The Universe's Mixer

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.

Simon stared at the samples.  He'd been able to duplicate it, making a slight change here and there due more to the lack of supplies and time.  He just had to hope he wasn't cutting too many corners.  The good doctor needed to test everything before he could simply run around giving injections.  He also needed to find a faster way than syringes.  Pneumatic syringe seemed the best solution, but he'd have to make sure the cure was actually the cure.

Sure, he could have found Jennifer and tested it, but he couldn't take the risk that something worse might happen.  He didnt' want to find out that once the..zombification had been cured, she was dead.  They were dead after all.  The tissue samples he'd taken from her said as much, and it certainly didn't look much better when he tried testing the cure on those same samples.   So he opted for finding one of the slow types that didn't look as if they were missing body parts.  He just had to hope that his coming out of the office wasn't going to get him bitten.  Sure, he'd have a test subject, but would it be worth it?

He ran full tilt at the zombie, knocking it down, and tried to make the injection.  Damn zombie wasn't really in the mood to be cured; it just wanted that delicious meat, which meant the doctor was now fighting to get the needle into the dead skin, all without getting bitten.

Open to zombies and non-zombies alike.

The City Courts.

It was the last stand for a lot of people. They'd come here unorganized, managed to get themselves put together, and survive. They'd lost some who had come in with bites, but had managed to get them back outside without too much bloodshed. Some had been lost entirely due to the inability to excise them from the building once they'd turned. It had taken them some time to arrange themselves and make sure all of the entries into the massive building were covered.

Now they had one of the court rooms set up as their refuge. One of the court rooms set up as a medical bay. And a variety of people who were changed out every so often keeping watch on the hallways. You couldn't be too certain about these things.

Just outside was a group of those things. They could be heard moaning and scratching at the massive wooden doors. Those doors were the only thing between the living and the semi-living. They were thick and heavy, locked and held tightly closed with chains and chairs and stacked desks. Nobody would be getting in that way, living or dead.

The only way out was through a high window on one side. They had a ladder they'd found in the janitor's closet. It expanded just enough to reach the second story, where the window was. The small jut out of roof there held that ladder when it wasn't in use. They'd devised a bucket and rope system to help pull up supplies.

It was fairly sound.

But they were once again running low. With this many people, it was difficult to keep enough food and water for everybody. Not to mention blankets and medical supplies. It seemed like every few hours they had another addition to their group. Sometimes they brought things with them, most of the time they did not.

All they had to do was survive. It was proving to be easier said then done.

Violet was offically angry and it was starting to show. She made a last ditch raid of the various parts of the church and had found a decent amount of weapons plus a few of her own. "I move we make a break for it an join the fight, we have to fight back!" as she got the hostel group back together. Between the 7 of them they had a slingshot, 2 handguns, Violet's crossbow and a few odds and ends. "Plus we have Old Lace on our side" shooting a look of support towards Gert. One of the boys added,"We have to help out somehow, we can't sit here and take this sitting down!" as the little band moved towards the doorway with weapons in hand.

(hopefully this makes more sense, been out with a cold)

He hadn't done a whole lot since he'd been overcome by the zombies. They'd caught up to him, and he'd done everything he could to keep their attention on him, and away from Sweeney, for as long as he could manage. They'd overtaken him and started biting. Emotion might have been foreign to him, but physical pain was not. It was possibly the only time in his life that he wished he was less human.

Of course, it wasn't long before he got his wish.

The infection ran it's course in a matter of hours. He'd hidden himself in hopes that he could avoid further bites. He felt he'd given enough flesh to the zombies. There hadn't been a whole lot he could do to make himself comfortable. The idea of blowing his own head off crossed through his mind more than once. Of course, he didn't have a gun, and by that point, didn't have the energy to get up and find one.

So Dexter Morgan died.

When he rose, he wasn't all the way absent like he'd seen the other zombies be. Mindless flesh eaters massing on one victim at a time. Thousands of teeth gnashing and gnawing. He had more. Perhaps it was the Dark Passenger that made it possible, but he was still thinking on a very limited basis. He knew that he was fundamentally different. He couldn't reach the higher brain function that he'd had before - that he knew he'd been capable of (that memory was fading quickly anyway), but he could still think. He knew there was food out there. And he knew he could hunt it better than the others. He knew that a group wasn't the best way to go about it. Solitary feeding would produce more food for him.

