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View the profile of Hendrik Casimir
| Hendrik Casimir, A quiet weekend | Written: 2006-01-30 05:27:09 |
Our protagonist settles in with a good book and a quiet pint, and ruminates... |
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Here I am, holed up in a pub again. Perhaps I'm getting over my phobia from the Burtoft Arms, but more likely, it's because this place is fair distance from any NecroTech facility or police station, and was already barricaded to the rafters when I snuck in here. Not a whole lot has happened to me since I took part in that raid on Wednesday (see previous entry). To my chagrin, my safe house was breached just a few hours after my return, and I had to do yet another runner, though not before getting one of the invading zulus full-on with a shotgun blast. I've been hiding out in the interim, only venturing into the open to forage for food, ammunition, medical supplies, and a few other items which I'll get to later. It's been noted by many historians that times of extreme crisis provide opportunity for rapid advancement in hierarchical organizations, and I recently had that confirmed when I got a text message in my cel phone from the MPD higher echelon, offering me promotion to captain, with command over District SW-1. It's a brevet rank, of course, but still, in any place but Malton under the Quarantine, it's almost impossible to imagine a policeman rising so quickly through the ranks, let alone a reservist. But then again, in no place but Malton have the ranks of the police ever been thinned so thoroughly in such a short amount of time. As it is I have less than a dozen cops under my command. But that accounts for the other items I scrounged up: captain's bars, a couple of lawbooks (it's a good thing Malton is a college town) and some police administration manuals. I figure I may as well try to come as close as I can to meeting the formal qualifications for my rank, even if they do seem a little irrelevant right now. I've been looking for more NecroTech autoinjectors as well, but I've not had much luck finding them. I ransacked an NT facility yesterday, and though I found a cupboard full of GPS units and DNA extractors (which were no good to me, since I already had one of each), not a syringe to be seen. I know that since the NecroTech computer network came online again, it's been possible to manufacture syringes, so maybe I should just try learning how to go about that, but there is an additional complication. I'd hoped we'd seen the last organized zulu groups for the time being, but no such luck; some gang calling itself "the Dark Order of Armageddon" has moved into the neighborhood, and is conducting co-ordinated strikes on NecroTech facilities in particular. In fact, they were part of the mob which breached my previous safe house. From what we've gathered from witnesses, they're ostensibly an apocalyptic zombie death cult, dedicated to wiping out "the Sin of Life" from Malton in general, starting with South Blythville. To this end, the gang focuses on attacking NecroTech facilities and personnel, these being the primary obstacle to "converting" the entire population to undeath. A closer analysis of the available information, however, indicates something else. Witness reports indicate that the DOA frequently operates in mixed groups, consisting of both human and undead members; that individual members switch between undead and alive states with some regularity; and that certain members of the group have been observed operating NecroTech equipment while in human form. It also appears that all known members have successfully managed to avoid contracting "Brain Rot," a cortex-damaging condition encountered in older zombies and known to impair the effectiveness of Extractors and Syringes. All in all, the group's methods of operation are consistent less with an apocalyptic "death cult," and more with a group of psychopaths who have embraced undeath only as a major addition to the arsenal with which to conduct spree killings. The mimicking of a church hierarchy and "sacred mission" is readily explained by the presence of narcissistic personality disorder; it's textbook "fantastic grandiosity." That's all there is to it: they're a bunch of homicidal maniacs playing at being a religion to assuage any residue of conscience they might harbor. Even if there were any point in trying to capture and rehabilitate these people, the means are lacking. I've issued an order to the effect that all known DOA members are to be shot on sight whenever practicable, and never revivified. Well, I'm as well equipped as I'm likely to get; my weapons are all fully loaded, with six reloads for the pistols and one for the shotgun, and I have five first-aid kits. Come the morrow, I'll conduct a little "reconnaissance in force" and see if I can find some of those DOA types. |
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