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View the profile of Hendrik Casimir
| Hendrik Casimir, A weird kind of week | Written: 2006-02-12 06:21:04 |
Cel phones, nun costumes and hiker chicks |
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It's been a while since I've bothered to write anything down, so it's time for an update, I guess. On Wednesday a week ago, I checked my cel phone and found I didn't have a signal. Normally, you'd curse your provider, but in Malton, this can only mean one of two things. I grabbed my weapons and gear and set out to check. Sure enough, when I got to the gallery overlooking the entrance hall of the Isgar Towers, I found the barricades busted, along with the generator, and four zulus in residence and two corpses on the floor. I recognized one: a heavy-hitter in the DOA, a male who for some reason enjoys running around in a nun outfit. The other three were probably just peons, and besides, they were swaying, so I opened up on the Mother Superior. From my elevated position, I made fairly quick work of him; he was not wearing body armor, for a welcome change. After he was down, I tossed his body out the front door, along with the other two, and rebarricaded the doorway. By the time I was done with that, it was getting dark, so I stopped in at Gotch Plaza police station (currently notionally my headquarters, though I've not spent any significant amount of time there) next door to inform the inhabitants (at least it's under human control, for now) of the situation, then withdrew to yet another safe house. The following days were fairly humdrum, consisting mostly of trips to Marven Mall to forage for ammunition and medical supplies, providing medical aid to injured citizens (necessitating more foraging), maintaining the mall's barricades, etc. Last Monday, I decided to reconnoiter the zulu force massing outside the mall's northeast corner, and tag as many as possible with my Extractor while I was at it. As it turned out, there were dozens of them, sixty or seventy, and I really didn't even want to get close, so I just started tagging ones on the periphery. Next thing I know, one in the crowd has noticed me, jumped me, grabbed hold of me, crushing my arms in the process (that's new) and sunk his teeth into my shoulder. I managed to work one arm loose and punch it in the jaw, which made it loosen its grip for just long enough for me to make my escape. Once I'd found refuge (in a church--St. Holy's--how deliciously, if anachronistically, apt), I treated the wound. That took care of the inevitable infection, but it still damn well hurt. I cut across the mall to Voules Square railway station, where I stopped to take care of the pain. So there I am, propped up against a wall in the waiting room, letting the narcotics (Stadol, raided from a maternity ward) take effect, when some chick comes jandering up to me. She's a tall, blonde, good-looking outdoorsy type, who wouldn't look out of place in an REI catalogue, foul-weather gear, hiking boots, hatchet and all. She looks me over and introduces herself as Fa Whitecat. Then, she tells me she hears I'm the local police captain (aka "the coffee man"), and is there anything she can do to help out. I start to run off the my usual spiel regarding our activities--patrolling, maintaining barricades, providing first aid, everything except rescuing cats from trees since that's the MFD's bailiwick--and all this while I'm scanning the people in the room in my drugged state, and just as I'm getting to the part about being on the lookout for DOA infiltrators and strike groups, my eyes fall on this one guy. There's something a little odd about him, which I can't quite place, but then I remember: he's alive now, but I've seen him in his undead state as part of some DOA assault group. Again, I'm kinda high, and I remark in an off-hand way, though loudly enough for the whole room to hear, "If you want to help out, you could chop up that guy over there [pointing]. He's a DOA infiltrator." To my astonishment, the girl draws her axe, walks up to the guy, looks him over, and then proceeds to chop him to bits and pitch what's left of him out of the building. A wave of reactions washes over me. First, disbelief: the girl has chopped up a human being on my say-so. I should have that kind of authority in the classroom. Second, horror: a human is dead as a result of my suggestion; what if I was wrong? Third, rationalization: I know the guy was DOA, probably a Trojan Horse to infiltrate the mall and crack it open for his pals. Besides, between zombification and revivification, death is not final in Malton. I've experienced it myself, after all, and while it's traumatic and tedious, a mistaken killing can be corrected. Gotta watch that, though, or I may find myself crossing a mental line I shouldn't. I didn't get a chance to talk to the girl afterwards, even though I'd have liked to. She took off right after she'd dumped the stiff. There's not much else to report for the moment. Been tagging zulus, keeping an eye out for DOA members, managed to wing one, gathering ammo and syringes and just generally trying to stay in one piece. |
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