The Universe's Mixer

Hot.

She felt too hot. Impossibly hot. Like she might have been sitting in an oven on the surface of the sun. Her skin felt like it was on fire. Her organs felt like they were boiling. She wondered if she managed to find any water to splash on her face, if it would just go up in steam before it got to her skin.

The big green zombie had bitten her right on the back of her leg. Then it had tossed her aside like she was a sack of potatoes. Apparently sweeter treats had come along. It had taken Jennifer a while to be able to stand up. She hadn't wanted to move at all. It hurt so badly. But then a small army of those things had come around the corner a couple of blocks down, and it had motivated her. The only thing worse than being bitten was being eaten to death.

Sweat poured down her face, leaked out of all of her pores.

All she wanted to do was find Simon. Something in her knew that she wasn't going to last like this. And she felt like she needed to see him. Tell him that she had been interested, but work had gotten in the way. Work always got in the way. Jennifer had great regrets about letting her job take over her life. She would do that differently, if she had the chance to go back. Especially here, in this place, where people had an actual working police force. Where they didn't need to pay to have their crimes solved. There was no reason to be so personally involved here.

Jennifer didn't know where Simon would be. All she could do was walk around and call out his name occasionally and hope.

Hope.

( Two days ago. )

( Today. )

Demon blood infected a human body in much the same way a virus did. It took over some things and warped others, changing the mind and its capabilities with a decidedly inhuman potency. No one knew if it affected the soul or not, but it was impossible not to see what a small amount of demon blood could do to a human--and what, in turn, that human could do to demons. That virus made angels quake, and it was something that no mortal or immortal being understood completely.

The virus that killed Sam was something else. It was, in some ways, more potent than the demon blood. It moved quicker and inhibited action rather than encouraged it. However, being dead did not stop Sam from being part demon. Indeed, the two viruses warred with each other in such a way that the thing that had been Sam Winchester was now a thing apart. It did not have identity. Being dead, it did not have memory, either. However, it had something its fellows did not.

Those others did not truly have a consciousness (if one followed the Cogito ergo sum theory: I think, therefore I am) because those zombies did not think. Instead, they hungered. To go from point A to point B, they would follow a straight line until stopped, be it through rivers, over obstacles, into buildings, ad nauseam. The thing that used to be Sam Winchester also hungered, but it hungered so much more that it was willing to wait, to focus, until the demon and the virus wanted the same thing.

A glazed, dead eye turned and watched the black car speed away without recognition. The other eye did not move, stained with red and half closed. Cracked blood caked that side of its face, and colorful smears of blue imprinted the edge of its mouth into a permanent sneer. Slowly but implacably, the form limped forward. Its right leg did not work like its left, but that did not matter as long as it, as a whole, could move forward. It followed the black burnt rubber trail of the car, and when that ran out, it kept going, lurching, dragging, forward and on, following a trail that the hunger made bright and tempting.

There were others too. They did not follow him or the trail. Instead, they moved as water, going where the buildings separated into spaces and stopping when they were blocked to flow around or over. They came after the first thing because its path was the easiest.

The thing that had been Sam Winchester did not go around. It would not be blocked. It went through. An abandoned car lay askew in the road before it, and as the thing limped forward, the car screeched aside as if shoved by a giant invisible hand. Sparks flew from the friction of metal on pavement and singed the torn jacket on the thing's back. A flame caught, and it burned one jacket sleeve to ash in moments. Without warning, the flames went out, choked of oxygen in one potent shift of focus. Smoke curled up from the thing's charred arm and chest. It did not notice.

Now an instrument of simple and pure demonic purpose, it continued forward, hungry.

[OOC Note: This can be open, just don't completely destroy Sam in the physical way, please. Be aware this zombie is both relatively intelligent and telekinetic; he's got lots of other zombies with him, even if they aren't choreographed. xD]

NORMAN! THERE'S SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE! NORMAN! NORRRRMAAAAAN! THERE'S SOMEONE IN MY HOUSE!

For the most part, Mother had been quiet since Norman's return to The City. But today she was, quite literally, raising hell. Norman had been up and down the house. From top to bottom. And he hadn't found anything. Not one shred of evidence that someone was in the house. He was beginning to think that Mother was losing her mind. Of course, he would never tell her that. Oh no. He wouldn't dream of confronting Mother about her sanity. But she was different. She was crazier than she used to be.

"I don't see anyone, Mother. Where are they?"

