The No Name Hour

[...Posted by Ted H]

More tales from my life. This time about a radio program I ran in college that was directly involved with the fall of the Cazenovia College radio program. I got another NNH tale next week that'll also contain the origin story of how I met Ryan, cuz I know how everyone is clamoring for that one.

The station at the time was called "Black Sheep Radio" but I always just called it "BS Radio" cuz I'm mature like that.

...and HOLY SHIT, there's finally a picture on this blog!

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[The No Name Hour] 

I liked radio programs. One day I happened to come across the Howard Stern Show on a local rock station. It was awesome. Sure, it was in the twilight in his FM career, not his best shows by far but I didn’t know nor care. What appealed to me most was the fact that the show was basically Howard and his friends just talking. There was no point, they would just talk and not actually bother with music, at all, ever. I always figured that it I ever had the chance to be on the radio, that would be what I’d try for.

The prospect of being an on air radio personality was defiantly something I didn’t want to do as a career though. At the time my sister was dating a radio DJ so I pretty much got a first hand idea at how radio DJs were anything but glamorous. Stern was the exception to the rule, everyone else however were worthless. College radio, however, was a good choice. Fulfill that specific life dream without having to make any sacrifices? Where do I sign?

The problem was getting in there. My freshmen year I had missed the opportunity. Sure there was a meeting at the beginning of the year for interested people. Perfect, except that I had forgone the meeting to instead hang out with friends. Whoops. I also had no idea who to talk to afterwards about getting a show, nor did I have any idea as to what that show would include.

Sophomore year had finally provided me the opportunity. Roger was teaching a Broadcasting class and it included having your own radio program. A class taught by Roger? Easy A. A way to finally get me into the radio program? Awesome.

A few things had to be done before radio magic could be done. First was a code of conduct. Everyone had to read a half page contract and sign it at the bottom. Basically it stated that you wouldn’t be a profane mother fucker on the air. Simple. Also there was the division of the time slots and program information. All had to be submitted with the contract before we could start a show.

The Broadcasting class had first dibs on time slots. Unfortunately, when we passed the sheet around for time slots, I was on the wrong side of the classroom and all the choice, prime time selections were already taken. I didn’t want to do my show in the middle of the day when everyone on campus were in class or otherwise preoccupied, and I certainly didn’t want to play a show on the weekend. The only other option was Thursday nights, starting at 9pm. “Good enough,” I figured. I called the 9-to-11 time slot and that was that. When all was said and done, I was allowed to have my show last as long as I wanted since the next scheduled show would’ve been Friday morning at 7.

Code of Conduct signed and filed and my time slot reserved, the only thing left to do was pick a DJ name and show title. Neither of which I put much thought into, leading all the way up to my first show. Roger had finished giving me a final crash coarse of the radio station controls literally minutes before my inaugural show and I still didn’t have a clue as to names.

At 8:59 he pretty much flashed me a thumbs up and asked what DJ name I had decided on. I had nothing, so I just dug my hands into my pockets, the only thing in there were keys and a lighter. Keys so I could go home and a lighter because I had taken up the regular hobby of walking various pieces of notes and tests from my failed statistics class to the lake so I could burn them. Sure I not only failed the class but also my appeal, but it all felt a little better because I was slowly burning all of the evidence of my statistics past.

I was a pyro, and the word was the only thing in my mind when my hand happened upon the lighter. “Pyro,” I eventually said to Roger “My DJ name is Pyro.” Roger flashed a quick look on his face. Not the best nor most original name ever but it seemed to be suffice since he shrugged and nodded. “Good luck,” he said, then left the room.

9:00. Time to rock. I had a DJ name and a CD of songs I burnt up earlier to play. The only problem was that the show didn’t have a name yet. In my bag nearby was the information sheet for the show that I had neglected to complete and hand in. In the space marked “show name” I had written “Duct Tape Dreams” in pencil, had erased it and wrote “Duct Tape Hour” over it. I hated the name, but kept it as Plan B in case I never thought up a better title. The whole duct tape thing was yet another small obsession of mine and it was better than nothing, or so I thought.

I activated the mic attempted to say something, but anxiety clutched my throat. What if someone really was listening? We always made jokes about how no one listens to the colleges radio station but what if someone just happened to be listening right now? Or worse, what if the person recognizes me and realizes what a shitty job I’m doing. And when did it become 9:01? Fuck, I need to say something. ANYthing. I ended up going with the standard station identification call sign, then I immediately switched to my CD.

A Slipknot song started and I relaxed in my chair. That could’ve gone worse, but it sure as fuck could’ve gone a lot better too. Seriously, I cant have been the first person in history to not have a name for his creation after launching it. And I wasn’t, because I remembered a lunch I had over a year beforehand.

I was on a construction job when we decided to head out to lunch. One of them suggested we eat at a place called “No Name Diner” instead of getting a pizza (again). If the coworker is to be believed, the diner opened without a name proper but no one seemed to mind at the time. After a “help us name our diner” contest, it was decided that “No Name” shouldn’t just be a place holder, it should be the actual fucking title of the place.

So when Slipknot finished, I hit the button on the controls and started talking. “I’m DJ Pyro and you’re listening to the No Name Hour.” Done, next song. It was touch and go for most of the next hour and I never really got around to saying much anything at all. Once my CD finished, I was too. I hated how my first show went and realized that me sitting by myself in the studio wasn’t gonna cut it. I needed more voices.

I decided to drop the DJ from my name and just call myself “Pyro” since it flowed a lot better, keep “No Name Hour” as the title and hand that shit in and make it a priority to find someone to talk to on air before next week. I didn’t get anyone to show up. Sure, people said they would come by and talk, but people are full of shit.

The next week came and went much like the first. Not so bad, except that I was suppose to be recording these shows for the actual class. I was sure Roger would give me an A but I figured it would be a lot easier to give me an A if I gave him shows that consisted more than just me saying the time and the radio call sign.

A few weeks passed and one night I’m on the air when Quiet Girl walked in to visit. I call her this because she does everything in her power to actually live up to that name. She didn’t say shit loud enough to be picked up by any of the studio microphones, but she was company, plus I had someone to talk to. Conversing with her on air proved to be a mistake since anyone listening would just as well assume I was talking to myself like some retard. I went as far as throwing chairs around the radio station and causing general chaos in an attempt to get her to say anything, but she still held no comment to my rock-star studio trashing job. Whatever, fuck her.

Then one night a bunch of my fiends decided to show up in the studio and before I knew it, the No Name Hour had life. In addition to QG and myself, there were now Jigga, PainInTheAss, Dominatrix, iPinch, K-zilla, Happy-Dancer, Magdaline and Whitey. Affectionately we called our collective selves “The Circus” cause we’re dumb like that.  Any given night would feature anywhere between a few of us or all of us. The show tagline was “Fucking Classy…all the way” and we rarely failed to live up to those sad standards.

It wasn’t so much as a radio show as much as a bunch of us shooting the shit on live radio, broken up occasionally when a bunch of them would step out for cigarettes while I played music. Inevitable on any given night you could count on Dominatrix using the stations computer to look up something involving sex (occasional virus is implied), Happy-Dancer sounding an occasional swear by accident in full range of a microphone and someone making obvious references to the “sex couch” being disgusting. Seating in the small room was limited at best, especially for 10 of us, so if you wanted a seat, your options were: one of 2 hard plastic chairs, the floor, the sex couch or a couple amps that were laying around. The sex couch itself was…well…lets just say that it’s something of a horror show if you ever viewed it under a black light. Luckily I always had a slightly padded roller chair to sit on.

So the show went on very smoothly after a while, I had an easy A in Broadcasting after all and we all had so much fun that I decided to keep the show going into the following semester. It was no longer a class requirement but a recreational activity, meaning the standards of our group conversations on air would fall from their already low standards. It was still fun as ever and it opened the door for a couple of the more iconic shows.

[The show poster that I printed out and put everywhere on campus, usually right on top of other show posters cuz this show was obviously better.]

Statistics

[...Posted by Ted H]

I got nothin until NaNoWriMo...but that's a 2 month gap, and 2 months is too long to go without an update. But instead of making up a story for this week, I figured I'd entertain with a true story of my own life.
A long time ago I had this dumb idea to chronicle my college exploits. Looking back on most of them, I figured that was a bad idea but there were a couple interesting tales...

