07-20-2016, 04:07 PM
(This post was last modified: 07-20-2016, 06:17 PM by Albert Wesker.)
The battered machine didn't even slow his pace as he marched slowly, but resolutely through the doors of the building, and right past the waiting room. His eyes flicked to one side, and then the other, taking stock of the almost miraculously intact state of the place thus far. A bit battered and worn down, as to be expected, but it seemed to be in working order, against all odds.
“See if any of the equipment here still works,” Colonel suggested flatly, shoving open the nearest door as he advanced deeper into the building. “I’m going to go check for anything unpleasant that might’ve laired up here.” The door swung shut behind him, leaving an ominous silence as the stillness of the town, especially after their frantic fight and flight, set in fully once again.
For his part, Colonel finally slowed his pace once he was out of sight, a cascade of sparks arcing over his body. He staggered heavily, hitting a wall with a solid, metallic thunk, as a myriad of minimized error and warning messages overtook his internal heads-up display. Several warnings and readouts of damage to his systems, internal and external. His expression twisting into a scowl, he was forced to look over and acknowledge them.
Complaints about dust and shards of rubble lodged in the jagged tears and punctures in his arm, where the now-dead beast had nearly taken it off.
Warnings about the damage to his arm itself, informing him that it was still within manageable levels and should only impede fine dexterity, but he should see about getting it repaired very soon lest it start to hamper performance more noticeably.
Static flickered across his vision, the plethora of warning messages winking out one by one as he acknowledged and ignored them. No time or resources to worry about repairing damage now. He pushed off the wall and slowly trudged forward again.
The first thing he found of any substance in his exploration of the station was a repository of old recordings the station had put out when it was operational. The computer looked old and worn, and was covered in dust and grime, as was perhaps to be expected, given the surroundings. But after a few moments of fiddling with it, it proved to still work to one extent or other.
With a flicker of energy, the blade of his saber went out, the emitter shifting and twisting around to reveal a second functioning hand, and the soldier navi went to work, scouring the data on the computer for anything of substance. And soon enough he found something that seemed promising. A playlist of recordings and intermissions labeled “Rumors and Warnings”. At least it was plainly named. Curiosity taking a rare initiative and getting the better of him, he set it to play, directing it through the speakers of the building.
”Hey everybody, this is Three Dog, your friendly neighborhood disc jockey. What's a "disc"? Hell if I know, but I'm gonna keep talkin' anyway! And now, a super important Public Service Announcement."
The voice of the apparent DJ of the radio station was already grating on Colonel’s nerves, but he was willing to put up with it in the interest of possibly getting something that might have been useful information out of it all.
”It might not come as any surprise to you all, but our fair little town has been in a rough spot recently. Things deteriorating, weather changing, folks disappearin’. Almost enough to make you give some credit to all the crazies talkin’ about someone up and extracting the entire island. I don’t know one way or the other what’s going on, but it sure as hell makes things tough.”
That certainly did seem par for the course, even with the minimal time and exposure that the machine had had to this island so far. It was just a little unsettling, somehow, to hear about it in such a manner, so upbeat and enthusiastic in the way it was being reported. Usually such a thing would have been noted more seriously, if nothing else. Whoever this Three Dog was, he must have been...something else.
“And on that subject...let me share some advice, straight from ol’ Three Dog, to you. We’re in a tight spot here. Supplies are gettin’ shorter every day, and that crazy plague or whatever it is they found at the hospital is just gettin’ worse and worse, making folks crazy and violent. So you got to keep yourself armed if you’re going anywhere on foot. Especially at night. And...just between you all and me...something helpful I learned the hard way back home. Never forget the importance of periodic weapon maintenance. Rifle, pistol, police baton, I don't care which. If your weapon is falling apart, the only poor asshole it's gonna kill is you. So be smart. Salvage those parts and make repairs whenever you can. Don’t rip off your neighbor for a few bullets or some extra tape, now...but old man Johnson down the street, who got his face torn off last week? Rest his soul, but he isn’t exactly using them supplies he hoarded anymore.”
Grim, some might even say morbid advice, but certainly sound. The dead had no need for their possessions anymore. And given the way that things seemed to be going whenever this broadcast was live, it sounded like such things were grim necessity rather than pointless cruelty and scavenging.