THEY WERE HERE! HERE IN MY GODDAMNED ROOM! AND WHERE WERE YOU?! WHERE WERE YOU MY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING WORTHLESS SON?! OFF FRATERNIZING WITH THAT FRED WOMAN, NO DOUBT. OFF SCREWING AROUND WITH THAT WHORE WHILE THE BEAST TRIED TO RIP MY HEAD OFF! YES, YOU HEARD ME, NORMAN. RIP MY HEAD OFF. AND EAT MY BRAINS FOR ALL I KNOW!
( There's blood all over the floor! )

Jake, having seen the zombies (or at least zombies of some sort) once before when he met Jo, wasn't so surprised when they returned. Of course, he wasn't sure what it was he was supposed to do. Being a cat, his natural instinct was to run and hide. But he remembered what Jo had told him about zombies. They were bad and scary and dangerous. Especially dangerous to people. Jake didn't know if the zombies could infect him (he certainly hoped not!) but he decided it was best to remain on the safe side. He tried to stay as far away from them as possible. They didn't seem to be too interested in him though. Cats must not have been their preferred meal. But he was still worried.

He and Jennifer were going to rent a truck and move his spaceship today. At least, that had been the original plan. Jake had almost forgotten about his ship entirely after moving into Jennifer's place. It was pretty nice for a human home. It reminded him a lot of Jake's apartment (only not as messy.) Scientists were naturally messy people. Mostly because they were so scatterbrained.

Jake couldn't rent a truck. At least, not on his own. That was going to be Jennifer's job. Jake's job was to meet her at the site of his ship and help her with the loading. But Jake had been there for almost forty-five minutes and she hadn't arrived.

She's probably just delayed. Traffic or paperwork or something, he told himself.
( Zombies milling about in the park. )

Pandemonium in The City!
Ray Mannus

It seems that our fair city's streets have been run over by a mad menace. People are fleeing their homes and filling the streets. What could cause this panic, you ask? A fire sale at the department store? Unfortunately, no. The culprits seem to be the walking dead.

Yes folks, zombies.

This reporter sits in his cubicle at The City Voice, trying to report on what he can, and finding it rather difficult, as I can't seem to get anybody to stand still to talk. We don't know when the outbreak started, and we don't know how. We know only that it has spread quickly.

Recommendations include finding shelter in a secure building, sticking with others, and not talking to anybody who appears to be rotting in any way, or anybody who appears to have bite marks anywhere on their body.

We can't tell you where those safe shelters are, because we don't know. We also don't know why we're writing in this way because 'we' includes me and the printer guy, Joseph. I think it's safe to say that this is the last issue that we're going to attempt to put out for a while.

Collect water, non-perishable foods, guns, axes, swords, bullets, whatever you can. And destroy the head. DESTROY THE HEAD!

Good luck to those of you out there who are still aliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii


( fun )

Mona let her eyes sweep across the empty street, the distinct feeling that something was off, more than off, having hit her like a ton of bricks since her arrival to the City less than ten minutes prior. She was off, mulling over time leaps and alternate realities obsessively. Maybe it had been a quantum leap, much like a streetcar jolting itself back onto a straight path after a particularly narrow curve. Or perhaps jumping the track altogether.

Drop the analogy.

"Gotcha." She replied aloud to her thoughts. Then she sighed. The fact that she had been on Magazine Street making her way towards the Quarter and now she was here, apparently alone, bothered her sincerely. She'd had to stop, remaining utterly still, as she took in her surroundings. She hadn't once thought she'd merely been turned around: the idea was absurd. She knew her hometown all too well; every street, every shortcut, every alley, she knew. This wasn't home. Somehow, she'd managed to step into a different reality. The realization had put her back on her trek, perhaps not quite as perturbed by it as she could have been. Yeah, it was weird, but what was she going to do? Run? Hide? Freak out? That wasn't Mona's style. She also did not believe that Quinn too might be here somewhere. She would have known immediately, and though she did pick up on a few scattered presences, she was well aware that none of them were he. Maybe she could look for a way out...

( Or not. )

The man in the crosshairs looked safe. He had a healthy enough color, no visible injuries, his movement looked natural, and from what little Vandal Savage heard, the man appeared to be using complete sentences. Still, one couldn't be too careful. He had pulled in the drawbridge at the first sign of this plague, and though he intended to take in some unfortunates and shelter them in his castle (the people of this City held a charitable man in the highest of esteem), he refused to endanger his own life. Earlier, he watched and even fired a few helpful shots as a small group of refugees fought off infected citizens in front of his castle, sustaining minor injuries. However, just as he was about to give the order to lower the drawbridge to allow the survivors in, he saw the infection take hold in the injured members mere minutes after the attack. He would wait a few minutes to see if this new refugee turned.