He was wandering the street, still slow, still incapable of reflexive movement in any sort of timely manner - the bird flying into his face and his painfully slow reaction to it attested to that - the only thing he had was determination. A will to feed himself. To find his own way.

Run. Run and don't look back. Run, don't look back, and don't fall. Run, don't look back, don't fall, and don't get bitten. Run, don't look back, don't fall, don't get bitten, and-

Dr. Simon Tam hadn't been in this sort of situation before; it wasn't everyday that someone he might have been interested in was trying to eat him. It also wasn't everyday that he had to be Mal; Simon wasn't much for the action heroics, but he had to do something to keep alive. The trip to Lecter's office was fraught with dangers, and the good doctor had to overcome every obstacle. The first was finding a weapon, say like a fire ax. The second was dealing with a zombie, say like chopping said zombie with aforementioned fire ax. The third was fighting off another zombie without falling. It went on and on. ( He was a doctor, dammit, not a superhero. )

Lestat sat perched atop a fire escape, sitting like a gargoyle in a frock coat, blond hair shining in the moonlight and purple eyes glittering.

This. Was. Fun.

He was watching the carnage. Precious little he could do about it... he was scanning minds for Karen, but more and more there were no actual minds to scan and he was getting nowhere. Here and there, he'd knock zombies out of the way or twist their heads off, but mostly he was watching the progress of one particular pirate... because he simply could not believe it was possible.

Captain Jack Sparrow, when all the talk of zombies began, could think of nothing better to do about the problem then get lit. So he had. He half wished he had that piece of gold again, or his stupid undead monkey... Jack feared death. He really, really did. But he could handle zombies. If he could handle immortal pirates that were partly skeletal, he could handle zombies.

And so, with unbelieveable luck, he was now winding his way through the streets, bottle in one hand, sword in the other. Anything that bothered him got its head lopped off. And as he went, Jack muttered to himself...

"'s'not even original, y'know," he said, slicing through tthe neck of a growling, shambling foe. "'s'been DONE. AND! AND! There's not even any proper treasure involved, ay!"

God, was he disappointed.

Lestat loved him. Instantly. And wanted to applaud him.

Because the captain was not, for a second, losing ground.

"Today is the day," Lestat whispered, "that you will always remember, dear undead festering piles of flesh, as the day you almost bit Captain Jack Sparrow."

The vampire started to laugh.

Indiana Jones had survived.

River Tam had not.

When the dozen zombies fell on their hiding place, River took out 7 without blinking. Seven because she didn't have any rounds beyond that. Seven because that was all she could do, without getting in close. After knocking one in the head with the butt end of the shotgun in her hand, River had kicked one in the gut, across the room and into Indy's range. So fell eight.

But nine, ten, eleven and twelve all fell on Dr. Jones at about the same time, and River starting kicking. Two fell down. Indy shot another, and the last one whirled on her and bit into her arm, just above the elbow, ripping a chunk of her with its teeth before Indy could shoot it.

He'd looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, and River had shaken her head, stood slowly, and laughed just once.

"Hide," she said. "Don't let me find you."

She'd left the hotel and hidden, herself. Until, that is, it was over. Until it was over and she was gone. One of them. Worse than them-- an undead weapon with a dormant trigger capable of more damage than a 'normal' zombie. Incredibly strong, incredibly fast...

... and capable of reading minds.

River was hungry, and even now, the similarity to the Reavers did not occur to her. Why would it? All she was now was motor skills. Arms, legs, walking, moving...

... going right to the person, the thing, that could make her even more dangerous. Not even realizing, because her consciousness was gone.

When she found him, she stopped in front of him, head tilted, hair hanging forward.

Waiting.

The metal of the rolling tray was pressed into her belly. The other end of it was pressed against the door. The meat had left. The meat had gone away. Taking with it the incredible warmth that told her if she devoured it, she would stop being hungry, at least for a little while. She needed to get to it. It was out there somewhere.

