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Server time: 2017-11-20, 18:50

Ghosst

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  1. To Hanley, with love!

    *Yao looks around the rolling hills, taking in the view before climbing down and pressing in the PTT.* "I've decided to change my mind about your... Offer, is it? Your friend didn't have my information and thus is free to go." *She pauses, glancing around.* "Radio back, and we'll see if you deserve the information." *A giggle and then the PTT is let go of.*
  2. Checking In [Secure Frequency]

    *Hearing the man's reply, Yao giggles to herself for a moment before sliding the radio off the countertop towards herself, smiling wide and holding the PTT she replies* "No." *She sets the radio down and slides it back across the counter, a knife can be heard sharpening followed by muffled yelps before the transmission falls silent*
  3. @fiftyfootant Nice meeting you man (Yao here) Hope you consider my business offer
  4. Checking In [Secure Frequency]

    *Yao fumbles with the radio for a moment, causing the radio to give feedback before she taps it a few times. A thick Korean accent can be heard* "Yeah, I had him. Well, still do technically. Was thinking of selling him off, maybe making some kind of money from it. He's quite the looker by the way! Didn't even shed a tear when I beat him the first night, or after" *She giggles, which then turns into a laugh.* "After what I did to him the other night." *You can hear somebody attempting to shuffle around in the background, a male by the sound of it.* "Val, I asked you nicely to SHUT THE FUCK UP." *A blade can be heard being drawn* "Well, back to having fun!" *The radio's PTT clicks, then goes silent.*
  5. *A voice comes through, it sounds foreign, possibly Chinese or Korean. She also sounds slightly drunk.* "Han, you cunt, I'll definitely be finding you and any of your little friends very soon. Just like your little brother, aha! Little bastard gets cut by me and all you can do is run! Coward, maybe we'll see what my blade can do to you." *The PTT is released for only a moment before she slurs and rambles into her next statement.* "Gonna need you Russian boys to tell me if you see a Korean running around." *A bottle can be heard shattering before somebody screaming "Fuck" before the PTT is released finally.*
  6. Yao Pi-Yhang