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[Statistics]


-Spring Semester and September 2006
-Written 2011

I’m not a Jets fan. My dad is. Back when I first learned about the NFL and football in general, the Jets sucked and I didn’t want to align myself with a shitty team. It was around Super Bowl XXXI and I had either the Patriots or the Packers to choose from and since it causes me physical pain to even compliment a Boston team, I rooted for the Packers. The Pack didn’t let me down, and the rest is history…but this is about the Jets, the team my Dad loves.

Fast forward to 2011, the Packers and the Jets are both on the verge of making it to Super Bowl XLV. The mere idea of a Packers/Jets match up have had me and dad going back and forth for weeks. The Packers beat the Bears to clinch their spot, all the Jets have to do is beat the Steelers. That was a tall order, but hey, the Jets just got done beating the Patriots and their faggy ass QB, how hard could this be?

My dad tried to downplay the Jets’ chances all month. They were the #6 seed, dead last. They weren’t suppose to even survive round 1...but they did. They weren’t suppose to beat the 1 seed Patriots…but they did. My Dad still downplayed their chances, but we all knew he was invested. But the game started and the Jets fell behind big. The experts at halftime said it was pretty much over. I had no reason to watch, but I did.

I watched them mount a comeback. All of a sudden they were nipping at Pittsburgh’s heels. Then they closed it to a one score game. They had all of the momentum. All they had to do was get the ball back for one more drive and they could win. All they needed to do was-…wait, never mind. Times up.

They ran out of time. What they needed more than another drive was another couple of minutes. They almost came all the way back, only to be stopped, not by Pittsburgh’s defense, but by the clock. Despite downplaying the whole thing leading up, my dad couldn’t help but throw a mini fit over the whole thing.

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There was a point to that little story. It reminded me a lot of when I failed Statistics. The class had been hell for the entire semester, and it had a dangerous combo for disaster: me not giving a shit combined with the professor being a short woman from India who has yet to master how to speak English properly.

Seriously, you couldn’t understand a fucking thing she said, and I’m no rookie on that kind of thing. I was friends at the time with a guy who had come all the way from fucking Africa and spoke English as his 2nd language. This bitch from India supposedly has been teaching at this college longer than my friend had been alive and he could talk circles around her. Hell, in high school one of my teachers was a fresh import from Kenya and I could carry a conversation on with her. Maybe its just India.

So the professor cant speak English, and that can only lead to me not understanding shit. Turns out though, she didn’t know her shit either. She taught strait out of the book and would often confuse herself in the process. It was like a piano teacher always trying to stay one lesson ahead of their student.

Now, its one thing to be failing a class because you’re retarded. Its another thing entirely to be failing a class even when you get all the answers right. I failed a lot of tests early on because of that. The problem was that while I was writing the correct answers down, I wasn’t apparently showing enough work, thus I would lose out on points. The same thing happened in my Calculus class from the semester before; I failed to show “enough” work and my 90s became 75s. Here in Statistics, my 90s were becoming 55s. Cutting 35 points for right answers? That goes beyond excessive. That’s fucking ludicrous.

I would argue over it but always to no avail, mainly because English eluded her and her “Hooked on Phonics” series never taught her how to understand phrases like “Even the book says I’m right!” and “How the fuck can you be this stupid?” She refused to give me credit on my right answers and no matter how much work I showed, it apparently was never enough.

And before you even decide that I’m just too lazy, you’re right and you’re wrong…mostly wrong. There are two ways I do math: strait off my calculator, or strait out of my head. Neither tactic requires pencil and paper. The simple shit can be written down but there’s only so much you can write when using a calculator, the rest is done automatically. And when I use my head, I'll write some things down as I do it, but to write every single part of the process would take too long and I’d lose my place.

There’s a scene in The Day After Tomorrow where the kid tells his Dennis Quaid that his professor failed him in math because he didn’t write out his work because he did it all in his head. Essentially his professor failed him because the student was smarter than the professor. Am I saying that my Statistics professor failed me because I was smarter than she? Well, yes, but only because my Statistics professor was a dumbfuck and I can at least speak proper English.

Eventually I would drop off and stop caring. I would fail tests by a long shot and flat out skip the class for weeks at a time, but its not like I didn’t have a good excuse; Those Guitar Hero high scores weren’t gonna beat themselves. The text book had been reduced to a mere doorstopper and those few times I did attend class were only because none of my friends were around to hang out with. Hell, after Pirate Night, I could count on one hand the amount of classes I attended, including the final exam. I’m actually surprised I even showed up for that.

Early on I was concerned about failing, but that fear turned into acceptance when I realized that there was nothing I could do about it because I couldn’t even suck up to this bitch and earn a pity boost to my grade. I had a date with an F, and that bitch was picking me up. It was impossible to avoid.

I don’t really remember the final. I do know I was there though because I remember waking up from a half hour of sleep, programming random equations onto my calculator because I never bothered to learn them, hanging out with my friend Colleen and using her as a crutch where I assume she dragged me to the classroom so I could take the fucking test, only to realize I left my calculator back in my room. You don’t take a math final without a calculator unless you’re a genius or a dumbass, and I’m not that smart. I forgot it once before in 8th grade and I’m still shocked I passed, but at least I knew my shit back them. I was less confident this time around and walked all the way back to my room and retrieved the damn thing before walking all the way back to the classroom. I returned maybe 10 seconds after the short Indian so in her mind I was late for the final. Fucking great.

The rest of it was a blur. I don’t even remember the test. Hell, I’m assuming I remembered to even write my name. I later found out that I set a new standard in failing because I scored less than 50 on the final…meaning I probably got an 70 in real life. Ultimately, I failed the coarse by a mile, not that I cared at this point.

So final grades were eventually mailed home and I was officially informed that not only did I fail Statistics, but in doing so I had fallen behind by three credits and wasn’t technically a sophomore yet. It really didn’t seem too hard to catch up, take an extra class and everything would be fine. Retaking Statistics was out of the question since it wasn’t a requirement for my degree, and the only reason I took it to begin with was because my advisor, that clever bitch, tricked me into taking it.

So while it looked bad to have failed and be behind by one class, it was manageable…try telling that to the rest of my family. The thing about my mother is when you present her with bad news, no matter how trivial, she’ll always assume the worst case scenario will play out. In this case, failing one class as a freshman automatically meant that I wasn’t going to graduate at all and would have no choice but to work as either a fry cook or a grocery bagger. This was made evident when she constantly taunted me with the phrase “Paper or plastic?”

My dad wasn’t exactly helpful either. Just your usual ranting over how I should just join the army now because I apparently wasn’t going to make it through four years. My sister would keep adding needless insight on the situation as well, as if her opinion carried any weight. It was the fucking apocalypse at my house, all over an F. In retrospect, I’m shocked my brother didn’t jump in the fray, though he probably he was destined to fail a class or two when he made it to college.

I had a few shitty options on the table; McDonalds, army, tie a plastic bag over my face or jump into traffic. Luckily I had one more option: Do what I do best, and that was damage control. The only way to shut my entire family up was to at least pretend that I was doing something about the F. In this case, argue the grade with the school. A long shot, a hail mary, no fucking way it would work, but it convinced my family that there was a chance I can change the grade.

I made the necessary e-mails and talked to whoever you talk to in these situations. I figured that even though I was wasting my time, I could at least give it my best shot. The policy on arguing grades was that you only had about a week to do so, no exceptions. I waited about 10 days before sending out an e-mail over it. I don’t remember the lie I used, but I had convinced the academic dean and my advisor that I should be exempt from that “no exceptions” rule. When all was said and done, the academic dean had agreed to meet with me in person to discuss the grade. Since it was summer vacation, this meeting would go down in the fall semester.

At this point, I’m beginning to wonder if this half baked idea could actually work. I only attempted it because it was the only way to get everyone off my back but now I was beginning to think I could pull of a D or something. I had actually convinced the fucking dean that I wasn’t given a fair shot to pass. The damn thing was, I really wasn’t given a fair shot to pass, only I stopped trying after it became clear I was being taught by an idiot and that sealed my fate. The same reasons I stopped trying were also the reasons that I might just win the appeal.

