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Aberrant: Dead Rising - Chapter 13: All Soul's Night - Fox's Refuge


Dawn OOC

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I rattled and banged my way down the trail, the details of which I'd gotten from some gal who was two donuts shy of a half-dozen. If I concentrated over the sounds of my vehicle's inevitable destruction (and this fucker ain't lastin' for much more than lawn decoration 'fore too much longer!), I could hear what sounded like people moving around up ahead. Maybe I was hallucinating, maybe not.

I'd heard rumors about this place for a few months now. Supposedly, a bunch of halfway decent super-people had set it up and were running the show. Except for my pop-gun trick, I didn't know if I qualified. But, any civilization was good enough for me; I hadn't had a decent conversation since the mall. I even began to miss those whiny assholes after awhile. But here looked like a chance to start over, preferably with people who had their heads still screwed on.

My Jeep was kind enough to stall right before I wanted to stop at a chain-link fence. I honked the horn (which God alone knew how still worked) and waited to see if I could get someone's attention. Hopefully, I could get shelter for the night. I'd like to actually sleep; I'm beginning to think I could use it. The music on the radio is stuck on the same damn song ("Janie's Got a Gun"), right on the second verse, and I don't even have it turned on. That tells me I'm no longer fit to drive.

I just hope somebody's awake. They have to be. I can't drive this shitheap anymore. Ronald Bangs, you are one tired, sorry son of a bitch.

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"Any way i can help you Sarah, I will." He lead her through the music, thankful for the rudimentary knowledge he had.

He nodded as the song ended. "It's gonna take some getting used to, isn't it, Saying "Our."

He smiled beneath the mask. "That said, it's something that I hope makes you as happy as it does me." He worried inwardly whether the child would be okay, but there was nothing he could do on that front.

Sarah chuckled, "Happiness is up to you and how you *react* to what happens to you, not what happens to you per say. The miracle of perspective at work, Dan, or so I found when I started applying a little positive thinking, a hope in what could be instead despair at what was. And there are a lot worse things that could happen to me than expecting a child with one of the best men I've ever met."

She grunted as an over-ambitious turn with the beat agrivated her nausea, "Uuuuuh... Going to need Alot of hope if this feeling doesn't let up though. Annoying."

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Shafted as he was, "well fuck you very much, I didn't want to dance anyway," he muttered to himself, "don't kill them all just because you can, don't kill them all just because you can..." he wandered off and took a seat, he'd drink, but that stuff stopped working on him.

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The sun was almost gone; the twilight cast long shadows, especially here where the river to the south make a natural hollow. Ronald had noticed a shed off to the left when he pulled up; it was just out of the ring of his headlights and was little more than a shadow. As he honked, a door on the shack pushed open and someone looked at him. Then they were gone, ducking back inside the building.

Silence fell. Ronald had the uneasy feeling he was being watched. That feeling was justified when people materialized out of the darkness, flanking him on either side of the truck. They were armed and, while their vibe wasn’t intensely hostile, it was still very wary. A man approached from the front, unarmed but wearing a bullet-proof vest over his clothing. He motioned for Ronald to roll down his window. “Hey there,” he greeted , sandy-brown hair flopping over his sunglasses. “You a friendly? Or should we shot ya?” The guy gave him a relatively friendly grin.

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The sun was almost gone; the twilight cast long shadows, especially here where the river to the south make a natural hollow. Ronald had noticed a shed off to the left when he pulled up; it was just out of the ring of his headlights and was little more than a shadow. As he honked, a door on the shack pushed open and someone looked at him. Then they were gone, ducking back inside the building.

Silence fell. Ronald had the uneasy feeling he was being watched. That feeling was justified when people materialized out of the darkness, flanking him on either side of the truck. They were armed and, while their vibe wasn’t intensely hostile, it was still very wary. A man approached from the front, unarmed but wearing a bullet-proof vest over his clothing. He motioned for Ronald to roll down his window. “Hey there,” he greeted , sandy-brown hair flopping over his sunglasses. “You a friendly? Or should we shot ya?” The guy gave him a relatively friendly grin.

" I'm tired. Normally, I'm friendly. But my ass is real intimate with this seat now, so pardon me if I don't get up and dance." He stretched, arms empty, and slowly lifted himself out of the jeep's seat. "My name's Ronnie. I've been driving non-stop, and running before that, and I just want somewhere to sleep without being zombie-burger. I ain't been bit, and I brought some goodies with me. I'll be a sharing son-of-a-bitch if I could just get a bed and some shuteye. I'll push this rattling shitheap inside if one of you could steer. But if you're not full-up, I'd like to crash here. I'm not the sharpest bowling ball, but I know what makin' mysel' useful looks like, and I can do that."

He paused. "Anything else you folks need to know? Because I can talk real pretty-like when I'm co-herent. Which right now I ain't. Say, what do you call this place? And who are you guys? Can't believe it just came to me now to ask that. Did I mention I'm dumb-ass tired?" He grinned, which looked like a smile that had been sunk underwater for about a year.

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"Come on in, then, the party's starting. Halloween." The man said. "I'm Cliff, and you're at Fox's Refuge. I'm afraid you'll have to stay in quarantine tonight. You can park over there." The gate was opened and Ronnie was pointed to a graveled parking spot. As he hopped out, Cliff asked, "Would you be willingto lock the guns in your truck? Just until we know you a bit better. Keep your keys.

"I guess," Ronnie replied, disarming himself even as he remembered that his best weapon couldn't be removed.

After he'd secured the truck, he was lead to the shed; as they got closer, he heard the strains of the Monster Mash pouring out of it. "Heh," Cliff grinned, "those of us on duty are taking it easy tonight; we're having our own party. The rest of the Refuge is on the island. I can't say more about that yet. Just come in, have a seat, grab some food. We're about to start telling ghost stories."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

She glanced around as she and Fox danced, relieved to see most of the others starting to mingle. She grinned and hid her chuckle from Cherry and George with a well-placed wing. "But yes, it is a good show of unity. Hopefully, more than a show at some point soon?"

"As we said, we'll see how tonight goes," Fox said lightly. His vulpine smile hadn't faded one bit. "But it's going well, so far." He spun her again as the music ended, then bowed to her. "Thank you, ma'am. I return you unscathed to your scowling friend."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

There are three types of sunset. They are defined by two things: the number of degrees that the Sun is below the horizon, and by what can clearly be seen. With Civil Twilight, objects are still distinguishable. With Nautical, the lights have to come on for outdoor activities; the horizon itself is indistinct. True darkness comes with Astronomical Twilight.

And tonight, other things came too.

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"Come on in, then, the party's starting. Halloween." The man said. "I'm Cliff, and you're at Fox's Refuge. I'm afraid you'll have to stay in quarantine tonight. You can park over there." The gate was opened and Ronnie was pointed to a graveled parking spot. As he hopped out, Cliff asked, "Would you be willingto lock the guns in your truck? Just until we know you a bit better. Keep your keys.

"I guess," Ronnie replied, disarming himself even as he remembered that his best weapon couldn't be removed.

After he'd secured the truck, he was lead to the shed; as they got closer, he heard the strains of the Monster Mash pouring out of it. "Heh," Cliff grinned, "those of us on duty are taking it easy tonight; we're having our own party. The rest of the Refuge is on the island. I can't say more about that yet. Just come in, have a seat, grab some food. We're about to start telling ghost stories."

Halloween? Shit! I've been moving a lot longer than I thought. "Well, I can stay up for food and something to drink, sure. Ghost stories, huh. Been awhile. Well, let's get inside and I'll come up with something."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"Alright, before I get started, I wanna thank Cliff and the rest of you for letting me in on Halloween, of all nights. What I got ain't a ghost story, but it's a weird one, and it's interesting to me on account of it's how I made it as far as I got.

"See, not too long ago I was up in West Virginia, child of a bunch of hard-workin' coal miners whose mines had up and closed on 'em. So, they got other jobs and grew pot on the side. My momma and pappy decided they'd seen the damage that prescription drugs and meth and all the rest of that shit had done to good friends of theirs, and they decided to grow an alternative. Neither of them touched a drop of alcohol since before Toby, my oldest brother, was born, on account of that demon had run in our family for years, and they weren't havin' none of it. I won't scare you with the details of my family tree, on account of every time a hard wind blows, there's a whole bunch of them that falls out of it. We're talking a bunch of goobers who make sparks on the ground when they walk, on account o' their knuckles dragging.

"Well, I was going to school, because damn straight I wasn't going to goof off and screw around with my hoodlum friends if my parents had a word to say about it. One day I came home, and the cops was burnin' our crops and leading my family away. I got mad and clocked a deputy, so I got to go with them. Turns out they were spyin' on us for over a year before they made their move. Because of that, and deckin' the cop, I got a juvenile record.