    A unique, yet somewhat simple, girl named Yao Pi-Yhang was born into wealth in her native country, South Korea. The wealth of course hadn't stemmed from learning some form of trade, such as business, but rather from her father's "companies." Being in one of the most well known organized gangs in the country, Seven Stars. Being the daughter of one of the richest men, quite literally, in the country had its own advantages that she seemed to love taking advantage of every chance she got. It gave her an outlet to test her ideas, how to control her dark mindset, and most of all, learn some respect. Though, the latter was hard to learn and had resulted in multiple fierce beatings from the other lackeys, and her father himself. What made her unique though, was that she was actually a jopok, a mafioso. She preferred to take matters into her own hands, killing people ruthlessly so long as it gained her respect from her peers and fear to go right a long with it. Her father often allowed her access to any tools necessary to doing her job, making the torture all the more fun and entertaining for her and her "guests." She allowed the younger members to spectate the events, giving them pointers on which locations would give different receptions. She began to gain a negative outlook from the young adults. Albeit the older, more experienced, members would often give HER pointers, which she quickly perfected into her own technique. One such young adult was Han Gang-woo, a trusted member of the group. He tried hard over the years to gain a better position, possibly something to do with leadership, but could never find himself getting the opportunity. After ten years of dealing with this, he had had enough and ratted out the entire gang. This obviously enraged Yao, and caused her father to send her hunting for this man and any of his followers. Though, rats always do like to hide, sometimes even in plain sight. Weeks following the incident, she found him and captured him a long with some of her own people. Although she did have some help from Han's own brother, who she had used as bait. The man lay bloodied before her, near death from what she could tell. The floor around the two brothers soaked with blood, each one of them struggling and eventually giving up against the restraints. Hearing screams and sounds of fighting coming from the outside of the warehouse, she turned her back on the prisoners to see what was going on. She could hear through the white noise the radio was producing, a man saying there were people attacking the warehouse. Yao meant to turn back faster, but ended up being incapacitated from Han's brother. Not before she could give him one last scar to remember her by, hitting an artery on the back of his leg. Waking up some time later, she was surprised to notice that she was indeed not dead and still inside of the warehouse. Picking herself up mentally and physically, she limped back towards home, stopping to steal clothes from a line. Authorities rushed into the massive building, screaming about capturing her father. She could only watch from afar as her father was brought out in handcuffs, a knowing look on his face. Two years later, and she could still remember the events as if they had happened yesterday. Yao had traced Gang-woo this far, and would keep tracking him for as long as she could. She was now in some strange foreign country, a "Chern-a-rus," where she had been informed of possible locations for him to be hiding. A week into the search, and everything went to hell.
  7. 'There's an American quote my father used to read to me when I'd be sitting on his lap. He lay there sick, the fire flickering almost illuminating his features. "Indeed, this life is a test. It is a test of many things - of our convictions and priorities, our faith, and our faithfulness, our patience and our resilience, and in the end, our ultimate desires." He would say. It's funny how things change once you actually experience life. The death that comes with it. And now, I find myself questioning my faithfulness, and my resilience. I've never felt so broken as I find myself feeling now. Perhaps I'm broken like one of many pieces of trash strewn throughout the streets of my once beloved country. Ah, this country. How I used to love it, and now? Now I can't even stand to look around me, take in the view. Shattered glass, ruined vehicles and the dead roaming. Perhaps I'll take my life. Not really much around for me anymore, what with Sergei and Ivan gone and dead respectively. I knew many schoolgirls growing up, and even some boys, who had cut themselves to ease some form of tension. Is this what depression is? This overwhelming... Nothingness? My life is an empty void, and I've stopped looking forward so long ago. If I were to lose this journal, my pen, would I survive? My only form of communication and it's so fucking limited. So I have to ask myself, "Will this be it? The end of it all, of this tiresome existence." For not much longer, Sasha. *The next line appears to be scratched out, then rewritten a few times.* And now I watch these young women walk to their death. Just as I once tried to do, and had almost succeeded. As Ivan did, not so long ago. The girls won't survive long, cutting out their tongues in this way. The Keeper seems to think they're linked somehow, having disturbed their peace and all. Though, I'm still not quite sure how this all fits inside of this epidemic.'
  8. She was back after what seemingly felt like ages. This... Epidemic had spread North to Russia, killing nearly everyone. Ivan hadn't made it. She forced herself not to shed the tears, steeling herself. The young boy had been torn to shreds as she ran through the city streets. "Fucking coward." She tells herself. She had not returned alone however. She had a group of her own people. Quite literally in fact. None spoke but with their hands. The single male of the group had deemed himself "Keeper," and now led the rest. He spoke not above a whisper, so as not to "forgo his peace," like the rest had. A red emblem lay on each of their wrists, a mark of who they were, and who they must now be. The Keeper held a phoenix carved into flesh, painted black by ink. Sasha's mind didn't drift as often as it may have in the past. So long as her people were safe, so would too everyone else who meant no harm. They were bound to each other now. Not by rope, or steel, but by the silence and the words that only said silence could bring. By their blood, and their diminishing hope. Sasha could still remember the first tears, the first heartache. The Keeper nailed another paper to another pole. "The fifth one in the seventh town." She thought to herself. "Church of the Crying Sister," It read. And below... "May she maintain her peace, forevermore." She shielded her eyes from the glare, allowing the church to loom over her. A home, a shelter, a sanctuary. "Forevermore indeed," said the Keeper in his gravelly voice.
  9. Chris Eisenhower

