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SatansNightOut

"Gee, McGee."

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SatansNightOut    105

Writer's Note: This is probably a bit long-winded for the average reader. I don't expect it to garner much attention, but I like to have a bit of a personal reference record for my characters... something for me to keep track of certain things and keep it all in one place: Here on DayZRP. :)

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Molly "Morbid" McGee

[align=left]Most people of humble origins often dream of riches and prosperity, a life without financial worry. But it is common knowledge that money does not necessarily equate to happiness.

Molly "Morbid" McGee was born to a luxurious lifestyle full of wealth and fortune, her father being a corporate baron who preyed upon the impoverished to fatten his own bank account. She possessed every material thing she ever required, living amongst lavish decor in a fancy estate in the hills outside of Seattle, Washington, settled on a property that expanded across small pockets of forest and fields.

Every night, a team of servants brought caviar and platters to feast on in a grossly oversized dining room, just a small part of the enormous property. There was a stable of horses (and a stable-master, of course), an indoor pool that was capable of hosting an Olympic event, and immense, flourishing gardens and arboretums (including a bamboo forest that Molly loved to get lost in as a child). Her father had a various collection of lizards and snakes in a reptile exhibit that housed a variety of cold-blooded exotic creatures, the likes of which could usually only be seen in zoos. A garage with twenty-plus cars of distinguishable quality had its own team of mechanics and engineers to keep every piece of machinery in proper condition. To top it all off, her father had a small observatory built so that he could stargaze while clinking glasses of scotch with his skeevy, scheming corporate partners.

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Molly herself had the most expensive finery and perfumes, and a canopied four-poster bed with silken sheets. She had huge flat screen TVs and a plethora of other modern technological devices that everyone seemed to require to function normally in contemporary society. Her own chambers and bedroom was practically its own loft, with plush divans and her own kitchen (since it took about six minutes to walk to the mansion’s main kitchen from her room). A small library nook was crammed with volumes that surrounded a comfortable sitting area with endless reading material.

Molly could have been perceived as a spoiled, rich princess by those who viewed her from the outside. But behind the high gates and rolling fields of the McGee Estate, Molly had always felt trapped as a slave to her family and their legacy of grandeur. Five days a week she attended an all-girls private school where she was forced her to wear uncomfortable uniforms and behave like a good little Catholic girl. On the weekends, she was drilled in music lessons and business studies. She was made to take archery lessons, and learn to ride horseback. She was told to study Catholicism so that she could better herself as a person, and to be a good woman in the eyes of God and the husband she would one day “serve”. Her etiquette had to be flawless, her manners perfected.

And she hated it with all her heart and soul.

Molly’s one respite from all the arduous conditioning was music. When she played the piano, or the violin, she became lost in a world of her own. All that mattered was each note as they flowed together to create a daring melody of escape. When she was young, she didn’t understand the sensation that overcame her, the serotonin that surged when her hands touched strings or keys. Later, when she was a teenager, she smoked a joint and realized that she had been getting a certain musical ‘high’ whenever she became lost in the sound. It was a euphoric sensation, a high to chase every day, one that became her sole focus in life.

After she turned 16, Molly began to act out in defiance to her parents. She rebelled against their strict protocols and often sneaked out at night, creeping through the labyrinth that was the McGee Estate. She was caught once by her father, who had been awake late in his study. He’d nearly struck her with the back of one hand, his anger so fierce. Another time the maid, Mrs. Tandy, had snagged her by the arm and roughly escorted her back to Molly’s room, with a sharp pinch and a whispered warning that if there was a next time, her father would find out about it.

Eventually, Molly became more adept at absconding herself from the grounds and befriended some of the public school kids who often attended late-night keggers or grungy rock concerts that were complete with after-parties for those who slept all day, partied all night.