"That's the big part, because I'd grown up watching Bruce Willis and Steve Seagal and Chuck Norris and Stallone and Eastwood be badasses on film, and my whole future plannin' involved getting into the Army or Marines. Well, come to find out after all that shit blew over that I couldn't get in on account of my record. Made me mad as spit, I'll tell ya. So, for awhile, even though I'd busted my ass in school, I wasn't going nowhere fast.

"I got me a job preppin' food at what they called a 'concept mall' just down the road. Most days, I just walked there. This thing was eerie, like Disney'd puked up right in the middle of Virginia. It looked like a whole little town full of nothin' but stores. Just store after store with sidewalks and parking lots all around and canned music everywhere you went. And they did their homework, too. There was a lot of cool stuff in those stores, and I always ate before I got there or I'd blow half my pay eating. The only thing I never got was the Victoria's Secret store. Victoria, let me let you in on a little secret: Guys don't give two squirts of piss what you got underneath yer clothes. We just wanna see y'all naked. Okay?

"Then the zombies hit, and I was lucky: I'd had some of my guns at the rifle shop gettin' cleaned up and given a once-over. I don't know how my family did; I like to think they're still alive and ornery as ever. But for me, I took to the rooftops with my guns and what ammo I'd hooked, and I'd be up there gettin' target practice. A few days later, I'd found a buncha dumbasses had taken refuge in the Home Depot, and I hung around them for a bit. They were all cryin' and twitchy an' pissin' an' moanin', but when they pulled their shit together, they could get stuff done. Hell, they treated me like I was a genius 'cause I had common sense. That was nice, but just 'cause of that, I ended up getti' pulled into every fuckin' argument they had. And they never ran out of arguin'.

"Somethin' told me they weren't long for this world, and I shoulda listened. One of them, I don't know who, left an emergency door open to make a desperate run for cigs. And some zombies got in. Not many; we'd been doin' good about keepin' the herd thin. But enough. Next thing I know, I got a couple of the rotten fucks between me and my cache of ammo. And I'd run out.

"Here's where it gets weird. If you ever been in a do or die situation, and you're pretty sure you gonna die, sometimes you do something stupid. Maybe it's to spit one in the Devil's eye, maybe it's just your brain checkin' out 'fore the rest of you does. I dunno. My being stupid was staring right at them zombies, and suddenly I was ten years old and playin' army with my friends, so I started pointin' an imaginary gun at them, actin' like I was about to spray 'em all over the roof top. And I did.

"I heard bullets being fired, smelled the gunpowder, and next thing I know, them dead fucks were in chunks on the roof. And I'd done it. Me and my imaginary gun. I'd a loved to figured out what the hell just happened, but I just took my guns and ran the hell over to the next ammo cache, and just got the fuck outta there. Found a Jeep in the parkin' lot, and I remembered a scene in a movie, so I flipped down the driver side sun visor. Sure enough,in a little pouch in the visor was a spare key.

"So I drove and drove. I don't think I slept much, or ate much. It's been a blur since then. Along the way, I heard rumors about this place, so I wound up here. I can still do that imaginary pop-gun thing, but if I do it for too long it wears me out. I don't know how or why, I'd like to, but for now I'm just grateful for guardian angels and such. So, that's me: just one more weird-ass story in a whole big book full of 'em."

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Cliff and the others were watching him closely as he told his story; when he reached the point where he told them about his gun and mowed down the zombies, no one expressed doubt or even surprise. “Well then,” Cliff said softly, “when you get out of the quarantine, I’m sure that Captain Fox will want to speak with you.”

“Who’s that?” Ronnie asked quietly.

“The leader of our Refuge,” Cliff answered jovially, popping a handful of candy corn into his mouth. “He is a great guy – and he flies.” At Ronnie’s look, he nodded. “Like without an airplane.” The entire group fell silent, waiting for Ronnie’s reaction.

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"Huh." So the rumors were true. How about that shit?

"Well, cool. But tonight, before I have to talk to anyone, I need me some shuteye. Gotta be practical. Who's next? Let's keep the ball rolling!"

He can fly? Shit, that's gotta be handy for keeping the rotters out of your hair, like when you're delivering supplies or something like that. I couldn't a' lucked out any more if I tried.

So Ronnie made himself stay awake, just a little bit longer, listening to ghost stories. It was pretty damn awesome; just telling ghost stories, around not much more than a campfire, knowing that there wasn't a big civilization to go home to, and that the shadows and the monsters had their old turf back, kinda lent some weight to those old tales. After all, the dead had come to life, people could fly, and guys like him could shoot imaginary guns that killed what they were aiming at. Telling ghost stories, that late at night, had a power that a hundred cheap-ass gore films couldn't touch, now that it seemed like anything was possible.

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Gabrielle glanced over her shoulder at Fox's comment and sighed, a faintly exasperated smile on her lips. "The worst part," she said softly to Fox, "is that if I went asked him to dance, he'd just freak out." She returned his bow with a playful curtsy; her eyes glinted with mischief when she looked back up, "Although, it is Halloween."

As Fox turned his attention to other newcomers, the winged angel made her way over to her constant shadow. Caleb missed the dangerous gleam in his mistress' eye, but Neiermeier was an old enough hand to hide his smile and step slightly away from the Iowa farmboy. Gabrielle planted her hands, her expression as scolding as she could summon without just bursting out laughing. "Caleb! We're supposed to be mingling, and you just ignored that man that came over and said hello to Mr. Neiermeier. You're doing it again. You are not on guard duty tonight."

Caleb swallowed and looked to Neiermeier for support; he hadn't really registered the other man until he was already gone....The old soldier shook his head and held up his hands, "This is between you and her, kid."

Gabrielle tapped her foot, crossing her arms. Caleb swallowed again, "Gabrielle...I-...uh...I didn't-"

A snort escaped; she couldn't help it. She grabbed his hand while he was still trying to figure out what was going on, "I've decided your punishment. You will dance one dance with me, and then you will go and be polite to the other ladies here and dance with them. The next time I catch you scowling or paying enough attention to me for me to notice, I'm having you shipped home for the night. You have got to learn how to relax!"

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Distracted from his dance with Cherry, George looked up and winced.

"Ooooh, did I step on your foot again?" Cherry mockingly inquired?

"Huh? No!" George stammered, failing to catch the redhead's playful tone. "No, Caleb's just getting scolded for not mingling, which reminds me, we should probably do some mingling ourselves." Cherry shot him a pouty look, and he smirked. "Don't worry, papa taught me to always leave with whom you brought, but it's important that we know what the rest of the folk here are like, and it's important that they know what we're like."

Inside George's Head
Suddenly, George was aware of Claire's perfume, along with the earthy smell of a compost.

Wow, big guy, looks like you're finally remembering how to relax!

Claire? Uh, I'm sorry.

I've told you already, you couldn't have done anything differently enough that it would've mattered.

"Are you okay?" Cherry asked, her voice full of concern.

George smiled. "Just had a weird feeling, that's all."

Just then, the music came to an end.

"Alright, go do your chirpy thing. I'll meet you over by the punch bowl in three songs?"

Cherry frowned momentarily, then shrugged. "Unless I get a better offer," she countered, with a big smirk, before heading for that punch bowl herself.

George frowned, and scratched his head.

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Swallowing, her tall self-appointed guardian looked lost as Gabrielle pulled him onto the floor. She shook her head at him as she placed his hands where they were supposed to go. He blushed so hard she feared he might faint; his eyes were too large as he gazed down at her. “You have to lead,” she said softly to him after a moment.

“Oh! Uh,” he started, taking a step as another song started. Alas, Caleb’s lesson was postponed as a scream cut through the air. People stopped, gazing around nervously toward the sound; the musicians faltered. Fox frowned, lifting off the ground, peering around for the source of the disturbance. He saw a motion; someone running out of the night. He darted over, prepared to deal with anything.

Anything except a nearly hysterical Jules. Fox dropped to the ground and halted her head-long rush. “Jules?” he asked, shocked to see her crying and trembling. She gibbered something rapidly; he caught only one word: Ben. “What about Ben?” he asked, truly concerned. Jules had always been wound tight over her son’s death and now it had appeared she’d finally broken.

“He’s here,” she hissed, her dark eyes crazed.

Around the party, other voices rose in screams.

Everyone is seeing ghosts of the dead. There is a long list of dead villains and friends to choose from for interaction. Rather than write out Dan seeing the ghosts of the children he helped and then killed, or Gabby seeing Elijah, I’d ask that you guys write that. PM me with any questions and have fun. :devilfire:

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For Sarah, it began when Dan stopped moving, pulling away his mask.

For the first time, his eyes showed first confusion then the first trace of fear. For him, It was his former CO, Major Clayton Abernathy, looking like he did when he'd risen, and tried to tear out Dan's neck. Flanking him, the children from Coral stood. They all looked Dead, except for Hannah, who looked exactly like she did in those final moments.

"You can't be here. I buried all of you. That should have been enough..."

