Phillip the Nerd
Wed, 03/14/2012 - 14:13
I've played the demo through a number of times, and it's more or less been the same type of person each time: a rough and tumble hobo, fortunate enough to collect enough tin cans to buy a ticket in a cryopod. In this distant future apocolypse these fighting survivalists can really make a go of things, where the skills and wherewithall to choke down a raw squirrel and wear it's furry backside as a hat are indeed desirable.
But these aren't the type of people who get frozen stiff and propelled into the future, oh no. Dotcom Billionaires, Animation Moguls and Venture Capitalists are. Or to put it another way, Giant Nerds.
This is the story of Phillip the Nerd.
Turn 1.
Phillip is Fragile. Perhaps because of this he spent much of his formative years in libraries, on computers, indoors and pretty much anywhere he could avoid other, less fragile children. He knows all there is to know about Electronics, Hacking, Mechanics and having a slow Metabolism. Phillip also went to High School, and despite knowing everything there is to know about Electronics, Hacking, Mechanics and having a slow Metabolism Phillip is very much still alive. From this evidence it is safe to assume that Phillip is also good at Hiding.
Phillip woke up. He was cold. Cold and... wet? Phillip let out a low whine. Not wet, he thought, not again. No. Wait. Not again... not for some years in fact. Phillip slowly raised his head from where it had fallen, an ache swam out from the back of his skull, arcing gracefully across his forehead. Yes, some years since... that had happened, and almost as many since a hangover. They're worse than he remembered. What had made him drink ? He hadn't touched alcohol since he'd first tried it at the late age of 14. Alcohol was for idiots. There was a... party? That can't be right. He'd been to parties. Not massively frequently mind, but still, always avoided drinking-
A unearthly scream interrupted Phillip's derailed train of thought. His eyes slammed open, then immediately shut again as the searing light from a window lightly singed his retinas. Another scream. Phillip was scrabbling to his feet, his eyes split gingerly to take in the room. Machines. Tubes. A computer. That bastard window. A dark hallway. Another scream.
"Fuck."
The word creaked out of his throat like he hadn't uttered a word in years. Phillip whirled trying to collect himself. He didn't quite manage it. With one more scream, Phillip's flight response kicked in and he propelled himself towards the window, diving through the broken glass and landing in an overgrown hedge. Scratched and bruised, Phillip rose to his feet. "That was stupid," he thought "don't you know you're Fragile?" Sprinting into the open field Phillip thought this is exactly the kind of terrible decision making that follows the consumption of alcohol.
After about five hundred yards the telltale burning in his chest served as a reminder of Phillip's non-existent athletic career. It probably wasn't even a THING in the darkness, more likely some screeching equipment or mechanism. In his semi-awake state it had sounded strange, sure, but really, monsters? Phillip, feeling silly, slowed to a stop, and looked back the way he'd come.
The Werewolf stared back.
Phillip ran over two sizeable hills and into some woodland without stopping.
With aching feet, burning lungs and freezing buttocks Phillip could finally run no further. He collapsed into a ditch, breathing heavily. He grabbed the largest stick to hand and brandished it as menacingly as a 32 year old Software Engineer ever had. It was then that Phillip noticed a medical style tag around his wrist. It said his name was Phillip Kindred. This was News to Phillip.
Phillip took stock. He remembered waking up, he was wet, but it wasn't... that. He remembered that. And it wasn't that. He remembered school. He remembered work. Some faces, some names. He remembered a party. And then remembered running through the woods. Running away from a Werewolf. He also remembered Werewolves definitely weren't a thing.
This was the sum total of the things Phillip remembered. Not among those things were his name, or how he came to be running for his life through the woods (away from a werewolf, natch) in nothing but a hospital gown. A backless hospital gown. Phillip suddenly felt very underequipped for the situation he found himself in.
Wed, 03/14/2012 - 15:44
#2
(Glad you like it. I am going to keep going until he dies, which shouldn't be long, as there are no save games and I don't know what I'm doing. WRITE WHAT YOU KNOW, PEOPLE.)
Turn 2.
After catching his breath he took a moment to look around the woods, finding nothing but sticks. No food, animals. Nothing to work with. He wouldn't know what to do with them if he had found them of course, but it was still dispiriting.
Phillip remembered that while sprinting across the first hill he'd seen some buildings to the south that might have had some supplies more his speed. This of course would mean going back in the direction of the Werewolf. Not going back of course would mean potentially freezing to death, as no other sign of civilisation was visible. These weren't the kind of decisions Phillip felt comfortable making.
At this point it's worth noting that Phillip is a coward.
After much internal debate Phillip decided to head away from the Wolfman.
He didn't have to go far before coming across more buildings. The wood had blocked his sight, and now on the other side he could see an abandoned apartment block less than a mile away. Phillip took comfort in this, and made note that however bleak things seem he should never ever go back in the direction of the Wolfman.
Phillip nervously approached the run down building. From a distance there was nothing too out of the ordinary about it, on any other day he would have called out, but well - Wolfman. He decided it would be better if he wasn't seen at all.