It was at one of these after-parties that she’d met her future husband, Tommy Rogers, AKA Tommy Rotten. He was young, but four years older than the underage Molly. He played local shows at venues and bars around Seattle, small time gigs mostly. His band was Tommy Rotten and the Wendigos, and she had instantly fallen in love with both their headlining frontman, and the powerful, crunchy sound that beat from their instruments with so much refined energy. It was as if someone had taken the sound of raw chaos and transformed it into methodical mayhem; pure energy vibrating with a cutting edge that spoke volumes against her life of proper perfection and practiced table manners.

And Tommy had fallen in love with a rare person, this Molly McGee. And rare she was with her blazing red hair and emerald green eyes---a genetic combination with a statistical improbability. They fell for each other instantly. She returned to the McGee Estate only once after she met Tommy, only to gather a few precious belongings before running away to tour with the band. For a time, everyone knew her simply as “Tommy’s Groupie”. But as time passed (after she turned 18.... ), Tommy and Molly married, and she became an integral part of the show, adopting the stage name “Molly Morbid”. For certain songs, (“Creature Feature X”), she would emerge onstage dressed in striped leggings and combat boots to stand before an electric keyboard. Other times, (“The Nocturnal Lotus”) it was a long black dress and blonde wig, sporting her violin. She’d seat herself off to Tommy’s right side, holding a sleek black Vector Prodigy electric in one hand, and bow in the other, with which she would add her own inflections to the more dismal and melancholy songs they performed onstage. Other times, she was just eye-candy suspended from iron-barred hanging cages for the audience’s pleasure as Tommy Rotten and the Wendigos ground out heavy chords and complicated licks to incite the crowds into raucous cheers and devil-horn tributes.

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After some time, Molly fell into the role of being the road manager. She planned the bus routes, managed their hotel reservations, planned shows with the venue owners, supervised the merchandise investments. She made sure all the musicians had fresh strings and drumsticks, and she scored all the drugs and booze to fuel the long road-trips between shows.

By the time the band itself was 12 years old, and Molly was in her late 20s, they had built for themselves something noteworthy. Another addition to their little family was a girl by the name of Cassandra, who became known as her stage name Cassie Cadaver. Together, with the other musician’s blessing, they renamed the band Tommy Rotten and the Twisted Twins. Their uncommon metal-folk sound attracted people from other continents and when the band began to reach the peak of their career, they were propositioned to play in Europe. First stop: Greece.

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The show was amazing. The crowd was insane with adrenaline and the high she got from being onstage with her electric keyboard was the best she had ever experienced. The smile on her face was uncontained and when she helped Tommy rouse the crowd with a bit of verbal flair, she knew this was what her life was all about. She looked at Tommy with adoration and felt their souls connect on a new level. She loved her husband more than ever.

But all good things come to an end.

Like the world, for instance.

A very unfortunate and tragic airline layover in a backwater country airport changed everything. When they landed in Chernarus, they discovered there was no leaving. They discovered that everything they had built and accomplished had become entirely worthless. There would be no more rock concerts, or tour buses. No more after-parties, no more elevator sex or Green Dragons in hotel rooms. No more screaming fans begging for just one more song.

The crowds that chased them now didn’t do it because of their fame or to worship their music. No, the crowds only chased them for their flesh.

Somewhere along the way, she and Tommy were separated by one of the bigger crowds. She knows he is out there, if only she keeps looking. She has not stopped looking since they were parted.

That was almost 2 years ago.

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Stagsview    625

Ayyy my crimmy, nice to see you writing again ;) and with a new character typical though it's a she and plus its a person who enjoys music ;)

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Ronan    29

Very nice read, hope to read more. Lots of detail. Hope to see more soon!

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SatansNightOut    105

Ayyy my crimmy, nice to see you writing again ;) and with a new character typical though it's a she and plus its a person who enjoys music ;)

What can I say? I like my strong female protagonists. :) 

Very nice read, hope to read more. Lots of detail. Hope to see more soon!