Other meats were out there, too.

But try as she might, she couldn't master the rolling tray. Frustration rose in her because of that part of her deep deep down that knew what it was, that was trying to tell her how to fix this problem. She wanted to listen to that part very much. She did. She just couldn't. She couldn't hear what it was trying to say to her.

Using her body, she pushed. Pushed as hard as she could. Occasionally the wheels would turn and the tray would slip, letting her surge forward a couple of inches. But then it would be the same thing again. Tray against door, tray against belly. Jennifer going nowhere.

The growling had long ago ceased and become more like a whimper.

Meat. Warmth. That's all she wanted. She had seen it go out of here. She could remember that much at least. What her life had been before this, what had happened to her, none of that stuck in what was left of her mind. Just that once upon a time she'd had meat next to her, and then it had run out that door.

The tray slipped again to the side, a small crunch of one of the wheels bending off center accompanied it. Her extended arm felt the door briefly, and it renewed her passions to get out. Jennifer pushed harder against the tray, which pushed against the door in a different way now due to the broken wheel.

Anger filled her again. That frustration boiling over into it's cousin and giving her the energy and strength to push on. The sheet still tangled around her legs, Jennifer pushed. She pushed hard. The metal biting into her stomach. If she'd felt any sort of pain at all, it would have stopped her. If she'd had any kind of blood flow in her body anymore, the floor would have been slick with it.

In a moment of pure dumb luck, the tray slipped away from her, moving off to the side, taking with it the handle of the door, popping the meat's escape route wide open. Jennifer paused. The door was open. She was free. Free to find the meat!

She shuffled forward. The sheet wrapping around the bottom of the rolling tray as she left the room. The meat smell out here was fading. But there was the sense of it just around the next corner. A lot of it. She went in that direction, eager to have that which would quell her needs.

Dragging the sheet.

Dragging the tray with it's broken wheel.

Squeaka

Elizabeth didn't want anything to do with what had been happening on land. SHe'd certainly heard people screaming and saw what looked like a ton of drunk pirates. Drunk half dead pirates. It reminded her vividly of what Barbosa and the crew of the Pearl had been like before they'd returned all the gold to the chest. Well, only with a bit more flesh and about 400 times scarier. She kept herself holed up in her cabin within the pearl.

There wasn't a ton o do in there by herself. She'd polished her swords more than once. She'd checked the powder a few times as well. But if they were going to try and get her, well, she'd be putting up one hell of a fight, that was for sure.

The only problem with this plan was that she was alone. Elizabeth hated to be alone. Not only did it leave her at a disadvantage in this situation, it also left her alone in her thoughts. Enough so that she started to consider why it was she was here in the first place. To reunite with Jack without Will around? To show her what life might have been? Elizabeth paced her cabin, jabbing her sword back into it's loop on her belt. She stuck her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

And what about Dean?

Why was it that she always had the most complicated time when it came to men?

She finally couldn't stand it, she pulled the door open and took a step onto the deck. She could hear them now. The low moan, the groan of those not dead things. They must have been on the pier.

This completely was not good.

Her cell phone lay in pieces a few feet away as Jo steadied herself. She had probably completely lied to Dean. Her, staying out of trouble? That was just not going to happen, and against her better judgment, she had gone out without telling him. And a few hours later, despite her promise that she would call him, it just wasn't possible, given that her cell phone was nothing more than a few pieces of metal and plastic on the sidewalk. The other pieces were currently sticking out of the hand of one zombie. And that zombie was walking right toward her, looking like the dumb thing that it was. Yep, that was Jo, and for the life of her, she was not about to die because she was a zombie. No ma'am, no way, no how.

Raising up her shotgun to eye level, Jo steadied her arm, as bruised and bleeding as it was. There was probably nothing more appetizing to a zombie right then than Jo's arm, and for the life of her, she hated it. Without a word, she aimed right for the spot between his eyes. Her arm, however, was not doing so good. In the end, she shot him in the nose, and he took it as all zombies did. But going until they stopped. Forcing her arm up again, she hit him again in between the eyes, watching as it fell on top of what was left of her phone. Jo grimaced, stepping over it and running on. Her attempts at finding help had so far failed. The outcome wasn't looking all that great.