Phillip found himself falling into the invisibiity routine he'd perfected at High School. Ducking in and out of doorwars he made his way to the back of the apartment building and climbed the fire escape. Inside he was struck first by the smell, and then the irony of escaping a Werewolf only to be raped and killed by a Hobo. It seemed quaintly old fashioned, somehow. He decided to make his search quick.
Slipping between burned out rooms Phillip quickly hit paydirt. A pile of dirty clothes and worn out boots on top of a cardboard box: the collection of a middle ranking hobo, he assumed. He quickly pulled on the least stained, holed t-shirts and jeans over his hospital gown, and slipped on the two least mouldy boots. The right one was at least two sizes too big and missing laces. A wave of depression washed over Phillip as he realised he was clearly wearing this Hobo's Sunday Best. He tipped up the rest of the box.
"A Murderous Hobo's Sunday Best." He clarified to himself, staring at a collection of eight meat cleavers. After a moments pause Phillip grabbed three plastic carrier bags from the hobo-pile and filled them with what food and supplies he could: a can of soup, three bottles of Liquid To Be Determined Later (please please please don't be hobo piss) some crackers and a lump of rust that may have once been a saucepan. Lastly he took the sharpest looking cleaver. Best case scenario he could turn it into the Police by way of explaining all the college-kid blood no doubt spattering these clothes - and worst case, he could maybe kill a Hobo on the way out of the building.
He was about to make good his escape when he spotted something unusual. That is, unusual to be in the posession of a Hobo, otherwise it was highly familiar. It was an iPad. No, wait, he should be so lucky. It was a non-brand tablet PC. Still, it was something which Phillip recognised, something comfortable. He stuffed it into a carrier along with the handful of wires and junk that surrounded it, maybe he could get it working. "And maybe you could get wifi at a Starbucks, and a Chai latté while you're at it you insufferable prick." He thought.
Phillip made his way out of the building. By the lack of cleavers in his spine he surmised he'd completed the Great Hobo Robbery without being noticed. He saw a bit more town to the east. Not in the direction of the Wolfman. Bonus.
Wed, 03/14/2012 - 15:57
#3
And Philip still hasn't realized it is the end of the world... He'll get a wake-up call... Heh heh.
This gives me inspiration to RP my characters more, it seems.
Wed, 03/14/2012 - 17:25
#4
Turn 3.
Phillip was feeling optimistic. Barely an hour ago he'd been running almost naked through the woods and the only certainty was that soon a Werewolf would be tearing him open to feast on his insides. Now he had clothes, food and a pretty murderous looking weapon. In fact in these clothes, carrying these bags, he looked fairly murderous himself. Perhaps in the drowsiness of the morning, and in his near naked state, he'd jumped to conclusions. He couldn't remember who he was or how he got there. The mind plays tricks! It was probably just a dog! Or a regular wolf. Still dangerous and scary, no doubt, but not supernatural. Phillip felt quite silly indeed. In a moment of levity he let out a laugh at his own foolishness, and cast his eye back in the direction he'd come.
The Werewolf stared back.
http://i42.tinypic.com/2zjkwlx.jpg
Questions spooled through Phillip's mind, but none seemed suitable, and the small consolation that he hadn't been seeing things earlier was entirely lost on him. Phillip no longer begrudged the Hobo his cleaver collection. If you live next door to a persistent Werewolf then cleavers actually seem pretty tame, not something a murderer might have. Phillip scalded himself for only taking one. All this and more went through Phillip's head as he ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction.
As night fell a bright glow appeared on the horizon. Phillip couldn't help but notice it was in the direction the Werewolf wasn't. This was as good enough a reason as any to head that way, and light meant people, and people meant Police. Phillip made a mental note to ditch the shopping bags, hospital gown and meat cleaver before reporting the Werewolf. He made a further mental note to not use the word 'Werewolf'. "It was some kind of wild animal officer, I couldn't say what it was exactly." Let them figure it out. Preferably with guns.
Phillip stopped on a run down street to catch his breath. The scratches he'd picked up diving through the window earlier were scabbing up, but could hardly be said to be healing. He wondered if the Wolfman was tracking the smell of the blood. It would certainly exp... oh god dammit.
http://i41.tinypic.com/zwndsk.jpg
Phillip saw the Werewolf nonchlantly bounding through the field to the south of him. It was catching up, trying to circle around him. A cold sweat trickled down Phillip's neck. He was almost too exhausted to be afraid. Almost.
Wed, 03/14/2012 - 19:10
#5
Well this is embarrassing. This was supposed to be a quick and dirty story about someone completely unequipped to survive in a harsh world meeting an equally quick and dirty end. Unfortunately Phillip seems to be a born survivor despite his lack of any appropriate skills (and in spite of my efforts to kill him). A slow metabolism and good running shoes work wonders in the wasteland it seems, something Mad Max didn't really explore.
I've done as much game as I'm going to do with him and it really goes on a bit. I've made notes and might finish it at some point, but I'd say it's done for now. It's fair to say everything above (obvious embellishments aside) happened, he really was stalked by the starting Dogman for longer than I thought possible.
Sun, 03/18/2012 - 11:37
#6
Hey... HEY! Wheres the update? If youre dead you gotta tell us so we can loot you! ... Or at least kick on your dead body until a note of Philips diary fall out!
Haha, awesome story! Keep on going! :D