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All of Sarah's world had consisted of the song, the Marine leading her in their dance, and the aches of her body, content and lazy and focused on the moment, so it took a moment for her to notisce the new audience watching her even once Dan stopped moving. The condemning, familar crowd standing around her and Dan.

The judging dead, survivors she had slain with axe and pipe and sword and even fists and boots, some of them near rent in twain or crushed from strikes delivered while in her unleashed full size. Good and bad and some she had been too crazy or impatient in the first weeks after her transformation to care about finding out where they stood before she cut them down. She held her own against the horror, the glares accusing and acute, white-knuckled hands clinging to Dan until she spotted two ghosts in particular. A man. A woman. He ruined by gnawing toothmarks; she with the slack-jawed hungry gaze of the zeds she had slain in scores and hundreds. Both of their eyes locked on Sarah's belly. Her Mother and Father gazing and judging the grandchild to be they would never have the chance to see. All because she was too late getting home to save them.

The blonde megamorph blanched white, feeling all of the glares of the fallen upon her and froze, grip now painfully tight on Dan as she let out an uncharteristic whimper as her eyes darted around for an escape route.

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The screams coming at a most unfortunate moment, Varro stops the dance "... not again ... Ms. Shattuck, thank you for the dance but just in case ... " he says expecting more zombies. As he spoke to Myf he briefly seemed to wink out from existence, and a version of him with silvery and gunmetal flesh and skin and silvery metal eyes stood before her. He still looked utterly human just in metallic shades, though it did seem to have changed his features a bit.

"Its still me, don't worry ... and if it's zombies I can protect you", said the metallic Varro. He began to look around, not immediately seeing what the issue was.

Wait ... was that Jimmy? How could that be Jimmy?

Looking back at him from a little ways off was his old friend Jim Whitefield. But there was no way, Jimmy hadn't made it out ... it must be one of the other new arrivals. He had found Jim on his search of Boston, in Boston general ... Jim had taken his own life sometime soon after Z-day. Clean shot through his own head with a little .22 after some pills - probably for courage - at the hospital pharmacy. He'd been infected by a bite and he probably knew what was coming. He had always been brilliant, and he was dead. Varro had seen the body ... so who was that? That can't be him, no hole in the head, not a zombie - looks alive. So why is that guy looking at me like he knows me?

"Sorry, Doctor, do you know that man? The one coming toward us, in the Jeans and the white T-shirt with the picture of the American Eagle on it. Red hair, fair skin ... five foot ten over there ... Is he a new arrival?" he asked Myf, pointing out the happy looking young man in the distance who appeared to be coming over.

... that was even one of Jimmy's favorite shirts ... he'd love those eagle shirts ever since getting the eagle paint job on his chopper ...

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What the fuck?

...

WHAT THE FUCK!?

Nope. There they were, Billy, Cyrus, Angie, Sarah, and Brett the Bumfuck Hipster Douche. Staring at him accusingly, seemingly pissed at him for...what? Deserting them? Fuck them! It was Brett who killed them; he heard the screams before he got all the way down and saw the rotters shamble through the emergency exit Brett left open in a "quick run" for cigarettes. What gave them the right?

Fuck that: How the fuck did they get here? Who let them in? Why didn't they look like they had a scratch on them? They didn't look like zombies, although something told Ronnie they were surely dead.

Was he hallucinating? If so, he wasn't the only one. Plenty of others had gotten to their feet and were yelling. Yelling at people who were supposed to be dead. Had the ghost stories brought the ghosts back? Or was something else going on?

Ronnie heard himself say, "I want the keys to my truck. Something ain't right. Something ain't right at all!" And his hands grabbed something cold and deadly, cocked it, and loaded it. He'd learned first hand: Just because something ain't real, doesn't mean it can't put a hurt on you.

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Mark's gaze kept going back to the pregnant girl in the red cloak, eyes roving over the powerful breadth of her shoulders, the play of the large, dense - yet still attractively feminine - muscles of her arms as she ate, sitting on a bench by the area cleared for dancing. He'd been warned about Kristin - nearly all the boys and men who weren't from the Old Refuge had been - but he had always had a thing for jockettes, and he had never seen a buffer girl than her in real life. Nor a prettier one, except for maybe Jules WhiteElk, but she was like a decade older than him, whereas Kristin, from what he heard - and despite her obvious physical maturity - was only a year or two younger.

"Joey, I think I'm gonna ask her to dance," Mark told his friend standing at his side.

"Dude, she looks a crossbreed between a steroid-pumped bull and a silicone-pumped stripper who swallowed a beach ball," Joey protested, eyes darting away, stealing glances at Jules and the angel.

Mark pulled his eyes off Kristin to frown at his friend. They had known each other for years, were both - had been - on the football team, so he knew his taste in girls ran towards svelteness, but really, that was an unfair comparison. "C'mon, Joey! You can't look at her and tell me you don't find her hot."

Joey shifted awkwardly, looking at Kristin from beneath lowered brows. Even pregnant, he had to admit Brawny Red Riding Hood was a total babe. That gorgeous, fresh face with huge jade eyes, like the ultimate girl-next-door on top of a stacked, curvy body. Yes, she was unusually muscular, but not exaggeratedly so, and to be fair, it didn't make her look gross or distorted, like most of the 'real' female bodybuilders. In fact, her physique just seemed to enhance her feminine curves, her broad shoulders and muscular chest helping balance out her swollen tits.

Yeah, she was a looker, better looking than any girl in Hollywood... and she scared the crap out of him. By all accounts, Jules was super strong too, but it was just so much more obvious in Kristin, and everything he heard said she was considerably stronger. For him, it was uncomfortable, thinking that a girl he was with could crush him by accident and hand more strength in her pinky than he had in his entire body. Hell, any man sleeping with her would have to worry about his cock being crushed to paste between her legs. No, she wasn't a girl for him, no sirree. Glancing up at Mark, he could see his friend didn't feel the same way as he did.

It'll be your funeral, buddy... "Yeah, okay, dude, I admit it, Kristin the Barbarian is a complete hottie... if you like chicks with arms bigger than yours. I prefer the leggy brunette sitting beside her."

"Then come with me and ask her to dance when I ask Kristin to dance," Mark said, with a hint of begging, figuring he would have a better shot at getting a dance while in a group. "I think that's her cousin, Ashley."

"Ashley, hmm? Fine, fine, let's go. And you owe me one."

"... can't just sit here, Kristy. Look, those two guys are finally coming our way to ask us to dance. You're going to say yes," Ashley told her cousin, noticing the pair of cute guys picking their way towards them.

"I... I don't really want to. I'm... not feeling well, the, uh, the uh, baby, y'know?" Kristin hedged, hunching her shoulders. She had felt the taller guy's eyes on her for the last hour. It hadn't felt like he was staring at her like most guys did, but she couldn't identify why, and it was making her a little nervous.

"That's bull, Kristy! You're the healthiest pregnant girl ever. Stop moping and smile, they're almost here," Ashley commanded, flashing the guys an easy, confident grin. Kristin's reluctant attempt was a far more meager affair.

"Hello, ladies!" Joey said with a brash smile, extending a hand towards Ashley. "I'm Joey and this is my friend Mark, and we saw you sitting here on the sidelines and were wondering if you girls would like to dance?"

"Uh, I'm-" Kristin began to stammer, but Ashley took Joey's hand and spoke right over her.

"We were just waiting for somebody to ask. We'd love to. Wouldn't we, Kristy?"

"Er, yeah..." Kristin agreed in the face of Ashley's challenging look.

"Umm, sweet!" Mark exclaimed shyly, offering his own hand to Kristin. After a wary moment, Kristin took it and let Mark help her up, though she didn't really need it. Mark grunted with effort - Kristin might have been only about average height, but she seemed nearly twice as wide with hard muscle, and her advanced stage of pregnancy added to her bulk. He thought Kristin might weigh as much as he did at the moment. "I'm Mark."

"Kristin."

I know...

Joey and Mark led the girls onto the dance floor, Joey with a self-assured manner, which Ashley matched, Mark and Kristin making a far more self-conscious couple. Joey and Ashley were soon bouncing along with the music, both of them keeping a covert eye on Mark and Kristin, who followed their lead less enthusiastically, Mark made awkward with proximity such a pretty and strong girl, Kristin tense being so close to a boy and not wanting to freak out.

"So, what's Mark's story?" Ashley whispered to Joey, a well built, olive skinned blond just a inch taller than her.

"He likes buff girls. A lot. Kristin's?"

"She has... guy issues and I'm trying to get her over them. Um, I hope Mark isn't the aggressive type."

"Mark?! Nah, he's one of those way too respectful sorts," Joey snorted, then waggled his eyebrows at Ashley, who smothered a giggle under a mock-sniff of contempt.

A little distance away, Mark and Kristin danced in taut silence, not so much together as just gyrating near each other, neither of them knowing just what to say. Kristin could feel him staring at her, but he turned his head quickly before she could catch him. Oddly enough, she didn't think he was staring at her tits or belly, though nowadays all she felt like was tits and belly, with legs to move them around.