Vandal removed the sniper rifle from the parapet atop the castle where he sat and watched with his own eyes as the man paced nervously in front of the castle. He picked up a glass of brandy from a table he'd brought up with him, and he sipped patiently. Usually Vandal abstained from such unhealthy activity, but special situations demanded special drinks.

Sure enough, a minute later, the man dropped slowly to the ground, and shortly thereafter, slowly rose up again. The poor wretch began to look around in search of food. Vandal put his fingers to his lips and blew a loud whistle so that the wretch would take notice. He did, and began shambling toward the castle, not seeing the sheer drop of the ravine until he was hurtling down into it. He crunched into the rocks and brush that served as a moat - probably not dead, but out of the way, at least. No point in wasting bullets at this point.

"Damned unwashed masses," cursed Vandal, and he took another swig of brandy.

Somewhere, not too far away, someone was singing. Pietro could not make out the words, and the tune was foreign to him, but the song had a good beat and was surprisingly cheerful given the ongoing zombie apocalypse. Zombies. At least, where he was from, the dead stayed dead.

Usually.

He was back in the black suit that Fred had suggested he abandon some time prior, but he had a long coat on over it and it helped to mask the ridiculousness of the outfit. Hey. His X-Men costume was aerodynamic, albeit slightly unfashionable in most places. With the walking dead wandering the City, he wanted to be prepared.

He was on high alert, and therefore a little more twitchy than usual. He had a bat in hand, and he kept hefting it experimentally. He moved in bursts, running a block or two and then slowing to look for people who seemed to be walking instead of shambling along like something from one of those corny movies that he'd seen on the television since he'd come to the City.

Jo's number was in Dean's phone. He told her he would get the supplies needed, to keep in close contact, call him every hour and if he didn't hear from her, he was gonna hunt her down to make sure she was okay. He needed all the trusted hunters he could find with him.

This was, this was just so .... Dean was getting flashbacks of the place down below. Screaming, blood, fires, terror. Dean reached next to him, taking another drink from his bottle of whiskey. Keeping a buzz seemed to keep him going. He needed flame throwers or lots of bottles like the one he was drinking from.

And then there was Sam. Dean grabbed his phone and instantly, in speed dial, he punched the number for his brother. "Sammy, you better answer," Dean grumbled as again, his car hit another zombie that tried to rush out at him. He winced, not for the body but for his car. Lucky, his car was made of metal, not the cheap plastic stuff they were made of now.

"Sam, please ... pick up," Dean half pleaded as he heard the phone ring.

Jack was giggling to himself. This was going to be a riot. He'd been up for days working on this. First the idea had come to him while he'd been watching television in the rec room. He'd jumped up on the couch and bounced for a while before running around madly trying to gather all the things he'd thought he'd need. From makeup to clothing.

Then he'd started to put it all together.

It had all turned out more brilliantly than he could have ever imagined. And the people outside the walls of the asylum were going to run screaming in panic at the very sight of him. It was going to be his best prank ever. Oh, if only Punch and Judy were around. Or Harley. They would have joined in.

Jack tried out his look and role in the mirror for a while before leaving.

At the gates of Arkham Asylum, he got into character.

"Mrrrrrarrgh." He said, shambling toward a group of people. Just like he'd hoped, they screamed and turned direction. Beauty. He went forward again, hearing the sound of dozens of feet coming toward him.

What he saw was about nine people. All dressed like him. Jack felt the rage bubble up.

"YOU!" He screamed at them, stomping forward. "This was MY idea! You're RUINING MY PRANK!"

He shoved the first one he encountered. "I demand you stop now! Stop it right now!"

They started to crowd in on him. Each one moving slowly. Jack frowned. "Oh. So you think you can gang up on me, do you? I'll show you. I'll take you all on! You won't stand a chance. Hey. You're crowding back there. I don't know you well enough for that to be okay. Well, okay. It tickles. Do it again."

Then they started the biting. "HEY! Hey hey! That's just not nice! You guys have to stoaaaaaarrrrrrrg!"

The real zombies took the zombie-dressed Jack down to the ground until he stopped moving. When they were full, and he was dead, they shambled off in the next direction. Forgetting entirely about the man and even what he'd tasted like.

After a moment, Jack got up. A smile on his face. "Urr hurrr hurr hurr" it was a sick noise. Something like along the lines of possible laughter. But most of his throat and face were missing. Hard to laugh like that.

"Hurr hurrr hurr hurrr." Jack turned toward the center of the City and shambled off.

Jack wasn't the brightest bulb in the box. Ever. He tended to use words and phrases to make himself look smarter than he actually was, and unfortunately, managed to convince himself that he was rather intelligent. Trouble was, he was a bit on the dim side. Which is probably why he found himself leaning against a building, grinning like a fool that someone was obsessed enough with him to not go away.