“And before I go for today, one last thing to keep in mind: For all you guys and gals tempted by the thought of headin’ down to the wharf to make a break for it, here's a tip... You see, children, the so-called monsters might just violently and horrifically rip you to shreds. But only if you're lucky... According to most of our reports on the damn things, they actually prefer capturing their victims and hauling them off to God knows where. Consider yourself, officially warned. And for god sakes...stay out of the mines. The workers there holed up and are almost as bad as the so-called ‘monsters’, by now."
"Thanks for listening, chiiill-dren! This is Three Dog, OWWWWWW! And you're listening to Radio Station Karl! We’re just as scared as the rest of you, but we’re still on the air. And we're here... for you."
Colonel just stared at the screen for a long moment, trying to process all of that. This place was a mess, and worse off than he thought. But before he had time to give it much thought, another of the recordings started up, blaring through the station’s internal speakers.
"Men and ladies, boys and girls, prepare to be astounded, bedazzled, and otherwise stupefied! I am Three Dog, your master of ceremonies! And here's... ME, hahaha, with the news!" The cheery, upbeat tone continued to be at stark odds with what the war machine was, by now, expecting to be another grim relaying of information.
"Just a friendly reminder to all you would-be bigots out there: the infected are people too. You see, children, the infected are simply humans just like you and me who've been exposed to an ungodly sickness caused by something we have no idea where it came from, and haven't had the good fortune to die. Sure, they may look like hideous zombies from an old monster flick, but their hearts, their souls, their tears, are all very much human. So please, if you meet one of your poor home town’s infected residents, leave your prejudice at the door an your pistol in its holster.” The recording went silent for a moment, the faint rustling and shuffling of papers the only noise. ”Ah, yes, one important caveat, kiddies. Those poor infected souls that prefer the dark, dank places in the city, like abandoned houses, sewers, only like to come out at night? They ARE basically mindless zombies. So kill as many as you damn well please."
"Zombies...?" Colonel echoed incredulously. He had to resist the urge to dismiss that entirely out of hand. He had had firsthand witness to quite literal zombies already, after all. If whatever was wrong with this island could turn the dead into walking corpses after only a few hours, who knows what else it might have done, even at such a time when it was apparently still new and spreading.
”In other news… There have been more and more sightings of that strange fire and fog over by the Evergreen Mills lumberyard. Got people downright spooked. Keep that in mind the next time you feel like nosing around that neighborhood."
"Remember, children, that sometimes folks will do just about anything to stay alive, and with so many people already left, or barricading themselves up to pray for rescue, shit has gone further south than it’s reasonably possible to go. So when people come a-knockin’, asking for ‘donations’ of supplies, or the ‘monsters’ go prowling at night, there ain't no shame in locking your doors, barricading the windows, and cowering under the nearest bed. When these psychos come to play, they have one thing on their minds: making your life as fucking miserable as humanly possible. Doesn’t really matter which one you get the pleasure of dealing with, they can't be bargained or reasoned with, and there ain't no use surrendering, cause they'll just shoot you or eat you anyway. So run, hide or... fight, if you've got the balls and the guns. But for God's sake, don't go wavin' the white flag. They'll just strangle you with it."
"Until next time, this is Three Dog, OWWWWWWWWW! And you're listening to Radio Station Karl! Bringing you the truth, no matter how bad it hurts."
“....wonderful.” Colonel stated flatly. Now he wanted more than ever to get out of this damn town. The recordings had given him some idea of places that might possibly be of interest, if only as locations to avoid, but more than anything it had driven home that something very, very wrong had happened in this town, and he wanted nothing to do with even the aftermath of it all.
He pushed the chair back, leaving the playlist of recorded messages to continue playing as he strode back toward the waiting room at the entrance to the building. He’d seen enough. Anything lurking here had long since been alerted by all the noise, and it would come to them sooner or later.
"Thrrreeee Dooooggg! That's me, kids. Comin' to you live from my fortified bunker at Radio Station Karl, right smack in the middle of this hellhole whoever's left out there calls home. Ain't life grand?" The voice was still upbeat and jovial enough, but there was something...off about it. Something somehow sad, subdued. Just a little less energy, and a little less...flair in the way this report had started off. It gave Colonel pause, for just a moment, as he lingered in the doorway, listening intently. "What rhymes with shoes? And often gives you the blues? That's right, it's time for the cashews! Okay, that, doesn't really rhyme... How about, news?"
"That's right, ladies and gentlemen of this no longer really all that fair town...Three Dog's got one last bit of news for you all." Last bit of news? That didn't sound good.