Into the new semester, the day finally came. Ironically, I blew off from a class to attend the appeal, but it was a class taught by my buddy Roger and I had given him fair notice and he had no problem with it. I was feeling good, this was a chance for me to sneak in another victory. In high school, I had argued away countless detentions, dropped a suspension down to the bare minimum, managed to not get expelled multiple times and scored the key to the handicapped elevator despite being fully capable of climbing stairs. Now I could add another gold star to my asshole resume: genuinely fail a class and talk my way into passing anyway. Four months ago I had no shot, and now I was on the verge of pulling off one hell of an upset over the Indian Stats teacher. It was all looking good…up until the meeting actually started.

Maybe it didn’t help that I was dressed in street clothes, but what was I suppose to wear? A fucking suit? It also didn’t help that the dean walked in with an unamused look on his face, that he took a seat right next to the teacher, sitting right across from me with a folder filled with papers while I had only a couple tests and a notebook (and the notebook was only there to add weight to my items. I had no intentions on using it, but it made me look like I had a lot more ammo. Compared to the deans folder, I wondered why I even tried)

The meeting started off bad, real bad. The dean started talking about how he doesn’t see much merit in my appeal. Why the fuck agree to a meeting if you don’t think I have a shot? Bored? Got time to kill? Or do you just enjoy having these kinds of meetings?

Then the teacher started explaining why she failed me. I tried in vain to keep up with her pseudo-English while the dean only nodded in agreement, which I call shenanigans over because I doubt he understood a fucking word she said. What I could translate was that I missed too many classes and outright failed the final. Both a given, but I knew those coming in, I still had a plan. I tried to voice a couple injustices I had suffered but the dean kept cutting me off at the pass. He was blindly supporting that illiterate fuck-nugget, which I’m pretty sure showing bias like that isn’t allowed but who was keeping score anymore?

My plan was more or less useless now that the dean seemed to have chosen his side in the argument before I even said two words. He was sucking the bitches cock already and was ready to deny my appeal before his seat was even warm. I was rattled. It was over before it even started.


Then the fucker patronized me.


Few things piss me off more than being patronized. It would take too long to list them all, but the highlights include: The 2007 NFC title game, all of 2004, accidentally eating a mushroom and many things pertaining to my brother. The dean, while talking once again over how he doesn’t see much hope for my appeal, decided to put it in a way he thinks I might understand. He mentions that I’m a Criminal Justice major and says something like how the burden of proof is on me. He talked real slow so as I wouldn’t fall behind and used hand gestures and a condescending tone.

Oh, it’s ON now, bitch.

Moments ago I was rattled and thinking about just giving up to save face. Now I was just angry. Does this cock sucker realize who I am? He did not just talk to me like I was 10. Time to put the smack down on this fucking meeting. I was armed with a couple tests, a detailed understanding at how inept the teacher was, a high charisma score and now a strong desire to wipe those faggot ass smirks off both their faces. Halftime was over, time to mount my comeback. Time to go to work.

I grabbed the nearest test and flipped the pages to show a particular problem on it. It was one where I got the answer right but still got 9 points knocked off for “not enough work shown.” I then began a detailed analysis over how I (1) came to that answer and (2) how the “little work I had shown” was still enough to show that I came up with the right answer on my own and deserved full credit. It was verbal poetry, and it was fucking beautiful because the dean had nothing to refute my argument with. The teacher couldn’t say shit either because I was talking math, something she had no idea about. They decided to credit me the points and increase my test grade.

Then I did it again.

And again.

And yet again.

Next thing I knew, I had bumped my grade up beyond passing and all the way into C+ territory. I then grabbed the other test and worked my magic on that as well, the entire time doing the math in my head and calculating how these grade increases were effecting my overall grade. Why was I doing it in my head? Because I DON’T FUCKING NEED TO WRITE MY WORK DOWN!

I came in with a grade so low, it was more of a G- than an F. Now I’ve got a nice F+ going. A little more and we’ve got a D, children, and I can go home happy. Unfortunately, the dean caught on and put the kibosh on my whole operation. Then he just ended the meeting. I objected, but he spewed some bullshit over how he didn’t think I had much of an argument and was just wasting his time now. I referred to the increased test scores and mentioned that the teacher pulled the same shenanigans on the final. If I could just pry the God damn final from her hands and show a couple examples from that, then I’d have my God damn D.

Nope. Like the Jets, I had simply run out of time. One more chance, one more drive and I’d have success. Not to be however. I had an F+…but it was still an F. To make myself feel better, I took all my paperwork and notes from the class down to the lake and set fire to all of it over the coarse of the next couple months. I also vowed to murder a cow in cold blood, just to spite India.

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In the end though, it really didn’t matter. I graduated on time and walked off with my middle finger to the school. The teacher meanwhile “decided to retire” at the end of my sophomore year. Turns out I wasn't the first nor the last to complain about her or her lack of teaching ability and she was probably fired as a result. I like to think she’s dead in a ditch somewhere. A car hit her and she tried calling for help, only she couldn't speak proper English and couldn’t communicate where she was so the paramedics couldn’t get to her in time. Morbid I know, but it always brings a smile to my face.

As for the Jets…who cares. I’m not a Jets fan. The Packers were gonna win the Super Bowl anyway, so I won either way.

Our Town of the Dead [Act III]

[...Posted by Ted H]

Holy fucking shit, it's done!

All in all, if you knew what comprised the original version of this travesty, then you would agree that this version is way better. I'm a bit on the fence over it to be honest. The original had a constant theme of chaotic stupid to it that made it a cute diversion to the seriousness of the original. This remake retained some of that original humor but I forced more drama into it to make a better overall product. At times the theme is bipolar and it suffers. Then theres my attempt at romance towards the end....

A few more things I wanna say about the play Ill hold off on since it requires a bit of spoiling. Next week maybe? Until then, please enjoy the fruits of an almost year long labor...

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[Our Town of the Dead]

Act III

At the far left of the stage are a row of chairs. No one enters to accompany them. The STAGE MANAGER takes his usual place in the middle of the stage.

STAGE MANAGER:
Oddly enough, this is the safest place in all of Grover’s Corners, the cemetery. Of the dead that stayed behind, few if any are left now. While some of the living deemed it necessary to abandon Grover’s Corners, others felt the need to fight. Valiantly they fought, in vain, but it showed the resiliency of some who refused to resign to the fate of an undead takeover. The pushback was over almost as quickly as it began, but the survivors weren’t ready to surrender their home. So while George and company try to escape, others have different plans.

Enter DOC GIBBS.

Take Doc Gibbs for instance. Sure he could escape, but he felt it more important to understand what exactly happened. Not an advisable idea, but given how we last left George, it seems father Gibbs chose right, at least for now.

DOC GIBBS:
Now I know that lab was around here somewhere.

Enter a CRAWLING ZOMBIE as it moves across the floor and grabs DOC GIBBS’ leg.

CRAWLING ZOMBIE:
I just knew a fresh meal would find its way up here eventually!

DOC GIBBS:
What the fuck is this shit? I don’t get a named zombie? Just a faceless throwaway?

CRAWLING ZOMBIE:
Hey buddy, we’re fresh out of named people to toss into this play.

DOC GIBBS:
Well what about Joe Stoddard? His corpse hasn’t shown up yet.

The STAGE MANAGER tosses his script into the air and storms off stage.

STAGE MANAGER: *off stage*
Does anyone fucking read the script?

Enter JOE STODDARD running up to DOC GIBBS with a shovel and slams it onto the CRAWLING ZOMBIEs head.

JOE STODDARD:
Doc Gibbs? What the hell are you doing here of all places?

DOC GIBBS:
I’m looking for that laboratory that Willard and his friend had been using. I just know that whatever’s inside is the cause of all this.

JOE STODDARD:
You mean Birkin? I know the lab. Follow me. I’ve managed to kill off most of the stragglers up here but the occasional one pops up from time to time.

DOC GIBBS:
Lead the way, Joe.

Exit JOE STODDARD and DOC GIBBS. Enter the STAGE MANAGER.

STAGE MANAGER:
I believe we’ve let you folks dangle long enough over the fate of George Gibbs and the rest of his party.

Enter GEORGE GIBBS and JOE CROWELL sprinting over and closing an imaginary door behind them.

GEORGE:
Help me block the door!

JOE:
What good will that do? Soda shop has mostly windows. If anything, you want to block out only exit! Just lock it for now!