    Chris hasn't really had a hard life, he won't lie about that. He's not one to look for attention. Born in Calgary, he was born into hunting and learning to fend for himself. His father and mother hardly raised him, instead raised by his uncle. They died when he was young, and he was content with it surprisingly enough. Around 16, he moved to the States, gaining citizenship in a few years. He joined the marines at 23. He's seen many horrors across seas, just trying to make it home, maybe see his uncle one last time before anything. The flight he was on somehow ended up rerouting to Chernarus, causing him to become trapped here. (Will add more if I continue this character.)
  10. The fire sit before them, crackling almost as bright as the stars that night. The rest of the group had started moving out, readying the new camp site. Our new home. A place to belong in a country where nobody belonged. The whole situation with Niokita had tired Sasha and Sergei out mentally and physically. Possibly more so than the rest, as they had hunted for hours for her. The death of marcus had hit them all hard, but it tore Sasha apart. He was the only man other than Sergei that she could put her trust in. She silently cursed herself and her stupidity. Sergei watched his now-wife from across the fir, pursing his lips. "Are you okay Sash'?" He said asked after quite some time. Here in the forest, anywhere really, time stopped having a meaning other than being able to see a possible ambush coming. The lack of care was astonishing. She signed in the affirmative within a few seconds, but her eyes had lost the gleam that the past few days had held in them. He prodded at her again, seemingly trying to test her. She threw her hands up angrily. The knife in her hands was sharp as a razor, but her dry wit and words were even sharper. He visibly flinched at her anger, going quiet as guilt welled up inside of Sasha. She signed quickly after a few minutes, trying to gauge his reaction. "S-O-R-R-Y," she said. Sasha even added the sign for Sergei at the end. A thumb and forefinger crossed her heart. His forefinger as well as his ring finger made a gesture near his chin to say he understood. Ivan woke up with a start, the nine year old had been alying on Sasha's lap the entire time. She had almost forgotten about the boy. She ran a hand through her adopted son's hair. They had been surprised to find a child of all things surviving on his own in the wilderness. He had taken to Sasha quickly, but not yet to Sergei. She had never been able to bear child, and had never been a religious woman. Ivan was a blessing though, and she welcomed him. She listened as the rest of the group hurried around, moving the tents and weapons into the truck. She closed her journal, finishing it with a signature at the bottom and the date. Wolves howled in the distance, and if you would listen closely enough you may of even heard an owl hooting at whatever prey came near it's tree. Life kept moving forward, and so would they.
  11. Sasha Trionko

    My name is Sasha. Sasha Trionko. This journal is my life, my only way of communicating with the world other than my hands. I don't know what's wrong with me, but its been a thing ever since I was young. I can't speak, and nobody knows the reason behind it. It bothers me almost daily, but I've learned to accept it. My father has shown me how to speak using my hands, which he learned during his time in the military. Or was it the army? I can never remember. Showed me how to make a fire, how to handle a weapon, that sort of stuff as well. I was born in a town called Kamenka, a small ocean side town. Life was simple, and I never paid too much attention to the war happening around us. I didn't realize how much it would actually affect our country until later in life. As I grew older, and mentally stronger, I watched as our once beautiful country turned war torn. I cried for what seemed like the first time since I was a toddler. If only I could give my thoughts with my words. I don't think I've ever heard my own voice. My mother died when I was very young, a fire I believe. It started like a wildfire and consumed her just the same way. I don't remember the full details behind it and never bothered asking Father before he passed away as well. I was left on my own in a country where everyone hates one another. I feel... Lost? Or is it broken? The feeling is always there when I'm alone. I can't be around a group too long before they realize that I'm a liability and not able to communicate properly. I don't see why many of my fellow countrymen hate foreigners so much, albeit they caused most of the fighting. But even now, with the dead walking around and people pillaging and looting, how can we bring ourselves to hate others? Are the dead the threat, or are other people? At the very least with the infected, they tend to be quiet, save a few growls and moans here and there.
  12. Constant Randall Dean