Mark struggled for something to say that didn't sound too corny. Just helping her to her feet, he had felt the incredible strength in Kristin's small hand and despite the extra weight she carried, she still moved with astonishing grace and ease, if no less self-consciously. He swallowed and took the plunge.

"You're very pretty, Kristin. I'm glad you said yes to dancing with me."

"Uh, um... thank-you?" Kristin stuttered with an uncomfortable shrug and a fleeting smile. Despite seeing guys stare at her all the time now, very few had ever told she was pretty or beautiful and she wasn't sure how to handle the compliment. Before she changed, the most anyone had ever called her was cute. Doug had said how pretty she was - had even made her prettier than she had words for - but the way Mark said it, it didn't make her feel like she was going to vomit. "You don't just want to fuck me, do you?"

Mark shook his head in quick protest and flashed her an earnest, crooked grin. "No! No, of course not! I mean, well, I'm just a teenaged guy, so yeah, I'd love to make love to you, but I'm not expecting nothing. Nothing more than a dance with the prettiest girl I've ever seen." He let out a shaky breath and ran his hand though his spiky, dark brown hair. "You must hear that all the time. I mean, I've never met a girl with such big, round, firm-"

Kristin's eyes narrowed dangerously and Mark blushed furiously, realizing what she though he was referring too and held up his hands in surrender as he swiftly finished, " - no! Not those! Well, they probably are, but I meant your muscles, honest! Really!"

Her fair brows crinkled as she looked down at her shoulders and arms; even relaxed, they bulged with obvious power. "My... muscles?" She looked up at him, uncertain and suspicious. "Really, you like my... muscles? They don't scare you?"

"Hell yeah! All those anorexic supermodels, I just find them sick looking. I like athletic girls, healthy girls." Mark tried another grin. "And I don't think there's ever been a girl as healthy and athletic as you. Certainly not one who is so pretty or doesn't kinda look like a dude. They kinda scare me, it's true, but it's a good scared, and I find them very sexy."

Mark wasn't sure if she believed him, but she seemed to relax, at least a little. This was the first time Kristin had ever heard someone say they were actually attracted to her muscles, especially after they had grown since she had stole the strength from the Leechman. She just thought it had intimidated most of them.

Trying to press his luck, Mark risked asking her a question. "Um, if you don't mind me asking, uh, just how strong are you? I mean, people have said things..."

Kristin's tanned cheeks blushed, and she looked down towards her feet, though the view was blocked by boobs and belly. "Erm, I'm not really sure..." she admitted softly. She looked around, then surreptitiously raised an arm and flexed, the impossibly hard bicep swelling larger and larger, almost bursting the short sleeve of her black shirt. Mark gulped in tensed arousal. "Once, on a scavenger run, I stopped by a junk yard, one with those big scales to weigh trucks and stuff, right? Well, I... I managed to lift more than thirty tons the last time I tried." She saw his blue eyes go wide in shock and decided not to tell him yet that she had never tried to find out how strong she was after stealing even more strength. "I think if I really tried, I could manage more, though."

Oh my God! Mark though, staring at the perfect, stunning ball of muscle rising from Kristin's arm. What that must feel like... He took a deep breath, trying to control himself, though a hand began to slowly reach out. "Kristin, can I-"

Suddenly, Kristin's jade eyes went impossibly wide, white showing all around, and her face turned into a sickly and pallid grey-white, a keening whimper escaping through her lips. Mark took a step back and whirled around, afraid he'd find zombies. But what he found was worse... ghosts, faintly glowing, translucent forms. One was approaching them, one with cruel eyes and an ugly smirk on its lips, a tallish, leanly muscled man in jeans and an unbuttoned shirt, a disgusting stain spreading from his torn crotch.

There's my good little slut. Tits like a cow, full of milk. Guess my son needs to drink something, right, whore? And after I cut him out of you, I'm gonna skin you to make him a pair of footie-pajamas. The words were more felt than heard, like a tactile wind. A viciously hooked skinning knife appeared in Hornsbeck's hand and he smiled wider even as dark, turgid liquid seeped from between his legs. This is part where you start to scream, bitch!

As if on cue, Kristin screamed, a high, piercing sound full of abject terror and overwhelming rage. With one hand, she ripped the sword on her back free of its scabbard, a long, surprisingly wide blade with a matte finish, chisel-shaped point and a modern, industrial design that conveyed a great weight, though Kristin handled it as if it was a feather. Mark turned back to Kristin just as she stepped forward, a shoulder impacting his chest and knocking him clean off his feet. He groaned as he sat up, and skittered back on his hands and ass. He had never seen a girl so horrified before and he wasn't even sure she was aware of him - a dangerous situation with a girl who had a sword he'd need two hands to lift, let alone wield.

"You're dead! Dead!" Kristin screeched, brandishing her big sword at her former tormentor, the warden of Paradise. "You can't hurt me anymore. I'm stronger and tougher than before, you asshole. and if you come any closer, I'll kill you again!"

Hornsbeck chuckled, the laughter that always portended when he was going to be especially,,, creative, and swaggered forward, the skinning knife swaying in his hands. Kristin didn't hesistate - no man, and especially this one - was going to hurt her ever again. Kristin took her sword in both hands and leapt forward, slashing down in an overhead chop, cutting deep into the earth, than across at the waist...

The blade passed through Hornsbeck as if he was no more than smoke, he laughter ringing in her ears as his hand darted out with languid and deceptive speed, the hooked blade caressing the upper swells of large, taut breasts. For a moment, Kristin felt a taint coolness, then a sharp, piercing chill at the flesh parted beneath her shirt in pair of deep cuts, blooding pouring down between and around her breasts, and soaking into the waist of her jeans.

Are you so sure about that, cunt? Hornsbeck laughed again, Kristin whimpered at the unexpected pain. She was practically invulnerable to physical trauma, yet Hornsbeck's knife had cut her, made her bleed! Even though the wounds were already healing, she was shaken, and shaken back. When I'm done with you, you're going to beg to call me Master and I'm going to make you watch as I fillet your cousin.

His hand flicked out again, but this time, Kristin dodge back, all grace gone as she tumbled to her ass, curling up instinctively to avoid harm to the child growing inside her. Then she began skittering awkwardly away from him, her blade wavering crazily in front of her. "No, no, no, no, I'll ne-never call you Master! Never!" Kristin whimpered in near hysterics. "Stay away! I'll die first!"

Oh, no! I'm not going to let you get out that easy, my precious little whore, Hornsbeck promised in dark tones as he came inexorably closer....

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Ronnie said, "Fuck this!" and felt himself pop into overdrive. "Cliff! Keys! Now!" Cliff, being distracted by a bloody woman and child, tossed Ronnie the keys to his truck, or at least flung them in Ronnie's general direction. Ronnie caught them on the dash, and tore through the uninvited guests (ghosts?), feeling an unnatural chill as he ran headlong out the door, to his truck, as he prepared himself to grab some guns and ammo.

Fast as he got there, he was cut off by the five of them, as they rose from the ground in front of his beaten, battered vehicle. For the first time since The Forces That Be gave him his magic gun, he felt chills going through him. Now that he saw them without any distractions, he could see the thin, raw chasms going down the underside of their arms. Suicide? Had they decided to kill themselves? But...why? And what were they doing here?

"Alright, you got me. You got my attention. What the fuck do you want?" Ronnie knew the sooner the his curiosity got satisfied, the more attention he could pay to how to get rid of them. All he wanted to do with these dumbshits was tell them to fuck off and leave him once and for all. He'd had more than enough of their drama and petty little games in the short time he'd been stuck in the Home Depot. They'd known each other way before the dead started walking; he'd been an add-on, a latecomer at the bottom of their little social totem pole. Never mind the fact that he was, by far, the most practical one of the bunch. They came from money, he didn't. If it weren't for hungry zombies, he'd have never been 'graced' by their presence.

They opened their mouths in unison, and a sound like the rustling of an ocean of dead leaves and an eerie ululating rushed forth. Suddenly, Ronnie saw them in a grainy, black-and-white flashback: saw them succumbing to despair, saw them talking about dying before the zombies could infect them, saw them debating on whether or not to offer Ronnie the same peace they hoped for on the other side of all things. Brett had left the door open on purpose, a final Fuck You to the hungry dead as they came shambling in looking for lunch. And now they wanted Ronnie to join them, on the dead side of life, away from the pain and despair of having everything a living person has, and watching it all collapse in front of them. Just like it would in front of Ronnie some day, unless he took the initiative...

They expected him to agree. To be overcome by guilt at having lived when they died. They didn't know him at all. After all, why hadn't he gone mad with guilt and tried even once to run back to his parents' place, to see what had become of them? Because he knew that, even if they weren't dead, he'd get himself killed trying, and then what use would he be? Not a tinker's damn worth of use, that's what.