GEORGE:
Alright, done. We can’t rest here long, those things will break through any minute now.

JOE:
At least I can catch my breath. How you doing on ammo?

GEORGE:
Not much left. You?

JOE:
Empty like your sisters head. Where is she, anyway?

GEORGE:
We all got separated. I don’t know when we lost her or Mr Webb but I wouldn’t hold out hope.

JOE:
You’re a real optimist, you know that George?

GEORGE:
Yeah well you’re not exactly the person I’d like to die with.

JOE:
I still blame you for all this.

GEORGE:
If I was somehow behind this, why would the undead want me dead too?

JOE:
They wanted you alive, same with Webb.

GEORGE:
Still, why would I try and keep you alive then?

JOE:
So why are you back, then?

GEORGE:
I…got a letter. Someone urged me to return, just for one day. I told them when I’d have a chance to come up and here we are.

JOE:
I still call shenanigans.

Both men pause to hear REBECCA GIBBS screaming off stage.

GEORGE:
Rebecca? She’s still alive!

JOE:
A lot of good that does us. Unless you got a plan, then we’re still stuck with no gas and no clue.

GEORGE GIBBS stays silent a moment before slowly standing up and handing JOE CROWELL the shotgun.

GEORGE:
I’ll distract them. Get to Rebecca, get the gas, and get the hell out of here.

JOE:
What’s your angle, farm boy?

GEORGE:
You said it yourself, they want me alive. I won’t be able to distract all of them, but hopefully enough will be preoccupied so you can sneak out the side.

JOE:
You plan on surviving, or am I leaving without you?

GEORGE:
I think you’re right. Me being here right now probably isn’t a coincidence, but I need to make sure. And if I’m right, then I doubt I’ll be leaving. Don’t wait for me, but make sure you leave with my father.

JOE:
Let’s get this done then.

JOE CROWELL exits while GEORGE GIBBS opens the imaginary door.

GEORGE:
I surrender. I’ll go, quietly.

GEORGE GIBBS exits.

STAGE MANAGER:
Well, things are certainly grim for Gibbs, and it would defiantly be a dick move to change the scene on you folks, but that’s just what I’m doing. Time to check in with the doctor, who is just now arriving at the laboratory we alluded to earlier.

Enter DOC GIBBS and JOE STODDARD.

DOC GIBBS:
This can’t be it, Joe.

JOE STODDARD:
Afraid so, Doc. You’re standing in ground zero, after a fire destroyed the place of coarse.

DOC GIBBS:
They started a fire before they invaded?

BIRKIN: (Off stage)
No. Not exactly.

BIRKIN enters.

BIRKIN:
Doctor Gibbs I presume? We never did have the pleasure of meeting in person before did we? I’m afraid to say that this entire mess has been of my own doing. I assure you I am making amends but I doubt you will agree with the methods I will take.

DOC GIBBS:
What happened here, Birkin? What do you mean this is your doing?

JOE STODDARD:
I think it best if you start from the beginning.

BIRKIN:
Right, well, picture in your mind if you will, Doctor Gibbs, a world where death was nothing more than an inconvenience. The brain is such an interesting specimen, and reanimation of the brain seemed like the ultimate goal. You see our brains are capable of functioning without the rest of the body even being alive, it just takes a little ingenuity to make it work.

DOC GIBBS:
To even attempt such a task…It’s…it’s horrific.

BIRKIN:
Yes, well, let it never be said I wasn’t a trailblazer. There was, however, one small roadblock in my theories; If the brain could self reanimate, then there wouldn’t be an issue. I needed a way to artificially reanimate the brain, then find a way to synthesize that reanimation method.

DOC GIBBS:
You needed a subject zero, didn’t you?

BIRKIN:
More or less. The subject was chosen by Willard, claimed that the entire town adored her in life. I didn’t mind. We brought the girl back after months of strenuous attempts, taking great care to never damage the brain more than we needed to. From there we found that her entire body excreted something that was not present before. That was the base of the synthesized reanimation chemical.

DOC GIBBS:
So you…You actually managed to cure death?

BIRKIN:
It wasn’t perfect. Nine out of ten test subjects failed to even show the slightest reanimation in the brain after injection. The others showed limited brain activity and almost no external awareness. Our zero however, she was fully aware and active. Bodily functions beyond the brain were nonexistent so no, I do not believe we cured death, merely gave it pause.

DOC GIBBS:
But how did things go from resurrecting one person to the destruction of Grovers Corners?

BIRKIN:
I…I shouldn’t have let Willard choose her…Of the subjects we were able to revive, they all showed a strong allegiance to Zero. As for Zero herself, as time wore on, the potency of the reanimation base she gave us increased, allowing more and more revivals giving her an ever increasing army right under my nose. I was too caught up in my work to notice her longing to truly live again. She wanted to stop the world where it was, keep everyone living in the current moment to “appreciate it more” as she put it. Then one day I wake up to find a group of the reanimated attacking Willard. I escaped, but Willard was done in. Then I find he reanimated as well and helped to raise damn near the entire cemetery.

DOC GIBBS:
There has to be a way to stop this. Grover’s Corners can’t contain them forever.

BIRKIN:
It can and it will. I set fire to the lab hoping it would end this invasion before it began but now I feel more drastic measures are required.

JOE STODDARD:
There’s a damn up north. Birkin and I have it rigged to blow.

DOC GIBBS:
You’re going to flood the town?

BIRKIN:
I know for a fact that none of them can swim. The flood won’t get them all but Mr. Stoddard here is more than willing to stay behind and hunt down the remaining.

JOE STODDARD:
I ain’t got much else to fight for except the town.

DOC GIBBS:
But you can’t just do that! There are still survivors in the town. My children are down there! Maybe we can get word out and bring in the army or something. We can fight back and retake Grover’s Corners! It doesn’t have to end!

JOE STODDARD:
I thought the same thing Doc, but this is the only way to assure they don’t escape and spread out through the world. Grover’s Corners was a lost cause. At the very least we can assure it ends here.

BIRKIN:
Really though, I get the whole small town pride and all but what worth is Grover’s Corners in the grand scheme of things?

DOC GIBBS:
I know it isn’t much to someone like you. But for people like Joe and I and our families, it’s all we know.

BIRKIN:
And all you know is burning. And there is nothing to strive for. Look, I found it quaint when I first got here that you people had set up a time capsule in the bank, so I decided to crack it open to see what you felt was important enough about your town to preserve.

JOE STODDARD:
You…Wait, what?

BIRKIN:
And you know what I found? A couple papers, a bible, the constitution and a few plays. Nothing of the soul of this town. Your paper acknowledged its existence but the capsule contained no evidence you actually lived.

DOC GIBBS:
You obviously didn’t read the one play we put in there.

BIRKIN:
This town was dead long before I decided to resurrect anyone. Should anyone ever bother to return, and drain the lake I’m about to make of it, they can dig out your little capsule and judge for themselves. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to make the final preparations to ensure my mistake doesn’t kill anyone else.

BIRKIN exits. DOC GIBBS takes a step to follow, but decides against it.

DOC GIBBS:
I can’t believe he’s so casual about erasing Grover’s Corners.

JOE STODDARD:
I know it smells something sour, Doc, but there really isn’t any other choice at this point.

DOC GIBBS:
I refuse to believe there are no other options. There’s always another way.

JOE STODDARD:
You thinking we should follow him and do something?

DOC GIBBS:
I will. Joe, I need you to go back to the town and help my family escape. Down the road from my house should be a car. From there head strait to the center of town. At some point you should find them if they’re still alive. Please, I need you to help them escape, especially if Birkin destroys the damn.

JOE STODDARD:
No problem.

DOC GIBBS:
And tell them not to wait for me. Get out as soon as possible.

JOE STODDARD:
Ok, Doc, and good luck.

DOC GIBBS and JOE STODDARD exit to opposite ends of the stage.

STAGE MANAGER:
It appears that time may be running short for Grover’s Corner’s. Now would be as good a time as any to see what fate awaits George.

Enter GEORGE GIBBS being led in by SIMON STIMPSON and PROFESSOR WILLARD.

SIMON:
Well that turned out to be painless, right George?

GEORGE:
I told you I’d go quietly.

SIMON:
Right well, you would excuse us for not taking you at your word.

WILLARD:
That Crowell boy must still have the weapons.