( 'Ok, I get it, you like me. But haven't you heard of a shower?' )

It was another late night in the office. Or maybe it was day. Time was a little fuzzy in this City. It was even fuzzier to Bruce Banner, who'd had a very full week and had spent the last several hours grading papers, and whose caffeine level was starting to dip. He headed to the teachers' lounge to refill his Iron Man mug.

Now able to see the streets of the City, he was vaguely aware of motion. He pressed his face to the glass to cut down the reflections of the fluorescent lights. There were people out there - lots of them, just kind of milling around. Some kind of block party? Suddenly, someone darted down the street. The people around the woman lunged lazily at her, but she evaded their grasp. She turned a corner and ran right into a cluster of people, who proceeded to tackle her to the ground and rip her apart. Immediately, Bruce's heart was in his throat. "Oh my fuck..." was all he choked out before he felt his body start its painful transformation.

On the street, the woman stood up again, organs dangling. The zombies around her lost interest, and began milling around again. There was a sound of breaking glass, and the zombies looked around in vague confusion. One looked up just in time to see a huge form coming down on top of him. With a THUD and a squelch of dark flesh, the zombie was flattened under the Hulk's feet.

"NO EAT PEOPLE! EAT HULK FIST!"

The Hulk thrashed and stomped and ripped. Limbs and heads went flying and landed blocks away, and the ground was soon smeared dark brown and slick. But the promise of such a huge meal was irresistible to the throng of undead, and they clung to the Hulk with fingers and teeth.

Somewhere in his brain, Bruce held out hope that the Hulk's regenerative abilities would protect him from the effects of whatever agent turned these people into zombies. But to his dismay, he could feel it spreading all the faster throughout the Hulk's massive form, and soon his mind was swallowed up in darkness as well.

"HULK HUNGRY..."

Sam found out about the zombie plague the worst way possible; that is, meeting one in person. Everything was fine (the guy pointed him in the direction he wanted to go) until he tried to take a bite of his neck. Sam liked his neck intact, and he threw the guy off with a yell, only just avoiding an infecting bite. Being dead, a little thing like a judo throw didn't keep the zombie down long, and he got up and came for Sam in a slow, implacable stumble. Sam had fought zombies before, and he figured now would be a really good time to... run. Fast.

Sam needed a gun. He hadn't brought a gun, so naturally, he needed one. The first zombie caught up to him and picked him up like he weighed nothing at all. Sam went through a glass storefront and crashed into a counter. 'Ouch' didn't quite cover it, but when he got to his feet, he realized he was behind a convenience store counter; and there was a sawed-off sitting with a few boxes of cartridges just within reach. "...Coincidence," Sam said out loud, blinking.

The first direction he chose was the wrong one. More stumbling bodies blocked his way, and an alarming number of the stumbling bodies had blood on their lips. (Some had lips. Some had gaping bloody maws. Neither appealed to Sam.) "...I'm lost," Sam told them, skidding to a halt and backing up slowly with the shotgun lowered. "I'm just going to... go back that way."

"Braaaains," one of the zombies agreed.

"No, I really don't have any of those."

"Braaaains," another zombie insisted.

"Really, no," Sam said, backing up another few steps.

"Braaains," came a voice from behind. Sam whirled and fired. One zombie flew back into his neighbors, but more of them were coming from behind him. Surrounded, Sam backed up against a shop door. "Gee, more guns would be nice right now." Except all the guns were in the trunk of the Impala. With Dean. Sam hoped the guns were with Dean, anyway. At least he'd have more of a chance than Sam did.

"Oh Hell No." Crowley said through gritted teeth as he cocked a shotgun and aimed it square for the head of a zombie that was making a beeline for his Bentley. No. No way in Hell was he letting something happen to his precious car. Especially not zombies.

The apocalypse had been more than enough to deal with without him having to deal with zombies in this City. He'd already shot three square in the head and was preparing to shoot another. Where he got the shotgun from didn't matter. He was a demon, if he wanted it, he got it.

"Get the Hell away from my car." Aim, Hold steady... Fire.

Bang.

Another one gone, unfortunately this one sprayed on his car. Gross.

What in the name of all things unholy where zombies doing in the City? Was this some kind of cruel joke the City liked to play on its inhabitants. First giant monsters, then zombies. Crowley was beginning to think going back to Hell wouldn't be so bad after all. At least maybe there he'd get to take a sleep without waking up to find the undead were aiming for his car.

"You want a piece of me? I've been to Hell. Bring it on!" Crowley whipped off his sunglasses, showing his eyes for how they really were, exposed his black wings and was ready to go to all out war with these creatures.