"FUCK THAT! You dumbshit cocksnots took the coward's way out, and now you're going to drag me down with you? Bull-shit! I never liked a one of you, but this is a new fucking low, even for you guys. I'll be damned if I'm going to end up getting stuck to you all forever. You all failed at life, I didn't. And I don't mean to lose now just for the pleasure of your company. Fuck off and mess up someone else's life. Go haunt the goddamn zombies, just let me be."

They howled again, and this time there was nastiness slithering under that dry-leaves sound. They thought him a member of their little group in life, and they wouldn't let him go in death. They couldn't for some reason. And they were taking the opportunity tonight, with the breach between worlds open just a little wider than usual, to complete their set. And this time, he SAW them, as they really were now, all tied together with weird umbilical cords between their heads, bound by the act of ending their lives together. An adopted family of pure dysfunction.

You don't have a choice. We need you, the final piece in our puzzle, to rest, to be at peace. One way or another, you will join us...

Never underestimate the power of denial, thought Ronnie to himself, as he braced for what was going to happen next.

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Trying to ignore the screams and the violence nearby, Varro approached Jimmy "Jimmy. Is it you? I mean, how can it be? I saw you, I found you months after ... you'd put a hole in your own head!" It was Jimmy, impossible but it was ... or some thing that looked like him.

"You bet little buddy. Though I should ask if its you. You're all man of steel and shit! With this crazy new life on an island way down south." said it-looks-like-Jim

"I'd like to say its impossible ... because I read the note. I saw the bite one of the walkers took right out of your arm. I saw the pain pills - everything. But I have to know, you have to prove it to me." Varro replied.

"Ok Luke, so remember that time at Becky Sanders house party? Mindy and I walked in on Stacy and you in the pool shack, and you were ... and that never did get back to Sandra. That stayed between you and me and Stacy, because Mindy could never remember anything after three drinks and STacy was actually going out with Steeve?" Said Jimmy.

"Holy. shit. I mean, shit ... you are a ghost? Or are you some sort of a projection of my own mind?" Varro asked as he looked at Myf. Clearly, from her reactions, he could guess that she saw Jimmy too.

Varro scanned the party ... "So, you're something ... but it is nice to see you again Jimmy."

Jim smiled, a bit of a sad smile "You know you left us. Didn't have to leave, your parent's were angry as fuck sure, but you know it tore them apart when you just didn't come home. They looked for you, and your Dad ... he took it worst of all. He even paid a bunch of us to go and canvas, to go to your campus. He hired P.I.s and all he found out was that you left the country."

Varro "I don't really want to talk about it Jim. You didn't hear what he said over that last phone call. He made it perfectly clear I needed to make my own way. So I did. Don't you think that hurt me too? But I did it, I kept on going without their fucking money ..." he was getting angry just remembering it ... the screams and yelling around didn't help either.

Jimmy cut in "OK, OK, calm down man. Chill. I'm just here to visit. I know you came back to look for us, so I thought I'd return the favor. None of us at the hospital made it out, not that I know of ... and things didn't look good by the time I had to - deal - with my infection. It was civilization gone man. Inside of two days, hope was gone because the big city was the wrong place to be. Besides, I think I'm only the ghost of Christmas past. You have another visitor too."

...

His wits returning to him Varro asked, "Jim. Its great seeing you, I mean ... you know if had been there. But things are tough now. I have to know, if you know ... How does this all work? Forget the past, I just want to help these people. If you've got some sort of insight, some sort of spiritual whatever ... how does this all work? Whats the deal with para-humans? Ghosts? What can you tell us about the plague?"

As he thought about it, his enhanced intellect buzzing ... he looked around to see if only para-humans were getting visits. He'd have to do mental data collection now and interviews later, but if this was happening to normal people too ... it might be a clue.

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"Sorry, Doctor, do you know that man? The one coming toward us, in the Jeans and the white T-shirt with the picture of the American Eagle on it. Red hair, fair skin ... five foot ten over there ... Is he a new arrival?" he asked Myf, pointing out the happy looking young man in the distance who appeared to be coming over.

... that was even one of Jimmy's favorite shirts ... he'd love those eagle shirts ever since getting the eagle paint job on his chopper ...

Myfwany, who'd been looking alertly around for the source of the screams, gave Varro a confused, searching look, then her gaze followed his pointing finger. "Uh, yeah, I haven't seen him around before. Probably new," she replied distractedly. "Listen, I have to go find out what the hell is going on. Sorry about cutting things short...it was a nice dance. Maybe we can pick it up again once the emergency's over."

The hell of it was, it had been a good dance too. Oh, nothing that woulda won on Dancing With The Stars, but for her, just taking a moment to enjoy herself was so rare as to be invaluable. And now this. It probably wasn't anything too bad. Someone freaking out over a flashback or something. But it could be worse. Powers, even accidentally, could cause any number of nightmare-inducing results on the human body. To say nothing about the mind.

The fear was spreading too. Her superhumanly sharp ears heard people whispering, gasping in shock; heard voice raised and high pitched with anxiety and disbelief. What was going on?!

"Doctor Shattuck?"

The voice hit her like a dump truck full of ice water pouring everything out over her head. She stopped dead in her tracks and slowly turned around, eyes widening.

"P...Peter?" she whispered as the man who'd accosted her came into sight. Good looking, but really more of a boy than a man, Peter Rosemont had been an intern in Boston Memorial...one of hers during her residency. Good kid, she recalled, but a bit prone to overthinking. A little too smart for his own good. It was how he'd...

He was standing right there behind her now, arms out as if to welcome her in for a hug. But that was impossible, because Peter...he had...he was...

"You're not here," Myf said weakly, reaching out to the side to grab a storm drainpipe. "You're dead. I saw it."

He looked down at himself and patted his stomach. "Yeah...a bitch isn't it? The funny thing is, if I hadn't done it, if you'd stopped me..."

"No!" Myfwany exclaimed. "It wasn't like that! You're no worse off than anyone. No one made it out of Boston Memorial that I know of. The whole place..."

"No one but you," Peter reminded her. "That's what you mean to say, right? Because, after all...here you are."

There were more screams now, more voices of alarm rising. Myfwany felt like it must be coming from her own head for once. Was this what it was to go mad? But he was REAL. She'd scanned him several ways looking for for the strings to this puppet. Nothing!

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Dan's own grip was quite firm, his voice calm and his demeanor icy. "Sarah, Come with me, now." With that he began heading for the door. He called out to the Doctors, hoping they weren't enthralled by these specters. "Myfwany, Varro, get the people out of here now. His eyes Narrowed on Kristen, and he knew things might go badly quickly. "We need to clear this place out."

He looked to Morgan, who was cradling Jules. This was not going to be easy.

He kept firm hold of Sarah and took to the skies, waiting to see if the "ghosts" did too.

"Damn."

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Sarah kept her eyes on her inner demons made real as she numbly followed Dan out quickly as possible, free hand squeezed into a fist as they pushed literally through the ring of malevolent watchers. It felt... hot and then cold when the nearest ones touched her, like a fever followed by a swim in an icy-cold lake, sickening as the sullen anger boring into the back of her skull. Old guilt. Old scars. Old mistakes and failures on a night when she had everything to be happy about.

The ring of ghosts followed her with their eyes, resentful and hungry and begining to follow her in a mass before Sarah and Dan cleared the door and the ground, cutting off the dreadful staring match, at least for a while.

She did her part to make Dan's flying more aerodynamic, as impossible a prospect as *that* truly was, sucking in a few deep breaths and ripping off her mask in case her nausea got the better of her. "Thank you, Dan. That was... Those were..," the blonde megamorph gulped down the stuttering thoughts, forcing herself to remain calm by inches, at least so long as they were aparently safe, "What are they? They can't be ghosts. The Z is a disease, not magic. Can metahumans do that, pull an image from your head and make it real?"

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George's frown deepened as he heard people screaming. He started scanning the area for any sign of a threat, when he heard a voice behind him.

"Hey baby! Did you miss me?"

As George turned around, the scent of Claire's perfume once again became evident, as did the sight of Claire herself, clad in Jeans that hinted at her great legs, and wearing that classy wool sweater she had loved. Something similar to something she'd seen in Chatelaine, if he remembered correctly. "Baby?" George said, half to her, and half to himself.

"You said we'd spend our lives together, George. You promised." There was a hint of malice in Claire's voice. As she stepped closer, a putrid stench of rot accompanied her perfume.

"Yeah baby. But then you said...." The smell of Claire's perfume spiked Stay away from her! She's going to try to kill you!

Then? She's not? What?

The Claire in front of him lunged, while the Claire in his head screamed for him to stay away, but years of Wing Chun and football had honed George's reflexes to the point that he reacted without thinking, and rolled to the side, dodging her tackle.

The putrescent Claire screeched in frustration, and turned back to George, who was already standing again. She smiled in sweet mockery of what Claire had been, but he could see in her eyes the hostility she really felt now. "My life is spent, but you'd said we'd spend them together. You should keep your promises... baby."