SIMON:
It is, as always, no issue. If you feel the need to though Willard, join up with Warren and hunt down the remaining. All the people we needed alive are accounted for.

WILLARD:
Delightful.

Exit PROFESSOR WILLARD.

GEORGE:
What is all this for? Why take anyone alive?

SIMON:
It’s nothing I would do, but you and Webb were requested to still be breathing. If not for the fact that you came with company, that request would’ve been ignored entirely.

GEORGE:
Who would request anyone be captured alive? One of your kind?

MR WEBB: (off stage)
Closer than you may think, George.

Enter MR WEBB. He has a distinguishing bite mark on his neck and has clearly just been turned into a zombie.

GEORGE:
Mr Webb, no…I…

MR WEBB:
Oh George, it’s wonderful. I couldn’t have asked for a better ending to all of this.

GEORGE:
What is this Simon? I though you wanted us alive?

SIMON STIMPSON says nothing as he turns and exits.

MR WEBB:
I’ve been told that Willard may be able to bring my Myrtle back. I’m going to go collect the rest of her. Oh, I can’t wait, we’re going to be a family again!

Exit MR WEBB.

GEORGE:
Mr Webb, wait!

GEORGE GIBBS begins to follow until he hears a noise behind him. He turns and stares silently as EMILY enters.

GEORGE:
No…

EMILY:
Hello George.

GEORGE:
You’re the one who wanted me alive, weren’t you?

EMILY:
I didn’t want any harm to come to you. Not until I had a chance to see you.

GEORGE:
You sent that letter. You brought me back here just in time for this outbreak. Why?

EMILY:
It was the only way. They said you’d left. Changed. When I returned, I couldn’t bare the idea of starting over like you did.

GEORGE:
I…I didn’t start over. I just walked away and never really moved on.

EMILY:
It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that we’re together again, and not even death can come between us. Oh George, the others said it would get easier being dead, but they were wrong. I couldn’t let go, I refused to let go.

GEORGE:
It just isn’t the same, Emily.

EMILY:
You living never could appreciate the little things. You don’t really notice them until you’re dead, but when you do, you’d do anything to get it all back.

GEORGE:
Emily, this isn’t right. The dead shouldn’t come back.

EMILY:
Grover’s Corners is ours again, George. We can have it the way it was all that time ago. It’s all I’ve ever wanted since I was taken from you.

GEORGE:
You’ve let this get out of hand, Emily. The others don’t just want to live like it’s 1899 again. They want to go beyond Grover’s Corners.

EMILY:
I didn’t…Yes, well, some of the newer dead didn’t share in my dream. I’ve managed to keep them contained to this point. Hopefully long enough for Birkin to think of something.

GEORGE:
What do you mean?

EMILY:
He always said he’d think of something if it got out of hand…

GEORGE:
A way of containing this?

EMILY:
It can’t be contained. Only destroyed.

GEORGE:
So now what?

EMILY:
I’m not sure, but I just wanted to see you just once before I was taken away again. Maybe convince you to join me.

GEORGE:
I don’t want to be one of those things.

EMILY:
I wont force you. My father chose to turn, but I’d never force anyone.

GEORGE:
How is this Birkin destroying the zombies?

EMILY:
I don’t know, but all I can do is give him time.

GEORGE:
Then what can we do right now?

EMILY:
Honestly? After all this time? I really would like to…just talk.

GEORGE:
(pauses) …I’d like that too.

STAGE MANAGER:
Time is running out for all our friends. Time to reveal the fate of Rebecca and Crowell.

GEORGE GIBBS and EMILY retreat to the back of the stage where the lights over them dim. Enter JOE CROWELL and REBECCA GIBBS.

JOE:
C’Mon! I cleared them out but more are coming and George didn’t leave me much ammo.

REBECCA:
I’m filling as fast as I can!

JOE:
How’d you even last this long?

REBECCA:
Mr. Webb distracted them long enough for me to hide at the station. I found an empty gas can but was found before I could fill it.

JOE:
Then you screamed and I came over and saved you. [to audience] Everyone caught up now?

REBECCA:
Almost full.

JOE:
It don’t have to be full.

REBECCA:
I’m not taking chances. It’s not a very big can anyway. Who knows how much George’s car needs.

JOE:
Fords, amirite?

REBECCA:
Ok. Full.

Enter WARREN and more ZOMBIES. JOE CROWELL fires into the approaching horde.

JOE:
Crap. All out.

WARREN:
Such a pity.

JOE:
You realized I hit cleanup on the baseball team right?

WARREN:
What?

JOE CROWELL swings the shotgun like a bat and hits WARREN in the head, breaking his neck. More ZOMBIES approach.

REBECCA:
Gonna try that a hundred more times?

JOE:
Fuck that shit. Let’s go!

REBECCA:
What about George?

JOE:
If he can’t catch up in time, then that’s his problem. Now MOVE!

Exit JOE CROWELL and REBECCA GIBBS tailed by ZOMBIES. Enter BIRKIN and DOC GIBBS. Lights return over GEORGE GIBBS and EMILY. STAGE MANAGER takes position in the center, checks his watch, nods and looks out at the audience.

STAGE MANAGER:
Well, it’s about that time. The final moments of Grover’s Corners. Birkin is up at the dam, ready to blow it and stop the undead from spreading beyond the town, while the catalyst to the outbreak spends what time she can with the man she loves before she has to send him away. Not many people understand the notion that there can never be enough time to spend with the ones we care about most. Whether death is a surprise or an appointment made in advance, no one is ever truly ready to let go. Some handle it differently than others. Some like George never recover from the sudden blow. And Doc Gibbs, even though he knows what must be done, still can’t bring himself to let go.

DOC GIBBS:
Birkin, stop! There has to be another way!

BIRKIN:
And people like you are precisely why things got so out of hand to begin with. You don’t have the guts to do what is necessary.

DOC GIBBS:
We can reach out for help! The government, the guard, other police forces!

BIRKIN:
By time a proper defense is mobilized, it might be too late. This is the only way to prevent a global outbreak.

DOC GIBBS:
People will wonder what happened here. They’ll come and investigate.

BIRKIN:
And they’ll find nothing of the horrors that transpired here.

DOC GIBBS:
What about you? What’s stopping you from trying again somewhere else?

BIRKIN:
There are lessons to learn here. I plan on erasing this mistake, but not forgetting it.

BIRKIN proceeds to arrange a fuse, ignoring DOC GIBBS.

EMILY:
It’s time to go, George.

GEORGE:
I…I don’t want to leave you again.

EMILY:
I’m sorry I was selfish and dragged you into this.

GEORGE:
There’s nothing to feel sorry about.

EMILY:
You’ll die if you stay.

GEORGE:
I died when you died, Emily. I’ll die again if I leave here. It makes no difference what happens. After you died, I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything else. Then you bring me back here, and any sane person would turn and run at the sight of the zombies, but I fought on. I fought on and helped who I could because of you. For the first time since you died I actually gave a shit about the people here. I can’t leave you again. I don’t even know how I would be able to leave anyway.

EMILY:
Then all there is to do now is wait.

GEORGE GIBBS walks over and holds EMILY.

GEORGE:
I love you. That’s why I came back.

EMILY:
I know you do. And it’s why I asked you to.

Lights go out over GEORGE GIBBS and EMILY.

BIRKIN:
So what will you be doing now that you’re free of this town.

DOC GIBBS:
I…I don’t know actually.

BIRKIN:
I could use a doctor like you. Help prevent things like this from every happening again.

DOC GIBBS:
I’m not that kind of doctor.

BIRKIN:
Neither was Willard, but he found his use. You would be infinitely more useful.

DOC GIBBSS:
You need an assistant or a moral compass?

BIRKIN:
A bit of both I guess. I won’t stop trying to solve the dilemmas of life and death, but perhaps you can help keep things…more containable.

DOC GIBBS:
Perhaps.

BIRKIN:
Then before we move on, let us do what needs to be done.

Lights go out on stage. An explosion sounds. The dam is destroyed and Grover’s Corners is wiped out under a tidal wave of water. Exit EMILY, GEORGE GIBBS, DOC GIBBS and Birkin. A single light illuminates the STAGE MANAGER.

