The Universe's Mixer

Violet Baudelaire came to realize something: the last few weeks had not been her idea of a good time and finding out she was also newely homeless only made matters worse. The youth hostel that had been her home would need major repairs before anyone could move back in so she was back at square one. The only difference this time was her actually knowing a few people that might help or at least understand her.

So after getting her things she just walked through the city in hopes of finding a place to spend the night. The only thing that was not helping besides her current state of affairs? She was ankle deep in an ear infection and could really use some meds to stop her ear from ringing. She was alone once more and anyone could see how the last few weeks had effected the young inventor. "At least I got my stuff out of the hostel before things did hit the fan" she muses while walking.

George looked a bit like a gunslinger. She had two separate hypospray devices that delivered the cure without the hassle of a giant needle. Just press the barrel of the gun-looking medical tool against someone's neck or the chest and pull the trigger. It even made a neat little sound when it activated. (Zzzt!) There were, of course, complications.

Some zombies were missing body parts, some would not survive the cure process. After enough people had the cure delivered to them, there was just barely enough organization to herd the more damaged to either a) the hospital to have the cure delivered there where they could get immediate medical attention or b) to Arkham Asylum to be kept there until city officials decided what to do with the undead who were possibly too damaged to come back.

But not all the citizens of The City got a happy ending. For some there was just an ending. Volunteers were gathered up to collect the bodies. There was a graveyard and a memorial in the works for those who had died in the plague. After getting several filled post-it booklets of names and places, George went to the impromptu morgue that was set up for the more unfortunate until or if friends or family members were able to identify the deceased. It was one of the easiest jobs George ever had. Her hand brushed along the dead like some strange ghostly domino effect, and many started to take their leave. A few still chose to linger. The death toll was estimated to be in the thousands.

What seemed like a slow process felt very quick to George. She cleared out the hospital first, then the park, and so forth. After a while she wasn't alone. Recently cured policemen who were healthy enough to serve dressed up and riot gear, slowly retaking The City. Hotlines were set up for zombie sightings. It was all very efficient.

After today, George wasn't going to be quite as anonymous as she once was. A lot of people were going to remember her face. She at least tried to be a little considerate, hosing half eaten flesh and blood from some of the soon to be formerly undead before administering the cure, providing blankets to others that didn't have much left in the ways of clothes.

It was a bit like reaping in reverse. George liked it.


( OOC! )

Susan had been trapped on the rooftop for what felt like weeks by now. She had become a roof based fighter via her bow and arrows, shooting into mobs of zombies to help others escape. It was something the young queen knew she had to do and then it went quiet again. She had not slept much since landing in The City and to make matters worse she was also getting sick. It would turn out to just be a nasty cold but anyone who ventrued past the roofttop she was holed up on would only find a young teen girl that looks as miserable as she feels. For now she held onto her bow and arrows, wrapped up in a blanket she had found a few nights before.

Susan Pevensie was offically both sick and miserable in more ways than one.

Gwen finally ventured out of where she had been holed up during the zombie mayhem and realized something: she had to link back with Jack and get more meds. But with a blinding mirgaine looming she did the one thing that made any sesne, she was going to text Jack. So slumped against the wall of the coffee shop she was still holed up in she fished for her phone and dialed before typing out a text.

Jack, its Gwen.

I'm ok but feeling like crap. Come to this address since I have a feeling this place wants Torchwood back in business and bring meds?

As Gwen hit send she only wanted to pass out and it showed. But inside was where the real darkness was, only Jack knew how miserable she really was. During the zombie madness she was facing nightmares of how Tosh and Owen died only weeks before and she just pushed her feelings back in order to keep fighting.

The Cure Has Been Found!

We at the Voice are proud to announce that the cure has been found. Many have received the cure and are now on their way to a more productive non-zombie lifestyle. Sources say that the cure came from two brilliant minds: Doctors Hannibal Lecter and Simon Tam. While we have yet to confirm this, we have also heard rumors that the these two doctors are also to blame for the outbreak. At the Voice, we are happy that the cure was found.

The Hospital is currently offering the cure; they are warning everyone that there will be some mild discomfort, but the treatment is quick. As of yet, there have been no causalities from the treatment, and the outcome looks promising.

If you know of anyone who needs to be treated, do not attempt to bring them in on your own. Let the authorities handle it. Please call 1-800-DE-ZOMBI. Qualified members of City service will take care of the situation. If you see any groups or know of any existing groups of still untreated zombies, call. The situation will be handled quickly and quietly.

Weather

In a quick note, snowflakes have been spotted. We don't mean the little boys and girls preparing for their winter plays either. Perhaps the usually sunny and bright City will finally get something of a winter wonderland.