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Timerider's story begins back in November of '07 when his provisions ran-out in his fifth-story appartment in West Grayside's Stroud building--a convinient walking distance for his workplace, the Beare Library. Having blown the battery of his hand-held CD radio in a improvised recharging accident, Timerider was unaware of the incredbble degree of organization amongst the survivors of Malton and, so, stayed isolated for several weeks. | Timerider's story begins back in November of '07 when his provisions ran-out in his fifth-story appartment in West Grayside's Stroud building--a convinient walking distance for his workplace, the Beare Library. Having blown the battery of his hand-held CD radio in a improvised recharging accident, Timerider was unaware of the incredbble degree of organization amongst the survivors of Malton and, so, stayed isolated for several weeks. | ||
As he finally ventured into the city, the basic training from his time as a local militiaman began to come back to him--his sidearm had | As he finally ventured into the city, the basic training from his time as a local militiaman began to come back to him--his sidearm had remained with him after his discharge but previously forgotten insincts...''check here, slow here''...now flooded his conciousness. | ||
It was a mere fluke that his trek northward allowed him to meet so few survivors--a group of five held up in a bar, groups of twenty or more in inaccessable buildings and the occation lone bastard being mauled to death outside the local movie theater or church. This was the scene from Grayside to Stanbury, Roach to Raines but, then, he stumbled into Clare Hospital with a fresh tear down the skin over his tricep--fresh infected saliva in two broken semicircles around the wound. | It was a mere fluke that his trek northward allowed him to meet so few survivors--a group of five held up in a bar, groups of twenty or more in inaccessable buildings and the occation lone bastard being mauled to death outside the local movie theater or church. This was the scene from Grayside to Stanbury, Roach to Raines but, then, he stumbled into Clare Hospital with a fresh tear down the skin over his tricep--fresh infected saliva in two broken semicircles around the wound. | ||
It was an old passer-by that was bunking at Zombra's Pub for a while that lent b a hand with the cleaning--luck for me, he'd been a nurse before the outbreak and knew a thing or two about anti-biotics. He took me back to the Pub and the drinks were on me the entire night...heh, that's what we said anyway, as if Zombra would charge a bludgered wreck like I was back then--sometimes a little gift economics goes a long way despite what those Reagan-types say...funny, I doubt there's even one of those alive, today! | It was an old passer-by that was bunking at Zombra's Pub for a while that lent b a hand with the cleaning--luck for me, he'd been a nurse before the outbreak and knew a thing or two about anti-biotics. He took me back to the Pub and the drinks were on me the entire night...heh, that's what we said anyway, as if Zombra would charge a bludgered wreck like I was back then--sometimes a little gift economics goes a long way despite what those Reagan-types say...funny, I doubt there's even one of those alive, today! | ||
Revision as of 20:59, 1 September 2008
The Beginning
Timerider's story begins back in November of '07 when his provisions ran-out in his fifth-story appartment in West Grayside's Stroud building--a convinient walking distance for his workplace, the Beare Library. Having blown the battery of his hand-held CD radio in a improvised recharging accident, Timerider was unaware of the incredbble degree of organization amongst the survivors of Malton and, so, stayed isolated for several weeks.
As he finally ventured into the city, the basic training from his time as a local militiaman began to come back to him--his sidearm had remained with him after his discharge but previously forgotten insincts...check here, slow here...now flooded his conciousness.
It was a mere fluke that his trek northward allowed him to meet so few survivors--a group of five held up in a bar, groups of twenty or more in inaccessable buildings and the occation lone bastard being mauled to death outside the local movie theater or church. This was the scene from Grayside to Stanbury, Roach to Raines but, then, he stumbled into Clare Hospital with a fresh tear down the skin over his tricep--fresh infected saliva in two broken semicircles around the wound.
It was an old passer-by that was bunking at Zombra's Pub for a while that lent b a hand with the cleaning--luck for me, he'd been a nurse before the outbreak and knew a thing or two about anti-biotics. He took me back to the Pub and the drinks were on me the entire night...heh, that's what we said anyway, as if Zombra would charge a bludgered wreck like I was back then--sometimes a little gift economics goes a long way despite what those Reagan-types say...funny, I doubt there's even one of those alive, today!