STAGE MANAGER:
And thus passes away Grover’s Corners into memory. In a way, the town isn’t truly dead, not while it lives on with its surviving citizens. And there’s always the time capsule, should anyone ever find it, which chronicles the existence of a town in New Hampshire. A small town. A quiet town. Our town.

Enter JOE CROWELL, JOE STODDARD and REBECCA GIBBS.

STAGE MANAGER:
This is the end of Grover’s Corners, but not of the play. We’re now at a gas station, just beyond the Massachusetts border.

JOE STODDARD:
Excuse me, do you work here?

STAGE MANAGER: (as a gas station attendant)
Yes sir. Awfully late for folks to be out, don’t ’cha think? Need me to fill up your car?

JOE:
Yeah and do you have a phone I can use.

STAGE MANAGER:
Broken I’m afraid. You’re gonna have to hit up the next town.

JOE:
That’s alright.

STAGE MANAGER:
You folks alright? You all look a bit worse for wear.

REBECCA:
We’re fine, thank you.

STAGE MANAGER:
Where you folks from, anyway?

REBECCA:
Grover’s Corners.

STAGE MANAGER:
Never heard of it.

JOE:
Yeah, well, it existed.

The STAGE MANAGER proceeds to fill the gas tank and sends everyone on their way. Exit JOE CROWELL, JOE STODDARD and REBECCA.

STAGE MANAGER:
I believe this would be a good enough time to close our play. But what of our surviving heroes you ask? Well suffice to say no zombie managed to escape to infect others. Most were caught by the impromptu flood Birkin set, swept away before they could advance. The remaining were hunted down by Joe Stoddard. Spent his remaining days in the area surrounding the lost town, hunting and making damn sure nothing got infected. A lonely way to go, but a guy like that was married to his hometown, and not everyone can simply let go.

Joe Crowell ended up going his own way in life. Never did find himself a new home he could live with so he joined the army. Ended up fighting in the war. Did a good job, too. Hard to be scared of anything else when you survive the zombie apocalypse. Men around him rallied behind his bravery. He eventually died in the war though; tried cooking a grenade in the heat of a battle and bam, all that bravery for nothing.

Rebecca Gibbs hung around with Crowell for a while. Popped out a kid for him but it didn’t make it passed two years. After Joe left her, she tried telling others about Grover’s Corners, even tried bringing people to where the town used to be. No one believed her and she ended up in one of those mental facilities for her troubles. She died there. Didn’t matter how much medication and therapy she was given, she knew what she saw, and all it did was drive her mad.

Birkin and Doc Gibbs both managed to get to New York after the fall of Grover’s Corners. From there though, no one ever saw or heard of them again. Word was that Birkin was trying to play God again, but with the Doc with him it was never as serious a threat.

The STAGE MANAGER pulls out his watch to check the time and nods.

At this point most everything is dead at Grover’s Corners. Sure there were survivors from both sides, but nothing to write home about. The remains of Shorty Hawkins crawled into dry land, but he didn’t last long before Joe Stoddard tracked him down and took care of things. You know it’s funny. People, religions and the like strain and strain at the question of whether or not there is life after death. Some seem to think there is with no evidence, others refuse to believe for the very same reasons. It’s all personal I guess, and I doubt you kind folks came here for a philosophical discussion…

The STAGE MANAGER winds his watch.

Hmm…Eleven o’clock in Grover’s Corners, or what would have been Grover’s Corners. You get a good rest now, good night.

Lights dim.

THE END.

Safe Haven - Jules and Ricky pt.2

[...Posted by Ted H]

And alas the final bit from my NaNoWriMo 2011 is up. A little editing here and there has happened for every post but in large part all 50K words are as written.
As for 2012?
I've already decided on what I'm doing for that. Safe Haven is on the back burner since I'm not sure I can churn out another 50K on the fly like last year. Plus that novel required me to keep track of way too much in terms of characters and intertwining plots. Now Ive got 2 jobs (1 full time) and Id rather do something a bit easier. Plus I wanna change things up a bit since the last year has been the Safe Haven show featuring Oblivion.
More on the 2012 NaNoWriMo project as it develops, but rest assured that I still refuse to grow up and will be writing another zombie tale this year, this one a bit less character driven and more zombie focused.

MEANWHILE!

The play is 99.9% done. Our Town 2 Act III will be up NEXT WEEK.
Ive got a couple things Id like to say on that that I'll save for then, but yes, I finally managed to wrap things up. All Ill say now is that I'll never start a project like that again so close to NaNoWriMo again. Seriously, Act 3 would've been up in January if not for me losing all my focus in November.

So yeah, enjoy the last bit of NaNoWriMo 2011...

--------------------------------------------------------

[Safe Haven - Jules and Ricky pt.2]

Despite being one of the more noted Rogues around, Jules was told to stay behind when Teto and company headed out to find the missing convoy. She had a good feeling that it was because of Tucker and Teto decided to make a choice over which one to take, opting to take the sniper they’ll definitely need over the medic they might not even use.

Jules hated Tucker, who was the reason she rarely had the opportunity to tan. The little punk and his sniper scope had been spying on her nude tanning ever since she started and it wasn’t until after many, many years of doing so did she finally catch wind of what the little perv was doing. Keeping true to her track record of being calm, she sought Tucker out and beat him to within an inch of his life.

With Tucker gone, Jules at least had the chance to do her tanning worry free of any snipers. With the boys (and Cooper) gone though, there was a distinct lack of anything interesting to do. No shipments were going to be needed for a long time, Teto’s little side project in the city was as done as it could get with his current supplies and joyriding on Jordan’s ATV wasn’t as fun if he wasn’t around to chase after her screaming. Life was once again boring.

“Hey sis!” Ricky called out from the base of the coaster, well out of sight but not out of range “Sis, Billy just got back and you’re gonna want to hear this! Get down here!” Jules sighed as she sat up and reached for pants. She really didn’t want to make the effort but Billy had snuck into Safe Haven a couple days ago despite Teto requesting that they stay out of the city for a while.

Pants on, she threw a tight black sleeveless tank top on and laced her boots up. She left the rest of her clothes where they were since she had every intention on returning and picking up where she left off tanning. She made her way down off the roller coaster and found where a bunch of Rogues were gathering. Billy was in the middle of the group, already telling his tale.

“I kid you not,” he said “a fucking uprising broke out in the street. Half our distributed weapons were probably involved but the fuckers made it count.” Rogues listened close and were cheering as Jules made her way through the group. Billy was a bit of a dumbass, the kind of guy who went to college for one year, learned nothing but partied every other day. He had a mean streak in him though, and legend has it he punched out fifteen zombies without getting bitten.

“You won’t even guess the best part,” Billy said as he put his hands up for people to quiet down. The crowd indulged him and requested the reason behind the riot. “All the shit those people go through when it comes to the ResEs and the straw that breaks the camels back is when they started gunning down the women in their strip joint.” Immense laughter erupted in the crowd as everyone started talking loudly again. “You gotta be kidding me!” someone shouted as Billy smiled and shook his head.

“I shit you not,” he said “A few sluts go down and that’s where the line gets drawn.” More questions were shouted out, mostly as to why something like that would happen when the Rogues weren’t present. Jules felt jealous since a full scale uprising would’ve been just what the doctor ordered for her boredom.

“So what happened? Is it still going down?” someone asked and Billy shook his head. “Nah,” he said “Even if we sprinted for it from here the second it started, we would’ve been too late. Over as fast as it started.”

“How many ResEs bit the dust?” another person asked. “A bunch,” Billy responded “Not a whole lot though. Nothing they can’t replace at least and we’re still in the minority in a big way when it comes to overall numbers.”

“I say we go in there now and make some more dead ResEs,” another person spoke out. “I wouldn’t,” Billy said “They have gone on absolute lock down when it comes to patrolling lately. It’s a good thing we’re suppose to be laying low for now.”

The conversation continued to devolve into a back and forth question and answer segment hosted by Billy. Jules had listened to all she cared to hear. A riot broke out in the city when she wasn’t around and was now long over. Time to move on. Right now she was burning daylight and sunny days weren’t plentiful lately, neither were Tucker-free days. She jogged back to the roller coaster, her long black hair swaying behind her as every running step she took made her regret going braless for this short break.

As she reached the coaster, an idea struck, which made her turn back and track down her brother. She still wanted to play some part in knocking out some ResEs, and if she couldn’t jump in with the riot, she might as well let it serve as some inspiration for something else. Her idea was dangerous, but it was also a great plan to cure her boredom.