Thanks for reading! I know it was kinda boring so I want to write some dialogue and action next time around. :)

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SatansNightOut    105

Molly Journal Entry 01

"A Shotgun Lament"

[mp3]http://puu.sh/m3rJj/18a0585bdc.mp3[/mp3]

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Based on actual [in-game] events.

“Please, just kill me! I'm sick… And God, it hurts... It hurts so bad. Please, God. Please...kill me. Please kill me!”

Was this really happening? And here, I figured I'd get some cardio in without interruption for once.

“What!? I can't do that. I'm sorry, but you can't ask me to do that! I don't even know you!”

Yeah. There was no way in hell I was just going to shoot this poor woman---no, euthanize her. Even if she was begging for it. I've killed before, but not like this. This was different. This was just madness. I didn't even know her! She'd literally popped (I read that as "pooped" too after I went back to this page of my journal. Shush...) ... SPRUNG out of the ocean when I was out on my morning jog.

“Please, lady, you don't understand…” She fell to her knees. She was sobbing and her bloody tears looked painful. “If...if you won't kill me… then I'll force your hand.”

Before I knew what she meant, she came at me with a knife. She was slow though, probably debilitated by her sickness… and I only harbored one guess as to what particular illness she had. I leapt back, barely avoiding the blade. 

“Crazy bitch!” I yelled, leveling a shotgun at her legs. “I don't want to freakin’ kill you, okay? Stay back!”

She didn't listen. I fired. She screamed. 

“Damn it!” I screamed back at her, pacing in a full circle as the adrenaline and anxiety kicked in.

She sobbed from the ground, her life as a bipedal over. “Please, it hurts so bad… and it won't be long before… before it happens. I can feel it already, taste it. Taste… you.”

Her eyes took on a new look as her jaw sagged and her expression became dim. A change overcame her. She began to haul herself across the ground towards me, digging bare hands into the rough soil. 

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It was right then I realized what was happening. 

She had literally just turned

The Infection was taking hold and overriding control. I had never actually seen someone go from being sick to transforming into one of the Infected. 

“I'm so sorry,” I said, and I meant it. 

I leveled the shotgun at her head and pulled the trigger, cutting off an inhuman snarl that nearly escaped her gnashing jaws. 

And this was just an average day for me.


Hi.

My name is Molly Morbid, and I'm addicted to killing zombies.

Okay, we all know by now they aren't actually zombies, but you get the idea. And my last name really isn't Morbid (I'm sure you questioned it). But Morbid sounded so much cooler onstage than McGee, especially in front of thousands of head-banging metal heads.

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Hi.

After the incident with the condemned woman, I'd climbed a ladder to stand atop an abandoned hospital deeper in the city of Chernogorsk, scouting for any wash-ups or wanderers. I wasn't exactly a savior or hero or anything, but I sort of felt like I had a purpose as I watched from high above, needing to find anyone to help.

And maybe get some information in exchange. 

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Tommy's trail had gone cold over the Summer. Any evidence or leads after the fact were simply non-existent, leaving me stuck back on the coasts as I scoured for old clues or relevant information. Naturally, I would never give up the search for my husband, my soul mate, my partner. My lead singer.

As the sun began to set, I figured it was time to head back to the new home I had temporarily adopted. I hadn't seen a single uninfected person all day and traveling through the city at night was equivalent to marinating yourself in fish blood and doing a cannonball into a shark tank. 

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Even without the marinade, I had to dodge a few sketchy roamers as the shadows started to thicken. By the time I made it “home”, I could barely find my way up the dirt road. My lantern had run out of kerosene and I hadn't been able to find a replacement. 

I quickly ignited a cozy flame in the fireplace, closing the doors tightly. I unrolled a dusty sleeping bag and spread it out near the warmth, book in hand as I read myself to sleep.

I ended up sleeping for a few hours, but when I opened my eyes it was still dark. I tossed and turned a few times in my makeshift bed. I flipped over the embers in the fireplace to coax more warmth from the coals. I counted sheep, which only made me crave some lamb chops. 

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Nah. Couldn't go back to sleep. 

