that worked and wrote a quick message to the group. She let out a small chuckle at the message and illustration Michael wrote. It was very much like him to say such eccentric things.
Before she could say anything else, Rachael heard a loud banging sound from upstairs. She let out a quick scream and dropped the clipboard.
Oh no, what's happening?
"Hey, let's take this," she said to Corey, showing the clipboard to him.
Rachael looked over and saw that Michael had found a pen that worked and wrote a quick message to the group. She let out a small chuckle at the message and illustration Michael wrote. It was very much like him to say such eccentric things.
Before she could say anything else, Rachael heard a loud banging sound from upstairs. She let out a quick scream and dropped the clipboard.
Oh no, what's happening?
Well, it looked like they were done there. Maybe now they'd be able to take a better look around. Surely there must have been interesting stuff in this building. Maybe even patient records or some correspondences between the staff. Hopefully they didn't get destroyed during the previous evacuation.
At the very least, the building looked safe enough. Maybe they could hole up here and wait until the cavalry arrived again.
The loud noise coming from upstairs startled Timothy out of his daydreaming. He looked around frantically, trying to think of some course of action. This wasn't good at all.
He turned to face the others beside him, unintentionally beginning to hyperventilate. Safety had to be the first priority. He took a moment to collect himself before speaking.
"We should probably get going now before whoever that was comes down here."
At the very least, the building looked safe enough. Maybe they could hole up here and wait until the cavalry arrived again.
The loud noise coming from upstairs startled Timothy out of his daydreaming. He looked around frantically, trying to think of some course of action. This wasn't good at all.
He turned to face the others beside him, unintentionally beginning to hyperventilate. Safety had to be the first priority. He took a moment to collect himself before speaking.
"We should probably get going now before whoever that was comes down here."
After a bit more searching, Michael found an extremely handy notepad, triumphantly sliding it into his breast pocket. Hells yeah, enough paper to last through the apocalypse. He'd have to start keeping a journal, so the poor sap that inevitably discovered his gnawed-on body would know what the fuck went down. It'd just be rude, otherwise. Have to abide by genre conventions.
Michael glanced up, raising an eyebrow at seeing the others in various states of confusion. Rachael had dropped her clipboard, for christ's sake. He picked up another folder, scribbling down a quick message.
Yo, what the hell's going on? Crabzilla finally revealed itself? Keep your incredibly badass and stylish bro informed, please.
Michael added a picture of the dreaded Crabzilla, complete with a handy-dandy label. All fear the almighty, fearsome Crabzilla. Gaze upon him and despair, o ye faithful motherfuckers. Know that there is no more hope left on this fair Earth. Only Crabzilla.
Michael glanced up, raising an eyebrow at seeing the others in various states of confusion. Rachael had dropped her clipboard, for christ's sake. He picked up another folder, scribbling down a quick message.
Yo, what the hell's going on? Crabzilla finally revealed itself? Keep your incredibly badass and stylish bro informed, please.
Michael added a picture of the dreaded Crabzilla, complete with a handy-dandy label. All fear the almighty, fearsome Crabzilla. Gaze upon him and despair, o ye faithful motherfuckers. Know that there is no more hope left on this fair Earth. Only Crabzilla.
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CondorTalon
- Posts: 450
- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 6:17 am
Corey moved on reflex, catching the clipboard that Rachel dropped before it clattered on the floor. The scream might have given away their presence, and Corey didn't want any reason for whoever had shot to come down.
"Yeah, we've got what we needed. Let's go."
Corey handed to clipboard back to Rachael while grabbing up as many files as he could. He looked down, noticing Michael's message on one of the folders. It could have been amusing at any other time. Not now.
He grabbed a pen from the pile, testing it by swiping a line across the folder. It worked.
Gunshot upstairs. We're leaving now.
He took the files, stuffing them in his pack and moving out the door.
He heard a second gun shot come from upstairs, but he didn't stop.
((Corey Esposito continued in Lying on the Streets.))
"Yeah, we've got what we needed. Let's go."
Corey handed to clipboard back to Rachael while grabbing up as many files as he could. He looked down, noticing Michael's message on one of the folders. It could have been amusing at any other time. Not now.
He grabbed a pen from the pile, testing it by swiping a line across the folder. It worked.