“Hey, wanna have some real fun?” she asked Ricky as she found him in the back of the group still talking to Billy. He looked at her sideways and shook his head. “You want to do something stupid, I just know it,” he said as Jules ran her hand over his short, curly blond hair. She knew he would agree to come, it would just take some convincing on her part.

Safe Haven - Jules and Ricky pt.1

[...Posted by Ted H]

NaNoWriMo 2011 stuff I wrote will close out the month, then Ill be fresh out.
I'll prolly take a little break right before the 2012 marathon, whichll mean no updates...

---------------------------------------

[Safe Haven - Jules and Ricky pt.1]

Jules laid out on the roller coaster track as the sun finally found its way through to shine. Today was one of those rare days where she didn’t have anything to do and she was able to work on her all over tan. The other Rogues knew better than to bother her since this specific tan required a little privacy, plus her handgun was within reach and she wasn’t afraid to shoot anyone. Being able to shoot anyone anytime you wanted was one of the perks of being the only Rogue who could competently deal with a gunshot wound, as long as it wasn’t her own wound she was treating.

Jules and her twin brother, Ricky, were both children of a rich doctor in San Diego before the apocalypse. They coasted through school on their fathers dime all to fulfill his dream of becoming successful doctors as well. They were both about six months into their hospital residency when the zombies attacked. Jules had heard all the other Rogues tell tales of what they were doing when the zombies first attacked, but none of them could hold a candle to the sheer insanity she had to deal with.

Ricky had the day off and Jules was working the tail end of her shift when the first patient was rushed into the ER. She wasn’t too interested in the patient until they died on their way in and resurrected on their way to the morgue. A flood of panicked, infected people rushed the hospital and Ricky was calling her up suddenly, urging her to run, telling her that the dead were attacking the living.

Within 24 hours, Jules and Ricky had abandoned the city and were among the first people into Safe Haven at their fathers urging. While he said he’d meet them there, their father never made it himself to Safe Haven. Since beggars couldn’t be choosers, and since both the twins were trained as such, they were allowed to work in the Hub as doctors. Living and working in the only place in the city with running power and heat sat real well for Jules, but life eventually became boring.

Someone comes in injured or shot and she’d patch them up and be sent on their way. Hospital residency was always fun for Jules because of the people around her, but in Safe Haven, her fellow doctors were a bunch of pricks. Then one day a ResE came in with a gunshot wound and was bleeding out fast. Jules worked feverishly to save him but knew it was a losing battle. As he was dying, the ResE couldn’t stop screaming about how a bunch of “Rogues” had done this. Jules wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but she and Ricky started asking questions.

Eventually it came out that those kicked out of Safe Haven were finding a way back inside. The ResEs started calling them Rogues as a way to describe them to each other and the name stuck. Every time an injured ResE came her way with a story involving a Rogue, she listened. The more she heard about the Rogues, the more fascinated she became with them.

One day a ResE got injured out in the field while pursuing a Rogue. The other ResEs there weren’t able to move him without causing him more harm so they had a couple doctors, one of which Jules was, run out into the outskirts to treat the injury. On her way, Jules thought she saw someone watching her from the shadows, but the person quickly disappeared. The more information Jules had gathered about the Rogues, the more she just had to meet one for herself.

She started sneaking out before curfew and hiding out in the outskirts all night when she didn’t have to be on duty as a doctor, just hoping she could meet up with one, but to no avail. The only other person who knew about this was Ricky, who thought it was a dumb idea that would get her killed, but he made no effort to convince her to stop.

Weeks went by with no success and suddenly one night a Rogue was waiting for her in her usual spot. He gave no name and told her they knew she was staking them out. He said they had a request of her and were making sure for the last few weeks that she wasn’t part of any ResE plan. He told her that the Rogues operated out in the wastelands outside the city and they were having trouble getting medical equipment.

All Jules needed to do was smuggle some medical supplies out and the Rogue said they’d do her a favor. Jules told him not to worry about it and to be back the next night for some supplies. The next night, instead of handing off a duffle bag of supplies to the Rogue, Jules instead insisted he’s take her with him out of the city since she doubted the Rogues had anyone with medical expertise. He agreed, but Jules suddenly had a different idea and handed off the bag. She said for the Rogue to come back again for yet another batch of supplies.

The next day Jules told Rickey everything in private and insisted he come with her. He was hesitant at first, but Jules eventually convinced him like she always could. Together, with three times as much medical equipment in tow than what was sent out last night, the twins waited for the Rogue and left with him.

The twins were easily accepted into the Rogues and Jules thus began her new life in the wasteland. She changed her name, wore her hair differently and took a new attitude to the world around her. She was no longer a bored rich girl living out the fantasies of her father and she was no longer a bored doctor living in fear behind giant walls from the threats of the outside world.

The ever present threat of the undead ensured life was never boring for Jules, especially when she constantly ventured out into the wastelands and into Safe Haven. She learned that when the people in charge of Safe Haven noticed the enormous amounts of missing medical equipment in conjunction with the sudden disappearance of two doctors, it didn’t take much mental strain for them to determine what happened.

At one point, Jules decided to up the ante by hunting down all of the ResEs who she ever patched up. She wouldn’t kill them, just shoot them where they were once injured before and make sure they knew who had hurt them. Now the ResEs knew for sure she was not only a Rogue, but actively hunting people down. She would even go as far as to leave clues as to who she would hunt for next, just for how challenging and dangerous it would become. Teto eventually put a stop to it, claiming she was no good to the Rogues dead.

Ricky was the more low key of the two. Anything he usually did was because Jules was doing it and she insisted he’d come along for the ride. He had no interest in being a doctor in the first place but Jules convinced him otherwise. Becoming Rogues was finally the start to Rickey becoming his own person. While Jules still found much excitement in saving the injured and dying, Rickey found more joy in working with the guns. He had handled weapons before the apocalypse, but the abundance of weapons to play with now was too much for him to pass up.

Ricky would enter the city with the other Rogues all the time, but unlike Jules, he never wanted to make more waves than necessary. Still, Jules would convince him to accompany her whenever she ran through Safe Haven on another hunting trip, often helping her if ResEs started shooting back.

Jules had garnered a reputation of being a bit hot headed and perfectly willing to hurt anyone who pissed her off, which also made her one of the more respected Rogues around since she became so good at on the fly doctoring, once actually fixing up someone with a broken leg while surrounded by zombies. She fired her guns, went to setting the broken limb, back to shooting, back to the leg, etc until she was able to help the hurt Rogue up and together they walked to safety.

Safe Haven - Naked Man Has A Name

[...Posted by Ted H]

1...maybe 2 more SH updates comming...

[Safe Haven - Naked Man Has A Name]

Jezus made his way back to the Hub and into the tech area, where anything that required a computer was done. There he found Kendall staring blankly at a computer screen, the same way he was when Jezus left earlier. “Any luck with the gun?” Jezus asked as Kendall blinked and looked away from his screen. “No,” he said “I don’t think anyone here has even heard of a fingerprint, let alone know how to dust for one, so recovering it doesn’t accomplish shit.”

“I don’t care. None of that explains why you’ve been looking at a computer screen. I’ve fucked…twice today. Even if all you’ve done is look at porn, it doesn’t justify nothing.” Kendall rolled his eyes as he held up a piece of paper. “Remember this?” he asked as Jezus shrugged. He wasn’t all that interested. “It’s all the numbers of the men in that whore house when you and the two idiots first charged in after that guy who took the rifle.”

“Oh, you mean naked man,” Jezus said as Kendall rolled his eyes again. “Naked man has a name,” he said as he referenced to the computer screen. “I checked every number on this list and this guy is the only one that looks close enough,” Kendall said as Jezus looked at the profile. When citizens were forced to have numbers branded to their hands, some basic information was also taken down for a profile to store on file. Jezus was now looking at the profile of a “John (No Last Name Provided)” with a picture that looked pretty damn close to what Jezus remembered.

“So Mr. John is our boy?” Jezus asked as Kendall nodded. “Definitely the guy Rotting Cure attempted to run down the other day. I looked up everyone else and know where they’re suppose to be living. We’ll check them out after curfew just to be sure.”

“What about John?”