"But.... Then why did you tell me to go ahead and live my life?" George asked, trying to make sense of what was going on.

"That bitch in your head isn't me, baby. I'm what's left of Claire.... Justice." while at the same time, the Claire in his head yelled That bitch isn't me, baby! I'm all the love Claire ever had for you.

Again, the Claire on the outside lunged at George, and again, he dodged, but this time she her arm touched him glancingly on his left elbow. Where he'd been touched, he felt a bone-chilling cold.

"We can keep doing this all night, baby, but I'm hungry." She turned, and spotted Cherry, then grinned wickedly back at George. "I could snack on a tart first." She lazily licked her lips.

"NOOOOOOOOOO" George screamed, and charged at Cherry, who seemed to be deep into her own confrontation. He went to catch her in his arms, and stay between her and Mad Claire.

Mad Claire cackled, and jumped on top of George. "You're so predicatable, darling," she purred, as she leaned forward to cup his face and kiss him. All the while, Loving Claire was screaming in his head in terror and anger, and Cherry was screaming in frustration, confusion, and terror.

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Neiermeier saw the first two before the screaming erupted. Corporal Edward Schmidt and Private Douglas Williams. They'd both bought it at Vung Tau, if he remembered correctly. Neiermeier had only been a corporal himself, then.

Then the screaming began. Intermittently at first, but soon there were more people there than there should've been. And the extra people, well, they weren't the kind to bleed.... At least, not anymore. Neiermeier realized he recognized a good chunk of the people there. Maybe even half. Most of them were Marines, but one of them was Tommy Brechner. Neiermeier had caught him a little tipsy, and let him go that Friday night. The next night, he'd gone and liquored up again. Hit another car head on. No survivors.

Ed and Doug were the first to get to him. They approached calmly, heads held high.

"Hello boys," Neiermeier offered. "I'd offer you both a cigar, but I reckon you wouldn't be able to partake, eh?"

Neither Ed nor Doug said a word.

"Ah well. We did bring you back. And I didn't expect to every see either of you vertical this side of hell." Neiermeier puffed on his cigar again, which was about half gone, then shrugged. "Well, maybe we are all in hell, now. Would you care to tell me why you're both here? And on the Q-T? I see a number of problems developing, and I haven't figured out how to deal with all of them yet."

Establish dominance. Calmly. Politely. What the hell, it had worked all three times he'd had to deal with biker gangs. Maybe there was enough soldierly discipline in the bunch of them he could at least postpone things until he did deal with those other problems.

With an effort of supreme will, he managed to avoid looking in George's direction. Even if he survived this, Neiermeier couldn't watch the kid's back forever.

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Dan flew beyond the reach of the phantoms. Happy to see that they may follow him, but they were not taking to the air. he said nothing to them, not trusting his voice. he knew what had happened, what he done, and failed to do. i don't know, at least they can't fly." Instead, he turned his attention to keeping sarah calm. "Do you have an idea?"

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At least they couldn't fly. That was one thing at least.

One very small thing, but a thing.

"Yes. I have an idea that might clear these things out if we can hurt them at all," the blonde megamorph volunteered breathily, eyes tracking the mob of her former victims and Dan's old shadows below, "Fly us out of the settlement slowly enough for them follow and then put me down. I'll grow, and see if I can take them out in on fell swoop. It works on Zeds. You're strong enough to lift me if I'm wrong, so no harm done."

The idea was costing Sarah alot to suggest. She would be much more comfortable hanging onto Dan out of their reach until they went away in fact. But someone had to figure out how to get rid of them. Someone had to try.

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In reply to Varro's question "Luke, you must use the force ... nah, nah, just kidding. I don't have all the answers man, except there is something on the other side and its beyond language. The problem of describing a color when you've always been blind - and there is a door. A door comes for you, and it goes both ways. What I can tell you man, is that alot of us are pissed of - I think you need to do something. I took my own life, I came to peace with it .." said Jimmy, as Varro took a good look with his sense for the energy fields that underlay is own powers ...

"But these others didn't did they? You prepared, but most of these people had horrific deaths ... Jim. Jimmy, if you can come see me again please come. I ... I'm serious, please come and we can hang out again. You can still help people, through me ... just becuase you're dead doesn't mean the oath you swore as a doctor goes away man." said Varro.

As he was talking he was thinking ... The screams were getting louder, some people were getting hurt ... so he had to take action. He already had strength ...he'd boosted that separately of shifting moments ago. it was maxed so he could carry people easily. Now he needed speed, and his main form had to observe for the air in case he needed to make more copies, or change strategy. He'd take a form capable of speeding people away, putting them in places wherethey could continue to run and come back for more. As he shifted and duplicated, his main form shifted again, into his silver eagle with incredible vision ... he would observe from the sky ... quickly climbing and circling. He kept his voice as an eagle, but it would be shrill and loud - easy to hear apart from normal voices.

Jimmy smiled, and said "Cool man, awesome powers ... If I can ... I'll be around if I can." as the ghost watched Varro get to work.

Each of his four remaining copies took out their trusty red-cross tabbards with spidery mechanical manipulator arms. The red cross flags would let people know that it wasn't some metal monster after them - he was using a machine like form ... it would be pretty far from the image of zombie horrors - more like a robot. The psychological separation should dull much of the shock from seeing an unnatural form, the red cross visually communicated "ambulance" or "help". Plus he had literally become a platform to rise above the level of the ghosts - since they did not seem to be able to fly ... he was a sort of spider robot able to move with massive strides and incredible machine like speed.

He started to evacuate people as best he could ... picking them up, avoiding ghosts, calling out "stay calm, let me help", "cooperate - medical assistance", and perhaps most importantly "Spirits - leave us!" as he carefully stepped through the crowd - sometimes at race-car speeds - lifting injured people delicately above the level of danger - two at a time - with spidery manipulators and moving them to safety as far off as feasible. While his booming, slightly mechanical, commands would hopefully help control the situation and maybe get some spirits to leave ... he was a doctor, and he had triage to do. Triage rules: people in danger but not wounded that were easy to help first, and above that cases that looked like he could save taking priority over anyone in a situation he couldn't effectively deal with. Evacuate the most people he could help as best he could. Treat them soon after that, he hoped.

Some of the crowd was already running, he'd be on the watch for people falling and getting trampled ...

...

In the distance, watching, was Weiwei. Smiling at his heroics, but not having shown herself - horribly scarred and bloated from the effects of the venom that had killed her. She had not wanted him to see her this way ... but she had wanted to see him one more time ... and would stay as long as she could. Watching from the shadows, remembering the good times. He was doing what they had planned, he was really doing it ... taking the first steps, helping people ... She missed him so much.

Spider-Chrome-Ambulance-Robot form .. plus notes
Varro has come up with a form based on a spider, but more machine like ...from his earlier practice at becoming 'terminator' style robot forms. Not bigger or smaller overall, but with very long multi-segmented spidery mechanical limbs. These look like some sort of anime robot, with long metallic leg / manipulators - very dexterous, precise 'machine' movements.

The four 'ambulance-spider-robots' are flying red cross flags, and will talk to people, calming them, as they evacuate people, holding them high up out of reach of most ghosts, speeding to and fro.

The orders of 'stay calm', 'cooperate', and 'spirits - leave now!' are done using commanding presence. Hopefully, it will help control the situation and get a few ghosts to go away.

He also had taken a look with Quantum Attunement.

Plus, as was pointed out in chat - the bots are shiny :)

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The early morning came way too early for Benita and Anna. The storm from last night had keep most of the crew up including them-selves. As they came out of the cabin the sun was so bright it nearly blinded them. Putting on the Oakley sunglasses they had made off with the last time they where at a gift shop they seen the crew running around trying to clean up.

One of the larger men came running up to them. He nodded Anna the handed Benita a clip board. (Translated from Spanish)Ma’am, here are today’s inventory reports. You will notice that we are down one cannon and most of the shot that goes with the others. It would seam that we hit a few big ones last night and they pulled a bunch of stuff over board with them. That would also in clues Mario. He was a good man he will be missed.”

There was an awkward moment of silence as the three of them looked at each other. They all had been in the navy before the world went to hell and they had lost friends before, but losing one like this is different. He wasn’t fighting terrorists or trying to get a family out of their home because a bunch of angry Zombies where coming in the window he was just gone. Benita pulled her long brown hair back to keep the wind from blowing it into her face. “Okay Gomez here is what is going to happen today. We need that last cannon brought up today and get some on fixing that short wave. Mario had a family let’s see if we can’t find out if any of them are still alive. He was from the Isle of Man as I recall, as well hand out the arm bands and tell the crew who it was. Under stood?”

Mario clicked his heels and with a “Ma’am” he was off for today’s duties.