I got up and walked the small property a bit , bundled up against the cold winter chill of the pre-dawn air. It was quiet, except for the wind blowing through the trees. No crickets even. There was a deer stand nearby so I took some food with me and sat up there, awaiting the impending sunrise and the birdsong that would accompany it. 

I thought about that woman, the one I hadn't wanted to kill earlier. It had stricken me with uncertainty when I was forced to incapacitate her with such brutal force. Sure, she'd left me no other choice, but what if she was just “normal sick” and somehow recovered? I'd have felt terrible knowing I had crippled her for life. 

But the moment she had turned into one of them, one of the Creeps, everything changed. I had no issue ending it right there and then. I realized I was okay with the situation, which was probably the most concerning part about the whole ordeal. 

Would I be the same way if it ever came down to Tommy? 

I shuddered at the thought and sipped a soda as I watched the sun begin to awaken for the day.

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SatansNightOut    105

[align=left]

"Perspectives."

Prologue

After two days of standing in the same spot, unmoving and idle, it was the scent that finally stirred her. It was a heady aroma that caused her jaws to gnash together in anticipation and longing---with purpose. The insatiable Hunger in her belly burned with desire, her heart beating twice the normal rate than was average for a regular adult human being. Her breathing intensified, expelling bits of old flesh and virulent spittle from a mouth that housed a black tongue. She took her first step, like a reborn child, gray nose lifted to the air to follow the trail to prey. To food.

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Before, in life, she had been a school counselor, helping guide the troubled teenagers who didn't know how to cope with the aftermath of an uprising, or losing parents to it (and the hormones in between). She organized academic activities and special field trips. Her students looked to her for direction.

None of that mattered now, just like her left shoe that had gone missing.

She'd lost the shoe long ago, just after the Hunger started. The sock had been shredded in her passage, and the bare flesh beneath was raw, and she left funky, ichorous footprints in her wake. To anyone who came across the evidence of her travels, it would almost appear as if a one legged wanderer was hopping around eternally.

The scent led her along the streets and between tall buildings, where she was soon joined by the others like her, most likely seeking the same goal. Their group slowly amassed until they surrounded a deer stand, the scent so close yet unattainable. Sounds intermingled with smells as their target prey took refuge beyond their reach.

The horde could wait as long as they needed to, even if the hunger was overwhelming.


Molly Journal Entry 02

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Based on actual in-game events.

Deer stands.

Why is it always fucking deer stands?

I never shot deer before the apocalypse so why was the deer guru of karma punishing me? Sure, I've killed a few whitetails in order to survive, but never for sport.

So, what gives, deer gods?

Anyway, I got stuck up here yesterday and I've been trying my best not to scream back at the constant groans and growls and squelches that emanates from below me. It's driving me nuts! But I've been smart and pushed down my emotions, my fear, my anger. I'd have made a great Jedi.

There's no way out of this, as far as I can tell. I have food and water to last me a few days, but I can't stay up here forever. And I really have to pee. But every time I make even the slightest sound, their interest in me resets. They start becoming more active, agitated and vocal---so to speak.

Uh, no pun intended.

If I sit still long enough they start to spread out and sort of loiter or meander a bit. But since they know I'm already here, and won't “reset” for awhile, I took a peek down to assess my situation.

Out of the entire horde, only one looked up at me, staring back with a pale, discolored face and eyes as black as Satan's hoof polish. Assuming he has hooves, of course. And that's assuming he exists, and while I've never been religious, I'm starting to think all of this, the Infected, the end of the world, was his doing. I wonder if I could get in good with him and get a ticket out of this slice of Hell. Probably not, but if he’s ever willing to talk about it….

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But back to Infected person. She stared up at me from the bottom of the ladder that I'd ascended to get me into this dilemma. Her hair might have been blonde once, but now it was encrusted with a cocktail of fluids from God knows where… Or who. She wore slacks and a dark blouse and one of her shoes was missing.