“John is a ghost right now. Where he used to live was shot up and nobody’s been there since the riot. Best we can do is pass the picture along to RC and let him deal with it. We got the girl to worry about for now anyway.”

“We’ll worry about that tomorrow. I got it covered.”

“I find that shocking and difficult to believe.”

“Yeah well I’m just full of surprises, partner. So get used to it.”

“Whatever. I’m tired. I’ll be in bed until curfew. Wake me when it’s time.”

Kendall got up and left, leaving Jezus alone with the computer. He punched in his own number to see the profile the city had on him. “Jezus Sanchez…” he read off the screen “…Male…Age: 32...Current residence Hub level 10, room 3...Residential Enforcer clearance level: low…Current status: Active.”

Jezus marveled at how bad his photo was when it was taken. He remembered how long he used to keep his hair and the photo was now a permanent reminder of how bad an idea that was. An idea then struck Jezus, who cleared the search field and attempted to find the mystery woman. He entered Female, age 18-40, and residence in or around sector 2, which is where Kendall and Will had originally picked her up. The results hit with 385 relevant results, to which Jezus sighed and walked away from. He didn’t feel like going through 80 images, let alone 300 more, and he figured it was best to let Duke figure it out for him.

Jezus pondered as to what to do now since his partner was unavailable for a while. After weighing his possible options, he decided to head back to Kate and hopefully see if she was still the way he left her earlier.

Safe Haven - The Duke pt.2

[...Posted by Ted H]

Computer trouble on the rise....gonna send this post up just in case...

----------------------------------------------

[Safe Haven - The Duke pt.2]


As Jezus approached, Dmitri stood up with a menacing glare. “Oh I never know the fucking pass code,” Jezus complained. Dmitri folded his arms and did not yield from in front of the door.

The fucking pass code, a phrase that Jezus always knew but could never recall right away. “Klaatu Barada,” Jezus started as a joke but Dmitri didn’t even crack a smile. Jezus sighed and thought for another moment. “Fuck the queen, now I’m king,” Jezus said after a moment but Dmitri didn’t move. “C’mon! That’s the phrase!” Jezus protested, but Dmitri showed no sympathy. “I ought to just fucking kill-” Jezus said before realizing what he forgot.

“Every fucking time,” Jezus said before starting again “Kill the bishop, fuck the queen, kill the king.” Dmitri nodded and finally stepped aside. The inside of the arcade was lit up with hundreds of candles and any light that shone through the patched up boarding job on the front windows. Multiple people were lounging around inside and barely acknowledged Jezus’ presence.

Two overweight men in wrinkled dress shirts approached him. One was named Timmy and the other was named Chris. Jezus never bothered trying to learn who was who since they seemed interchangeable with their shaved heads and the same clueless expression on their face.

“He’s not ready to see you,” one of them said, making Jezus laugh. “I’m here now though, so tough shit,” Jezus said as he walked right by and towards the back. The arcade managers office was closed so Jezus slammed his fist against the door several times. “Go away!” someone inside yelled. “At least I knocked,” Jezus said to himself as turned the handle and threw the door open. He knew it wasn’t locked since he was the one who broke it once before.

Inside the office was the man Jezus was looking for, Duke. Currently Duke was sitting back in a leather chair, pants down, and a nude women going down on him. “Knock knock,” Jezus said as Duke pushed the woman off of him and made himself presentable. “We should talk,” Jezus said as he then looked down at the woman “In private.” Duke led the woman to a far corner and petted her head. The room itself was lit up by two high powered electric lanterns on each side. The energy required to power them was siphoned off from a nearby street light. Jezus knew this, since he was the one who set it up for Duke.

“Don’t worry bout the girl,” Duke said as he walked back over to his chair “She’s so wasted she don’t where she is, let alone what’s being said. We’re practically alone.” Jezus shrugged as he closed the door. Everyone outside in the arcade were either trustworthy or too high to notice anything else, but Jezus preferred his closed door meeting to have an actual closed door. “I trust you have results?” he asked as Duke shook his head. “You know how hard it is to find results when all you gave me was a vague description?” He reached into his desk and pulled out a note pad.

“Here’s the description you gave me,” he said as he referred to the paper “I got my people on the street looking for, and I quote, a short but not too short woman, kinda hot, don’t look like she could take anyone in a fight, brownish or blackish hair that you’re not too sure which cuz it was dark out, brown sweater, skinny jeans though I doubt you even know what skinny jeans are, and a nice ass…You described half the women in this city, how can you expect me to have results by now?”

“You would know her when you see her,” Jezus said as Duke dropped the paper onto the desk. “So you’ve told me before,” he said as he sat down “I have my people looking anyway, the least I could do. But I gotta tell you, it’s not exactly the highest priority on my list.”

“Bull shit, like any other ResEs have more important shit that needs doing.”

“Manson, for example, needs a lead or two in finding some thief.”

“Someone’s stealing?”

“Yeah, but they’re stealing from other citizens so I know you don’t care.”

“My bitch killed a ResE, that should make her rank higher.”

“Sounds isolated to me. Your old partner wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed from what you’ve said of him anyway. My guess is he probably fell on his own gun.”

“No, we made sure foul play was the cause.”

“I bet. Look, a shitty description won’t net you instant results, I’m sorry, at least not while other ResEs have more pertinent and more descriptive instructions.”

“Well the little work your lackeys have managed on my girl, what have you got?”

“Not much if anything. I’ve had them keep an eye out for women that fit your description, then keep track of any that act suspicious.”

“Suspicious? How suspicious are we talking?”

“Anything out of the ordinary really. I leave the discretion up to my people, but it usually ranges anywhere from keeping unusual company to a sporadic routine.”

“Anyone who fit’s the clothing?”

“Jeans and a sweater? Fuck that. This isn’t some cartoon where all the characters wear the same damn thing every day.”

“Anyone bragging about how they killed a ResE recently?”

“Everyone’s bragging about that. Fucking riot may have deluded the pool on that one.”

“Well, any suspicious bitches in general?”

“Maybe. I’ll have my people get some info down for you on who they‘ve noticed. Come back tomorrow and I’ll have something in writing for you to go on. Just don’t get your hopes up.”

“You better keep trying then.”

“Whatever. Yo, this list won’t be free, so you better have proper payment ready.”

“Paid in advance, just in case you woke up this morning and decided to be competent,” Jezus said as he pulled out a rolled up paper bag and tossed it to Duke, who opened it up and became wide eyed a what he saw. “I didn’t even know this could still exist?” he said as he pulled out several bags of white powder.

“Some one is making it out there,” Jezus said “And Rogues are sneaking it in and occasionally some dumb mother fucker gets it seized by us.” Duke smiled as he put the cocaine away and put the bag into his desk. “Any heroine?” he asked as Jezus shook his head. “Not right now. Why? Running low?” he asked as Duke shrugged. “Good for now, but shit isn’t infinite.”

“Get Manson to handle it,” Jezus said as he left. He took another look at all the drugged out patrons in the arcade as he walked through on his way back onto the streets. Duke was defiantly an asset to have in Safe Haven. Not exactly a gang leader, more of a shrewd business man, Duke is viewed as a God by all the drugged out and homeless people of Safe Haven, who play his eyes and ears on the streets. As a result, he is able to broker information to the ResEs for the right price.

The price of doing business with Duke is usually drugs so that he could maintain the addictions of his underlings. ResEs usually kept all the vices of Safe Haven to themselves, but the harder, more addictive drugs were usually left alone. Certain ResEs like Jezus would use them instead as currency to enlist Duke. Not all the ResEs use Duke or even know about him, since him being a powerless citizen in possession of drugs should land him six feet under, but enough ResEs recognize that he can get information from the streets that no ResE could ever hope to get.

Enough ResEs rely on Duke for him to have guaranteed protection for him so long as no drug ever leaves the arcade and no user is ever allowed exit unless sober, that way nothing gets traced back to the arcade and no unwitting ResE ever has need to even know about the arcade.

Duke would give him some leads tomorrow, so Jezus decided to finally return to Kendall and see what he was up to at the moment. Juan’s rifle was finally tracked down by another ResE, who had received help from Duke in fact. Duke sold them information about a citizen who was trying to move a rifle, and before two hours had passed, the rifle was recovered and the man trying to sell the rifle was dead.