Benita and Anna took the time to walk the deck and talk to the crew to find out what was on their minds. Most of them where worried that they would never find a home again or they where not even going to make it to the West Indies. That night Benita whom would normally take here dinner in the cabin ate with the crew and brought a surprise for them. She had managed to trade at the last few stops that they made for some ale. She stood up being of only 5’4 she jumped up on her chair and give a little speech. “Men and women tonight we drink ale to honour the memory of Mario Smith he may have been an English man, but we tried not to hold that against him. (There was a small amount of laughter). It was just yester day he had plotted out the future for us. We are going to the new world the land of sunshine and lollipops. We are going to find an island with real people and a life there. So to night we dine we drink and we sing!”

With that the night when on, and yes there where many songs to be heard and tails to be told it would seam that this was a party for Mario. Later that night Benita standing at the bow of the ship heard a voice behind her and when she turned around it was her Major. She jumped back and if not for the rail she would have went over the side. “How you are dead?” She rubbed her eyes and he was still there. “I saw you, you…you where being beaten down by the ill crewmen. How are you here?

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George rolled while holding Cherry, valiantly trying to keep Claire away from both of them, but especially Cherry. Unfortunately, Claire didn't seem to be worried about being hit by George, and George couldn't dodge her and still keep Cherry clear all the time, so Claire did get a few hits in.

"Come on, loverboy, just give me a hug, and this will all be over."

George grunted as Claire took another lunge.

"Claire, I don't remember you being such a ball-busting bitch."

Mad Claire cackled maniacally, as though what he'd just said was a compliment. "I never was forceful enough with you, you big lug." She took another lunge at him, but again, George rolled out of the way, and noticed a spidery mechanical walker approaching.

He whispered into Cherry's ear "When I jump, stand up straight," then after another of Claire's lunges, powerfully jumped up, and used a cheerleading grip to propel Cherry on to the upper surface of the robot walker's platform.

Well, at least she's safe, he thought to himself, as he fell to the Earth, and attempted to roll clear.

George's Action
<div>George is spending a Willpower point to gain an extra success on this toss.</div>

5 Str, 5 Athletics, 1 MStr = 10 Dice pool, 1 MDie:

Roll: [9, 10, 9, 2, 7, 5, 1, 3, 5, 6] + mega [6]. Total Successes: 4.

- - -

Neiermeier is going to attempt to persuade some of the more honorable marine gho

sts to help keep the living safe (shades of Vietnam!). Then he's going to try t

o keep the ghosts that are angry at him coming after him instead of getting in t

he way of those other ghosts.

The ghostly Ed and Doug each gave Neiermeier a dead (cough) stare for close to a quarter minute before Ed turned, and gestured an arm raise to the spectral marines behind him to fall in. Then they turned back to Neiermeier. As the other spectral marines closed in, Ed spoke in a gravelly voice: "It's your call, Sergeant. What's the plan?"

Neiermeier swallowed, then crouched, and ground out the cigar, before standing up. "It's simple. Those civilians are getting slaughtered by those hostile ghosts. Clear a path for them to be able to get up onto those walking platforms, and don't let any other ghosts follow them."

"And what about you.... Sarge?"

Neiermeier looked towards that chilling voice, and saw the spirit of Danny Wells, and shivered in spite of himself. Danny Wells had been an effective marine while he'd lived, but he'd been more than abit sadistic before arriving in Vietnam, and he'd been one of the few who'd actually enjoyed the fierce brutality the environment had dished out on those trapped there. He'd always been a bit of a discipline problem too.

"Well, Private Wells, when the civilians are safe, we can talk about what you want from me."

The smile Wells gave Neiermeier chilled him to the bone.

Sgt. Neiermeier's attempt at social influence
Neiermeier rolls Charisma (3) + Command (1) = Dice Pool 4:

Roll: [4, 9, 7, 4]. Total Successes: 2.

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Dan shook his head. "No using that ability. Think of the baby."

he nodded "We'll think of something else." Concern was etched in his tone and his face.

"Well someone needs to do something, Dan, and too many of them want to repay me for what I've done to them for me to risk myself and our child without using that power," Sarah countered darkly, watching the slow masacre ripple out through the enclave on wings of panic, panic she was on the verge of feeling herself every time she glanced down to spot the watching mob. Something had to be done. No one seemed to have died yet, but it was only a matter of time. Nausea flowed and surged through her gut, cause of some urgency even beyond the imediate.

"Put me down on one of the roofs. Start getting people up there. See if your energy can kill these things at least. If I shouldn't. you should."

"

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Dan nodded, and set her down on the roof. "Call for me, don't take any risks." With that, he descended into the melee, electricity sheathing his body protectively and wreathing his hands in destructive power. He set out to find people being actively attacked, to see whether his power would work.

activating forcefield and claws

Long6 *rolls* 9d10: 2+6+4+9+4+3+10+7+2: 47

Long6 *rolls* 1d10: 3: 3 4 successes +11 soak L/B

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Gabrielle heard the screams coming from all around them, and then she began spotting them. The traders she'd glimpsed through shuttered windows when Hayes was enthralled to Elijah....the men who had fought and died when she and Fox and the others had returned to put an end to the madness there....and, of course, gliding through the chaos was the demon himself. Elijah looked much like he had before he'd died: an older man, greying hair that was thinning but not yet balding; but instead of being just slim enough to seem well-kept and respectable as he had before, he was skeletal think now, bones poking through translucent skin as he moved jerkily through the crowd. He seemed to blink and in out of existence as he moved, like reality was taking slow-shutter pictures of him. She could see the trees faintly behind him and a dull red hellish glow emanated from him; as if her gaze had summoned him, he turned to stare at her and his eyes were pools of lava-red evil. She swallowed and gripped Caleb tightly, pinned in place by fear and guilt by that stare. Elijah grinned, his lips peeling back to show rows and rows of razor-sharp fangs where teeth should be.

"Ah....little Gabby....you will....fill me...." he rasped as he began to stumble towards her. "I'll rip...those wings...make you my....fallen angel...bring you...to Hell....to home..."

She couldn't move, too terrified even to stumble back from his blinking advance. She felt Caleb pull himself from her grip and moved between her and their former leader and tormentor; he pulled his crucifix from under his shirt and held it forward. "IN THE NAME OF THE LORD JESUS CHRIST, I COMMAND THEE TO BACK TO HELL!"

Caleb's shout cut over the screams and hit the apparition like a physical force; Elijah stumbled back, blinking out of existence long enough for Gabrielle to gather her wits and Caleb to lower his crucifix. Gabrielle too a deep breath and put a hand on her protector's shoulder, "Thank you. We've got to-"

"INSOLENT CHILD! I AM DEATH! I AM PESTILENCE! I AM THE VENGEANCE AND RAGE OF GOD! YOU ARE NOTHING!" Elijah blinked back into existence directly in front of the two, his entire being burning as red as his eyes had. He reached forward, the stench of brimstone and rot rolling over the two, a thrust a ghostly hand into Caleb's chest. The farmboy went white and started to wheeze, trying to breath and force his heart to beat again.

"NO!" Gabrielle didn't try to touch the demon; instead she poured her healing gifts through the hand on Caleb's shoulder and began to chant, her eyes locked on Elijah's. "Glorious Saint Michael, Prince of the heavenly hosts, who stands always ready to give assistance to the people of God; who fought with the dragon, the old serpent, and cast him out of heaven, and now valiantly defends the Church of God that the gates of hell may never prevail against her, I earnestly entreat you to assist me also, in the painful and dangerous conflict which I sustain against the same formidible foe! Be with me, O mighty Prince! that I may courageously fight and vanquish that proud spirit, whom you, by the Divine Power, gloriously overthrew, and whom our powerful King, Jesus Christ, has, in our nature, completely overcome; so having triumphed over the enemy of my salvation, I may with you and the holy angels, praise the clemency of God who, having refused mercy to the rebellious angels after their fall, has granted repentance and forgiveness to fallen man! Amen!"

Elijah screeched in protest as the first words tumble from her lips and tried to pull his hand from Caleb's chest; the blond man could breath enough to think and ripped his crucifix from his neck and wrapped it around the evil spirit's arm, holding him in place. The demonic ghost screamed again and flexed his hand around Caleb's heart. The three tumbled to the group, Caleb just barely keeping his grip and improvised spiritual leash in place and Gabrielle diving to keep in contact with her friend while keeping up her chant. Heat began to roil off of the ghost, singing their clothes and reddening their skin as Gabrielle managed to finish the chant and add, "In the name of the FATHER, the SON, and the HOLY GHOST, I cast thee back into Hell!"

Caleb let the chain of his crucifix fall, rolling away from the ghost and gasping for breath; Elijah screamed one last piercing scream that was joined by a chorus of demons and damned souls as the ground beneath him shook and split open, dropping the spirit into a plume of flame. The crack sealed itself as quick as it had opened; for a moment Gabrielle could only stare in horror at the spot. She'd caught a glimpse of Hell and only the thought that she was faithful, that she served the Lord God with all her heart and soul every day, kept her mind from snapping at the images that would plague her dreams if she ever allowed herself to sleep again.