    Ma' died when I was young. I was always close to her, like a dog with it's ball. I suppose I carry her in my memories, what little I have. After her death, my father tried to cut off any memories that I may have had. Sometimes I wonder if that's why he drank so much, you know? Soon as I was out of high school, I was thrown out onto the streets like a rat. The next few years a bit of a blur, trying to find a job at such a young age and trying to live with different friends that I had at the time. Eventually, peoples' charity ran low, and eventually out. I was told to fend for myself and lived on the streets. I still had my guitar from my teenage years, old acoustic. I played for spare money on the side streets of New York City. The Big Apple, right? A place where people make a name for themselves. Except, my name wasn't known. My cousin however, Tommy. Tommy Berkowitz, the guy was famous for Christ's sake. You'd see him on every baseball campaign manager's desk. While he was living the high life, I was living in the slums watching. Watching muggings, rapes, countless killings. I was close to ending it at this point in my life. Not sure if I would consider it divine intervention or not, but Tommy found me. Not sure if the man that I can't bear to call my father gave him my location, or if it was just by chance. Tommy took me in, let me stay at his place. Bought me clothes, helped me figure myself out. I could tell he was hooked on drugs, like many of my fellow homeless people. I felt bad, but didn't think there was anything I could do. I took his charity for granted most of the time and thanked him almost never. When his DUI hit, he invited me with him to Chernarus. Wanted me to be his PR guy I guess. Figured it was the best chance I was going to get at becoming a new person, hopefully a better person. Jesus, how wrong was I? I forgot all about this journal in the last few weeks but... Goddamnit, I was wrong. I've become seperated mentally and physically from my cousin. I'm not sure who I thought I was going to become. There's pillaging and fighting all over the country. Scavengers... Like myself, are having trouble finding even a single can of food. All of the animals have either been killed off or hunted to near-completion. At the very least, I still have this guitar. Though, I doubt it'll help me much. There are "Things" roaming about, gathering at the opportunity of even the smallest amount of flesh. I haven't prayed in years, but lord have mercy because I needed to do it, I needed to kill them. They took the little girl, tore her to shreds right in front of my face. __ And as such stories go, Constant slowly lost himself. Being shot in an attempted escape attempt from his captors left him bleeding in a run-down house. He lay there bleeding for hours before finally it clotted. He was weak, and so very tired of life. Another few moments and he lifted himself up and forced himself to walk to Zelenogorsk. There, he found very little supplies to help him get better, but he slowly and very luckily did indeed get better. He vowed never to let his trust get broken again, and realized his mind was deteriorating.
  13. *Ena signs to her friend next to her, still shaken up over what just happened. She then passes him the radio.* "Erm... My friend here is telling me to radio you and ask if you're alright after what happened at the airfield there a bit ago. Ena is the uh... Mute and deaf girl. She wants to know if it would be possible to meet at some point." *The button is released*
  14. Server 1: Stary Time: 6/13/17 (12:25 PM EST) Name IG: Ena Mikhailovna Allies: Doctor Isaac Suspects: Logs will show Vehicles: None Additional: None POV: So I was running over to Stary on my deaf/mute character I've been roleplaying. My mate and I were OOC in TS just fucking about when he goes on mute for a while. I see two guys up on the hill shooting/fighting zombies and I decide to go up and get some RP. While showing my emote: *Shows notecard, it says: "Hi my name is Ena. I'm a deaf and a mute. Sorry about that!"* I am shot by a second guy who is affiliated with this one. It is after this that I learn my friend was also shot after being held up and then knocked unconcious. He was then shot (I OOC heard them wasting about a whole mag on him.)
  15. To New Friends

    *Michael holds in the PTT button, laughing at the absurdity that just happened. He sounds intoxicated.* "Hey uh, my new best friend. My new mate, the clown. Rush... Rush Tub? Get a hold of me some time my friend! You and your lady friend, Miss... Miss White or some shite. *The button is released as he falls over in more hysterics*
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