When Sweeney fell asleep outside his apartment door, he had been a dog. Outside it because he lacked the dexterity and thumbs, not to mention overall height, required to turn a door knob and let himself in. When he woke up, curled up on the floor of the hallway, he was a man again.

Oh when he got his hands on that Djinn, she was in for it. She was really in for it.

( He was Mad Sweeney. Suibhne Geilt. )

After a whole huge messy brawl occurring between Tabs, Dick, and some ugly guys which messed up half of the pizza parlor (by the way, TOTES not their fault), the two of them were strolling innocently on their way out of the place and out on the sidewalk. Okay, Tabs was running out, Dick, hobbling. Same thing.

Unfortunately for them both, it was raining, and their victory inside is dampened by a lack of umbrella for either of them. "Aw man!" she whined, holding a hand up to shield her eyes from the rain as best she could. Across the street, some guy was slowly moving across the way, sluggish and...odd. At the same time, a car was driving way too fast especially when the roads where this slick.

Eyes bugging out at the soon to be horrific disaster, Tabitha began moving towards the guy, waving and yelling "WATCH OUT," trying to get his attention any way she could, not realizing how close she herself was to danger. From the car of course.

The zombies had taken over quickly.

So quickly in fact that she had had to protect herself using fire to make it to her work.

She knew that her boss, Dr. Venkman would be there. And she wanted to try and help any other innocents along the way. She'd found a couple of people cowering in an alleyway. They had made it through only by luck. But they weren't safe, so she brought them along.

There was a basement in the Ghostbuster building where there was only one entrance. It would be safe enough to hide out.

Her flame came in very handy when it came to flaming zombies.

It was amazing how quickly they went up in flames.

She opened the door to quickly, yelling, "Where are you Dr. Venkman? I have some people who need a place to hide out. Hello?? Dr. Venkman?"

Susan Pevensie had found herself in a dark alley with only her bow and arrows, but she knew something had to be amiss. "Feels like the White Witch" as she slung the quiver onto one shoulder and ventured beyond the safety of the alley (which she saw was behind some sort of place selling food). She only knew this place was not her native England or even Narnia but she would not let anyone see how scared she actually was. The young queen moved with a sense of purpose as she slipped one arrow into her bow, having a weird feeling she would be back in battle.

Her feeling was correct.

Within a few short minutes Susan was ankle deep in a battle against zombies, something she had never seen before. But something in her knew one thing, she had to find someplace safe and fast! But anyone could see the young woman was a crack shot, abet with a semi unusual choice of weapons of course. As she dove into a doorway to fire off another shot she found herself in a sporting goods store. "Well I do need to restock the arrow supply" finding just enough cash to restock her quiver with her choice of arrows (complete with red feather tips). As she restocked she sent a few more arrows flying right into various zombies and dove into another entryway. This was kinda fun but getting very old very fast. But the music blaring from a nearby radio gave her just enough time to slip away and send a few more arrows flying in the process.

The whole time she was thinking of one thing,*Oh Aslan! Point me to a haven of some sort! Point me to the local version of the How!*

His new neighbor had been kind enough to inform him that there were dead people walking around outside, eating other people. He wasn't sure if he would have noticed it before, as there hadn't seemed to be many of them when he'd first left the Manchester, but the longer he stayed out, the more they seemed to multiply. It seemed to him that every few minutes a dozen more of the things were shambling around in large groups looking for meat.

Jesse spent some time collecting what he could in the way of supplies, but he couldn't do very much he found. He got the very basics from about a dozen stores around the city. Everybody seemed to be collecting what they could, however they could. And he wasn't about to punch out a little old lady just to get his hands on one extra gallon of water.

It was all locked away in one of the only churches the City had. It was the biggest, and had actual pews instead of seats, which none of the others did. Big, heavy wooden doors, and no windows low down where they could be broken into easy. There was the added bonus of the choral balcony, where anybody could look out onto the rest of the city below. Perhaps a sniper could be set up there. The unfortunate thing would be the breaking of the stained glass. It wasn't the religious loss for Jesse, but the aesthetic one. As much as he might have disliked God and the church, he couldn't deny the beauty of the stained glass. But it would have to be done.

There was room enough for a lot of people there. Plus a basement they could hide in if it all came to that. There was a confessional for extra hiding, as well as the sacristy just in case. And a small hallway leading to the priest's quarters which had a kitchen, and an additional bathroom.

He could take care of people here. And hopefully they'd show up with additional supplies. There was just enough butcher's paper and paint in the supply closet for him to make a sign that he hung over the front doors.

It read, simply

"SAFETY"