"Not too long ago, I reported that a cat had recently left the hospital, somehow or other, even with that quarantine in place. His name was James, good guy. Was working on a cure for this whole thing, headed for some bunker out in the wilderness around here. Turns out, it gets worse, though! I've got a new report here that said James didn't quite make it out as clean as he thought, and the poor guy was infected after all. Not too long after that, though, things started gettin' real bad. Military and police were called in to help keep things under control, but as I'm sure anyone else still around here knows, that didn't go down too well... Makes you wonder what's really happening to this town. Is it really just some kind of plague? Some kind of biological weapon? Some prime out there playin' god? Your guess is as good as mine kiddies." There was a faint clic-clack sound, just barely registered on the recording, and a horrible, muffled coughing noise, accompanied by the squeaking of a chair.
When the DJ continued, his voice was wavering and unsteady. "All I know is that ol' Three Dog ain't staying around to find out. Managed to get myself into a bit of trouble, got infected a while ago... And whether or not there is a cure coming, it's clear enough we ain't making it to get it. So...it's been a hell of a ride, boys and girls..." Seemingly with an effort of will, strength returned to the recorded voice as he finished his last report. "Thanks for listening, chiiill-dren! This is Three Dog, OWWWWWW! And you've been listening to Radio Station Karl!" And with the sound of a gunshot, the recorded message lapsed into silence, announcing its end with a crackle of static a few short seconds later.
Colonel's expression turned grim, turning away from the recording studio. There was nothing left here.
“See if any of the equipment here still works,” Colonel suggested flatly, shoving open the nearest door as he advanced deeper into the building. “I’m going to go check for anything unpleasant that might’ve laired up here.” The door swung shut behind him, leaving an ominous silence as the stillness of the town, especially after their frantic fight and flight, set in fully once again.
For his part, Colonel finally slowed his pace once he was out of sight, a cascade of sparks arcing over his body. He staggered heavily, hitting a wall with a solid, metallic thunk, as a myriad of minimized error and warning messages overtook his internal heads-up display. Several warnings and readouts of damage to his systems, internal and external. His expression twisting into a scowl, he was forced to look over and acknowledge them.
Complaints about dust and shards of rubble lodged in the jagged tears and punctures in his arm, where the now-dead beast had nearly taken it off.
Warnings about the damage to his arm itself, informing him that it was still within manageable levels and should only impede fine dexterity, but he should see about getting it repaired very soon lest it start to hamper performance more noticeably.
Static flickered across his vision, the plethora of warning messages winking out one by one as he acknowledged and ignored them. No time or resources to worry about repairing damage now. He pushed off the wall and slowly trudged forward again.
The first thing he found of any substance in his exploration of the station was a repository of old recordings the station had put out when it was operational. The computer looked old and worn, and was covered in dust and grime, as was perhaps to be expected, given the surroundings. But after a few moments of fiddling with it, it proved to still work to one extent or other.
With a flicker of energy, the blade of his saber went out, the emitter shifting and twisting around to reveal a second functioning hand, and the soldier navi went to work, scouring the data on the computer for anything of substance. And soon enough he found something that seemed promising. A playlist of recordings and intermissions labeled “Rumors and Warnings”. At least it was plainly named. Curiosity taking a rare initiative and getting the better of him, he set it to play, directing it through the speakers of the building.
”Hey everybody, this is Three Dog, your friendly neighborhood disc jockey. What's a "disc"? Hell if I know, but I'm gonna keep talkin' anyway! And now, a super important Public Service Announcement."
The voice of the apparent DJ of the radio station was already grating on Colonel’s nerves, but he was willing to put up with it in the interest of possibly getting something that might have been useful information out of it all.
”It might not come as any surprise to you all, but our fair little town has been in a rough spot recently. Things deteriorating, weather changing, folks disappearin’. Almost enough to make you give some credit to all the crazies talkin’ about someone up and extracting the entire island. I don’t know one way or the other what’s going on, but it sure as hell makes things tough.”
That certainly did seem par for the course, even with the minimal time and exposure that the machine had had to this island so far. It was just a little unsettling, somehow, to hear about it in such a manner, so upbeat and enthusiastic in the way it was being reported. Usually such a thing would have been noted more seriously, if nothing else. Whoever this Three Dog was, he must have been...something else.