Caleb stumbled next to her, still breathing hard and clutching a hand to his chest, "Gabrielle, we...there's...they're everywhere!"

His need snapped her out of the horror that had passed and back into the one still going on. "The church." She stood and shouted at the top of her lungs, hoping to be heard above the din of screams and sobs, "EVERYONE, GET TO THE CHURCH AND PRAY! THE LORD WILL PROTECT US AND THEY CAN BE SENT BACK TO THEIR JUDGEMENT! HAVE FAITH AND GET TO THE CHURCH!"

She put an arm around Caleb to help him walk and began picking their way through the encampment to the church they'd visited their first time on the island. Hopefully the priest they'd met was there, spending the All Saint's Night in prayer and contemplation. Or at least that he'd hear her shouts and gather everyone to the holy site just as she Caleb were trying to do as they pushed their way through the chaos.

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Benita Looked the Major into the eyes you sir “What are you doing hear?” The ghost of her former officer spoke in an unearthly tone. “I am here to take my ship. I have all rights to take what ever ship I want by right of King Carlos the 1st of Spain. Stand down.”

The Captain started to think to herself. Okay Benita Okay. Your on a ghost ship, you became a super hero and there are zombies every time you make landfall. What do you do? You could just pretend like this in not happing or you could shoot him. No no he’s a ghost bullets can’t hurt him unless they are silver? We can just tell him to go away.

The little woman straightens up her back and puffs up her chest. “You sir where order to go to the fourth fleet In Ibiza. This is a British ship under my command and that is out side of you office. I command you off my deck at once or you will be in the brig! Dismissed.” She gave the most stern look she had and hoped it would work.

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Matt suddenly had his two best friends before him, "dudes you're alive!" "Dude we're dead, duh, you blew up the hotel..." "I distinctively remember a desire for brains." "Oh man, I miss beer." They chatted around and suddenly became obsessed around some salvaged red solo cups, and they began singing about it.

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Fox snarled as all of the people he’d lost in his command appeared in a ring. He circled his arms around Jules, for his comfort as much as hers. When he saw Dan and Sarah rise into the air, he followed suit, putting distance between the ghosts and himself and the woman in his arms. Jules was still hysterical, but Fox wasn’t sure he could put her down safely.

As the other couple settled on the roof, Fox hesitated, then put the shaking, sobbing Jules next to Sarah. “Watch her,” he entreated to the tall blonde; then he was gone, flying after Dan.

“Dan!” he shouted as he got close to the marine. “We need a plan!”

“I’m going to see if my energy attacks work,” Dan said with his calm voice.

“I hope they do,” Fox said, frowning and thinking that if they did, he still wouldn’t be much help; his energy attack would do damage to everyone in its area. It was meant for killing a cluster of zombies, not individuals. Need to fix that. If I can.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Cherry grabbed at… whatever this was. One of the super-powered people. Or at least I hope! Jay was somewhere down there; George hadn’t seemed to notice him. Cherry wished she hadn’t noticed him. Her ex-boyfriend had scared her when he’d been alive; he was even more frightening now that he was dead. “I’ll never let you go, baby” and now she knew she wasn’t really free of him.

Eyes wide, she peered out into the night – and nearly lost her grip on the “machine” when she heard a familiar voice whispering. “Mom?!” she asked, shocked.

“Clarissa,” the specter of her mother whispered.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

There was too much chaos and noise for everyone to hear Gabrielle. It was a small group that made their way to the church and got the doors shut. The priest was already there, the small, older man shivering with fear as he whispered benedictions to himself.

Caleb was pale and withdrawn, drawing labored breaths. “Need to get… more people safe,” he said.

“Good luck on getting their attention,” Jack said softly, clutching his guitar in his hand.

“We could grab small groups,” Jacobs replied, “but frankly people are panicking.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The ghost laughed at Benita. “You’ll cast me into the brig? That is a welcome change from being dead, blind and dead and wandering the earth. I have a chance to be seen instead of ignored, and I plan to take advantage of this moment.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Ronnie’s “friends” lashed out at him. Their gripping, grasping fingers sought to capture him; their nails bit and caught at his skin and clothing as they sought to take him hostage. The others in the quarantine hut had their own issues; they were grappling with their own ghosts. Ronnie could see one of the guards fall to his knees, his eyes glazed and his body limp. The ghosts were doing something, but what?

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Myf was peripherally aware of the growing bedlam around her, but forced herself to concentrate, to focus. Other people better suited to it than her would be getting the people under control. What she excelled at was getting to the root of a problem, figuring it out, and solving it. Even so, the emotional reaction to seeing these people couldn't be denied. Her hands shook and sweated, and she felt tears sliding from her eyes as she forced herself to see these faces from her past not as people, but as...things. Worse still when her powers failed her. The 'ghosts' weren't alive, but they weren't fashioned from pure power either. She didn't KNOW what they were, but she knew what they weren't. Some sick super didn't just dream these things up and send them to attack. No...they almost seemed to be...

Then she caught it. A subtle thread, a single tendril. There WAS power in them, but it wasn't creating their bodies. Not a flagrant display, but a subtle touch. A filament that wove between them, touching each...supporting them? Sustaining them? Were these real bodies animated by some super's powers? Or was it stranger still?

Regardless, it gave her a mental grip on the situation. This WAS some kind of power-related situation. The apparent impossibility of it could therefore be ignored.

Myfwany refocused on the real world, and selected a 'ghost' that looked angry...maybe dangerous. Her own powers flared around her, then snapped out to sever that thin lifeline that touched the specter just so...

(attempting Disrupt on a ghost!)

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Gabrielle frowned. "We have to do something. Father, would you lead the prayer of St. Michael against evil spirits? That seemed to work on...on Elijah." She swallowed hard and added, "I'd....I'd suggest if any of the ghosts get inside the church that people pray with their eyes closed."

"Caleb, Mark, and Ruth, the four of us our going back out there." Her tone was firm and she'd picked the three other most faithful people that had come with her from Hayes. "There are children still out there, and many more besides that need our help. First, gather up any sort of containers that we can carry, and water. Father, you'll bless the water, that should give us another weapon against the evil spirits. Bless us, and everyone staying here. Hopefully that will give more protection as well. And pray. Not just for those in here, not just for the church, but for all of us here on the island and anyone else alive in the world facing these horrors. The Lord told us that with the faith of a mustard seed we could move mountains; right now, we need enough to send these spirits back to their judgement."

The people scattered around the church and in short order a cache of water bottles and milk jugs that had been converted into an emergency water supply months ago were gathered up. The Father blessed them all, then anointed the four leaving the church by placing a cross of incense ash and holy water on their foreheads and muttering another desperate prayer for their safe return. Caleb was given the priest's own crucifix to replace his own broken necklace, and four rosaries were scrounged from the church supplies, blesses, and wrapped around the right arm of each of the four. The others that had made it to the church were blessed next and as the Father finished with each one they went to take their places at the front of the church pews, as close to the alter as they could get, and began to pray. As the four opened the doors to leave, the priest took his own place, crossed himself, and began the same chant Gabrielle had used to vanquish Elijah. His voice shook with fear at first, but as the Latin began to flow he seemed gain strength and conviction from the familiar cadence of prayer and faith.

They stepped back out into the chaos and Gabrielle flared her wings, "Remember, we're getting people to the church. That is our first priority. Fight the spirits only if you must; the quicker everyone is safe in the church the better, and then we can deal with the spirits from a position of strength and safety."

Lord God on High, Most Holy Father, please protect these people. I am eternally your servant and you have blessed me beyond all measure of love and hope. Protect our souls and guide us to end this evil in thy name. May the angels in Heaven guide our hands and stand next to each and every living soul in the world to ward them from this attack by the Adversary. In Your Name, the Name of Your Most Holy Son, and in the Name of the Blessed Mother Virgin Mary whom is Queen of the Universe, I pray. Amen.

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As the other couple settled on the roof, Fox hesitated, then put the shaking, sobbing Jules next to Sarah. “Watch her,” he entreated to the tall blonde; then he was gone, flying after Dan.

Sarah watched Dan and Morgan leave, drawing her courage about her as a good example to the other woman as she bent to pick up a loose brick and heft it a few times in her hand. Her stomach roiled under forced self-control, eyebrow raised as she watched a fraction of Gabriel's religious contingent emerge from the church. Huh. Now what did they think they were going to do?

No matter.

The blonde megamorph picked out a ghost below, one of the listless ones by itself, and tossed her brick with all the strength she could muster at the center of it's 'body'.

envoy] 9:58 pm: okay, rolling ot hit if dex+athletics does the trick.

envoy *rolls* 9d10: 1+4+10+9+1+9+2+6+3: 45

[envoy] 9:59 pm: three successes to hit. rolling potential damage

envoy *rolls* 5d10: 3+6+7+6+6: 28

[envoy] 10:00 pm: so, one plus 5 auto successes, so six damage of whatever kind a thrown brick deals

*shrug* It's something.

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