Gunshot upstairs. We're leaving now.
He took the files, stuffing them in his pack and moving out the door.
He heard a second gun shot come from upstairs, but he didn't stop.
((Corey Esposito continued in Lying on the Streets.))
Rachael remained frozen in place. Michael didn't understand why they were all panicking, but Corey explained it to him. He handed her the clipboard and said they should run.
"Y-y-yes! Let's!" she shouted.
Rachael quickly grabbed a stack of paper on top of the clipboard. She quickly followed her friends out of the lobby, dropping a few pieces of paper along the way. Another shot was fired.
Oh no, someone might have started playing. Someone could be dead upstairs. This really can't be happening!
Rachael continued to run, getting as far away as she could from the hospital.
((Rachael Langdon continued in Lying on the Streets))
"Y-y-yes! Let's!" she shouted.
Rachael quickly grabbed a stack of paper on top of the clipboard. She quickly followed her friends out of the lobby, dropping a few pieces of paper along the way. Another shot was fired.
Oh no, someone might have started playing. Someone could be dead upstairs. This really can't be happening!
Rachael continued to run, getting as far away as she could from the hospital.
((Rachael Langdon continued in Lying on the Streets))
Well, everyone seemed to be going along with his plan. No sense waiting around to get shot. Timothy clapped Michael on the back just in case he wasn't paying attention and bolted out the door after the others.
No need to panic. Things could still work out fine as long as they got away from there, right? The army would come and rescue them any day now. They just needed to keep safe until then. They just needed to be smart about things, and everything would be okay.
Right?
((Timothy Abrams continued in Lying on the Streets))
No need to panic. Things could still work out fine as long as they got away from there, right? The army would come and rescue them any day now. They just needed to keep safe until then. They just needed to be smart about things, and everything would be okay.
Right?
((Timothy Abrams continued in Lying on the Streets))
Holy fucking shit, someone's shooting?
Michael's relief at fucking finally being able to communicate with his friends (and Some Guy) dispersed in an instant, replaced with an incredible sense of unease. Still, it didn't necessarily mean that they were shooting at anyone, right? Maybe they just shared Michael's joy at being assigned a fucking automatic sniper rifle or something along those lines!
Even if the shooter was trying to kill, shouldn't they try and do something? Michael was armed, he could stop anyone who was already batshit before they got the chance to hurt anybody!
What if Daniel's up there, dammit?
What if it was Naomi, or Garrett, or anyone else from the book club? Were Asshole, Rachael, and Tim really content with just leaving them? Hell, even it wasn't anyone Michael knew, he still didn't want to just stand there while they were gunned down! When Michael turned around to start trying to rally the others, though, they had already left the hospital lobby.
You fucking cowards.
Michael glanced one last time at the stairs to the hospital's second floor, then angrily kicked a bit of miscellaneous rubble away from him. Great. Now he was pissed and his foot hurt. As much as Michael wanted to investigate, he didn't want to be left behind by some of the few people he knew at the school. Still fuming, he left the lobby, trailing behind the others.
((Michael Mitchellson: Continued in Lying on the Streets))
Michael's relief at fucking finally being able to communicate with his friends (and Some Guy) dispersed in an instant, replaced with an incredible sense of unease. Still, it didn't necessarily mean that they were shooting at anyone, right? Maybe they just shared Michael's joy at being assigned a fucking automatic sniper rifle or something along those lines!
Even if the shooter was trying to kill, shouldn't they try and do something? Michael was armed, he could stop anyone who was already batshit before they got the chance to hurt anybody!
What if Daniel's up there, dammit?
What if it was Naomi, or Garrett, or anyone else from the book club? Were Asshole, Rachael, and Tim really content with just leaving them? Hell, even it wasn't anyone Michael knew, he still didn't want to just stand there while they were gunned down! When Michael turned around to start trying to rally the others, though, they had already left the hospital lobby.
You fucking cowards.
Michael glanced one last time at the stairs to the hospital's second floor, then angrily kicked a bit of miscellaneous rubble away from him. Great. Now he was pissed and his foot hurt. As much as Michael wanted to investigate, he didn't want to be left behind by some of the few people he knew at the school. Still fuming, he left the lobby, trailing behind the others.
((Michael Mitchellson: Continued in Lying on the Streets))