"Dean's going to kill me for this one. Dammit!"

Checking her shotgun, she belatedly realized that she only had a few rounds left for her shotgun.

"Double dammit."

Gwen was firing off shot after shot in order to keep running. She had been doing runs of supplies for various hiding places between the new possible hub she had found and the main streets and was running on nothing much by this point. "Ok, make 2 more supply drops and high tail it back to that shop I located, Jack you better contact me. I am starting to worry" she hissed as a massive mirgaine was forming. She dove into what looked like a police box, that alone struck her as very odd as her hand went for her gun. "Ok, hide out for a bit and then make those last two runs" she decided as she fished for her meds.

For all the purpose in his movements and choices, it was a little like running around as a chicken would with it's head cut off. He didn't stay still for long, and he was constantly going back and forth to check for people. There were key individuals that he felt he needed to look out for. Simon, because he needed to talk to the other doctor about this infestation. And River. Because he needed to be with her, and be sure that she was alright.

But no matter where he went, neither one was there.

Hannibal needed to rest, and he knew it. If he was going to do any good, he needed to sleep. He also needed to eat. He was running his body ragged.

He'd just left the hospital for the last time. He was going to hole himself up in River's apartment and stay there until she turned up. Simon hadn't been in the office. The monkey had looked fairly confused and slightly manic. There was nothing left for him to do but leave a note and hope that Simon found it.

Simon,

The last syringe is in the locked cabinet. Before it can be used, it has to be duplicated. I'm going to find your sister. I'll be back once I know that she's safe. Get started as soon as you can.

-H

The key was hidden, but in a fairly obvious place. If Simon put a moment's thought into it, he'd be able to find it easily. Probably he should have stayed put, and started work on this thing himself. The sooner the better. But he couldn't stop worrying and thinking of River. She could take care of herself, but she had yet to encounter things like this in her life. And he hadn't either. They were both facing the unknown. He had to find her.

When he got to her building, there were hundreds of those things milling about in front of the doors. They hadn't been there on his last stop by. Hannibal wondered if he could get around them. Through them would have been a bad idea. Even he knew that much. He'd seen it. He started looking for a way to get to the door.

Perhaps he spent too long standing still, but the ones in front of him didn't seem to notice he was there. They hadn't moved. One or two looked at him, but they seemed to be ignoring him. It caused a sense of untrue safety. He didn't notice the one behind him. The one that had noticed. They all smelled so horrible, that even his heightened senses couldn't pick up the difference from one rotting corpse from another.

It bit into his shoulder. Wrapping it's lanky dead arms around him in a pseudo bear hug. Hannibal managed to break free, leaving a shred of flesh behind. He looked at the thing that had tried to eat him. The others began to take notice. The scent of fresh blood filling the air.

Hannibal ran until he found a place to duck into.

Harley was no wuss. Even before Pammy had given her that funky cocktail that made her better, stronger, faster, she hadn’t been a wuss. But by the time that she was just a couple blocks from the botanical gardens, she was flat out exhausted.

( She was also seriously grossed out. )

So Lee and Catwoman had been holed up in the bar for about a week now.

With the people they had saved, they'd been able to keep the zombies at bay.

But now, they were running out of food. (Salty snacks weren't all that wonderful for anyone.) So Catwoman was going to look for food across the rooftops. Lee had been worried about the plan at first, but Catwoman knew her way across the rooftops... she just hoped she could find some food for the rest of them. Or at least a close safe-haven.

Catwoman was now about 3 rooftops away from the bar building - and there were zombies on the streets as far as the eye could see. Not a whole lot else. She was trying to get her bearings.

The first thing they needed was food. About four blocks away she saw a corner grocery store. Selina made it to the store and saw that there were a few zombies milling around outside, but it didn't look like there was anything or anyone inside.