“I'll call her… Sad Sally,” I declared. The horde answered back in a chorus of growls and inhuman shrieks. “What? You guys don't like it?”

Now they were all looking up hungrily at me. Oops. I tucked back down, sighed and started writing in here again. It’s not looking good, but I’m usually pretty optimistic and I’ve gotten out of worse situations before.

But just in case?

If I don't get out of this, please don't sneer too harshly when you read this, if you find it up here. I know half the stuff I write down is sort of nonsensical and pointless,but it helps me to use humor to mask the horror. Besides, who knows? Maybe this will eventually find its way to Tommy and he won't go searching endlessly for me. This journal could very well give him closure.

But let's hope it doesn't come to that. I'm still hoping I can outfox these stinky people.

Love you, Tommy.


A Little Help From A Little Friend

It was dark and he had been sleeping deeply after a decent meal. But noises had awakened him. Lots of noises, the likes of which always meant Danger. Danger was close, so close he could smell the stench of unwashed bodies and disease. His keen, Canidae nose could detect the sickness close by.

And then they were over his burrow, so many of them. Their feet shuffled and stomped until the walls and top of his shelter began to crumble and collapse. Panicking, he darted out of his hidey-hole with his bushy tail swaying in his wake, a plume of dust coughing out from what was once his home. His fur bristled as four sleek paws carried him across forest mulch.

They were everywhere, and they took notice of him almost immediately. Even as they reached for him, his legs pumped quicker than they could react. He weaved between filthy legs trying to find a way out of the crowd of sick two-legged monsters. Ahead, they seemed to be concentrated at the edge of the forest, surrounding a wooden apparatus. Beyond them was a clearing, between the forest and the city. If he could make it to the clearing, he could trot away and leave this crowd behind. He could start to construct a new foxhole and maybe even find a female to have kits with.

He yipped once, mostly to himself before moving again.

Doses of adrenaline kept him going as he bounded forward with a catlike grace that belied his canine ancestry. He tried his best to skirt and weave amongst the more densely packed two-leggers, and soon found himself with some breathing room. He paused to crane his sleek head back towards the threat. The huge crowd began to unfurl and roil like a small ocean, bumping one another as they attempted to start a new chase for prey that was quite literally on their level.

The fox didn't give them the chance to pick up speed. He ran through the field, away from danger.

Little did the fox know (if he cared at all), he had given another living creature a chance. He had given another survivor another day to fight, to live and breathe.

And he would never be forgotten.

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Stagsview    625

I love it how you keep up the tradition of writing down events that for most, seem so simple and easy to great in depth character perspectives. This is what it means to be a great writer and shows the imagination of a fantastic roleplayer.

Naming zombies....(Shame its not another Dustin) and that quote regarding the Jedi just shows real personality of the person.

:: Tips his black hat at you ::

Great read, per usual and will keep reading into Molly as it's very rare that we encounter each other these days in RP.

Miss your characters though xxxx

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SatansNightOut    105

I love it how you keep up the tradition of writing down events that for most, seem so simple and easy to great in depth character perspectives. This is what it means to be a great writer and shows the imagination of a fantastic roleplayer.

Naming zombies....(Shame its not another Dustin) and that quote regarding the Jedi just shows real personality of the person.

:: Tips his black hat at you ::

Great read, per usual and will keep reading into Molly as it's very rare that we encounter each other these days in RP.

Miss your characters though xxxx

Lmao, Dustin. That fucking chicken. But thanks Staggsy. You're like my only fan these days Haha. I'm sure CL will catch up with me one day.

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Hassan    450

Really good read Crimson, have to admit I'm really looking forward to getting to know your character a bit more.

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SatansNightOut    105

Really good read Crimson, have to admit I'm really looking forward to getting to know your character a bit more.

Thanks, Hassan.

And same to you. I've been having fun rolling with you guys.

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SatansNightOut    105

Interesting story, keep it up.

Thanks! I'll certainly try, lol.

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