She gathered all of the groceries she could and after her third trip up the stairs she was tired, but she figured she was good. It was then that a zombie came for her. She was much quicker than the creature, but it was able to make a grab for her mask. She screamed and ran up the stairs, throwing cans of food at the monster. She slammed the door to the rooftop shut, found a wrench and was able to make sure the door would never open again.

Carrying a large amount of canned food from rooftop to rooftop was rather difficult. But she was determined and hungry. It wasn’t until she reached the rooftop of the bar building that she realized that her mask was off. She swore and called down the stairs for Lee.

“Lee, I need you up here. I was attacked.”

If Indiana Jones ever had a kid, he sort of wanted that kid to be like River Tam. Only... maybe she could be a few shades less absolutely insane.

( But the girl was holding her own. )

Boyd found his way through the throngs of screaming people to a quiet space. Some place away from all the blood and death and pain. Away from the zombies and all the things that he wasn't used to.

Not that he was really thinking about any of that when he did it. He just felt drawn to the place in the park that he now stood. Felt like he needed to be there. Or should be there. Or whatever the equivalent emotion a brain fried walking corpse might have, if it might be called that.

He was only alone in the park for a few minutes. Or it might have been hours. Then they started to join him. One by one. Two by two. A dozen. All like him. If he'd cared about the smell, that alone might have driven him back into the streets looking for more squirming food.

But he didn't care. And neither did any of the others, apparently. They stood, staring blankly, just as he stared blankly. Moaning occasionally. Grouping together. Huddling, almost. Being in the park as one, together.

One might say, supporting one another.

( ooc info )

Sir Guy of Gisborne was walking through the mostly deserted streets, trying to get a better feel for this strange City he was trapped in. The people dressed so strangely, especially the women. Their outfits were almost all unfit to be seen in polite company and yet no one else seemed to be offended by their attire. This was all very, very confusing to the 12th Century knight.

Guy was beginning to think he might not be anywhere near England anymore.

Wherever he was, Gisborne needed to find a way to get the advantage over his rival, Robin Hood. And part of that advantage meant he needed to have his sword sharpened. Perhaps he should even acquire a second weapon. But to accomplish both of those tasks, he needed to find the town blacksmith.

( The streets were deserted )

As another round of shots blazed through the alley Gwen Cooper was not taking this very well. She had faced weevils, she had faced various Rift gift creatures and she had heard stories of the Daleks and the Cybermen but this was Cardiff brand weird times about ten. She had texted Jack and opened she would find him very soon (and in one piece).

But for now she was doing what any cop in her shoes would do. She was getting people to safe havens, going on food runs for various shelters and ducking zombies. "At least zombies are kinda like weevils" she observed as she ducked into a coffee shop to get some air. That was when she discovered the trap door that looks like the shop kitchen. Of course being the curious sort she had to take a look around and that was when she found what looked to be a dead ringer for the hub back in Cardiff. That sealed her decision so she called Jack and aimed for his wrist device.

"Jack its Gwen. Come to this address and trust me on this one. I think this place wants you and me back in business, will explain more then."

continued from here

There were less people than he'd thought there would be. Which was good, he supposed, in the way that they didn't really have to worry about supplies. But it was bad, because it either meant that people hadn't seen his sign, or that they'd all been bitten and there wasn't anybody to come find shelter here.

It worried him.

It also worried him that he hadn't seen Buffy. She hadn't come back to check in, and she hadn't sent anybody in this direction. Nobody wandered in carrying her name on their lips to assure him that she was okay.

There were others he was worried about as well. He'd not seen hide nor hair of them, and he couldn't help but fear that they were monsters now too.

Aside from Zoe and the kids, a few of the City's regular residents had popped in for shelter. Those who didn't come from some place or time outside of this one. They had no special abilities. No extraordinary skills. It was easy to forget about them in day to day life, because they just tended to blend in with the background. These were the people who had no idea that their city was alive, because they'd always lived with it. These were the people who didn't think it was bizarre how the streets and buildings shifted. How people popped in and out of existence. They were the people that needed the most help in this.

Jesse sat, looking out one of the holes in the stained glass in the choral balcony. The streets seemed dead outside. In more ways than one.