“And on that subject...let me share some advice, straight from ol’ Three Dog, to you. We’re in a tight spot here. Supplies are gettin’ shorter every day, and that crazy plague or whatever it is they found at the hospital is just gettin’ worse and worse, making folks crazy and violent. So you got to keep yourself armed if you’re going anywhere on foot. Especially at night. And...just between you all and me...something helpful I learned the hard way back home. Never forget the importance of periodic weapon maintenance. Rifle, pistol, police baton, I don't care which. If your weapon is falling apart, the only poor asshole it's gonna kill is you. So be smart. Salvage those parts and make repairs whenever you can. Don’t rip off your neighbor for a few bullets or some extra tape, now...but old man Johnson down the street, who got his face torn off last week? Rest his soul, but he isn’t exactly using them supplies he hoarded anymore.”
Grim, some might even say morbid advice, but certainly sound. The dead had no need for their possessions anymore. And given the way that things seemed to be going whenever this broadcast was live, it sounded like such things were grim necessity rather than pointless cruelty and scavenging.
“And before I go for today, one last thing to keep in mind: For all you guys and gals tempted by the thought of headin’ down to the wharf to make a break for it, here's a tip... You see, children, the so-called monsters might just violently and horrifically rip you to shreds. But only if you're lucky... According to most of our reports on the damn things, they actually prefer capturing their victims and hauling them off to God knows where. Consider yourself, officially warned. And for god sakes...stay out of the mines. The workers there holed up and are almost as bad as the so-called ‘monsters’, by now."
"Thanks for listening, chiiill-dren! This is Three Dog, OWWWWWW! And you're listening to Radio Station Karl! We’re just as scared as the rest of you, but we’re still on the air. And we're here... for you."
Colonel just stared at the screen for a long moment, trying to process all of that. This place was a mess, and worse off than he thought. But before he had time to give it much thought, another of the recordings started up, blaring through the station’s internal speakers.
"Men and ladies, boys and girls, prepare to be astounded, bedazzled, and otherwise stupefied! I am Three Dog, your master of ceremonies! And here's... ME, hahaha, with the news!" The cheery, upbeat tone continued to be at stark odds with what the war machine was, by now, expecting to be another grim relaying of information.
"Just a friendly reminder to all you would-be bigots out there: the infected are people too. You see, children, the infected are simply humans just like you and me who've been exposed to an ungodly sickness caused by something we have no idea where it came from, and haven't had the good fortune to die. Sure, they may look like hideous zombies from an old monster flick, but their hearts, their souls, their tears, are all very much human. So please, if you meet one of your poor home town’s infected residents, leave your prejudice at the door an your pistol in its holster.” The recording went silent for a moment, the faint rustling and shuffling of papers the only noise. ”Ah, yes, one important caveat, kiddies. Those poor infected souls that prefer the dark, dank places in the city, like abandoned houses, sewers, only like to come out at night? They ARE basically mindless zombies. So kill as many as you damn well please."
"Zombies...?" Colonel echoed incredulously. He had to resist the urge to dismiss that entirely out of hand. He had had firsthand witness to quite literal zombies already, after all. If whatever was wrong with this island could turn the dead into walking corpses after only a few hours, who knows what else it might have done, even at such a time when it was apparently still new and spreading.
”In other news… There have been more and more sightings of that strange fire and fog over by the Evergreen Mills lumberyard. Got people downright spooked. Keep that in mind the next time you feel like nosing around that neighborhood."
"Remember, children, that sometimes folks will do just about anything to stay alive, and with so many people already left, or barricading themselves up to pray for rescue, shit has gone further south than it’s reasonably possible to go. So when people come a-knockin’, asking for ‘donations’ of supplies, or the ‘monsters’ go prowling at night, there ain't no shame in locking your doors, barricading the windows, and cowering under the nearest bed. When these psychos come to play, they have one thing on their minds: making your life as fucking miserable as humanly possible. Doesn’t really matter which one you get the pleasure of dealing with, they can't be bargained or reasoned with, and there ain't no use surrendering, cause they'll just shoot you or eat you anyway. So run, hide or... fight, if you've got the balls and the guns. But for God's sake, don't go wavin' the white flag. They'll just strangle you with it."
"Until next time, this is Three Dog, OWWWWWWWWW! And you're listening to Radio Station Karl! Bringing you the truth, no matter how bad it hurts."
“....wonderful.” Colonel stated flatly. Now he wanted more than ever to get out of this damn town. The recordings had given him some idea of places that might possibly be of interest, if only as locations to avoid, but more than anything it had driven home that something very, very wrong had happened in this town, and he wanted nothing to do with even the aftermath of it all.
He pushed the chair back, leaving the playlist of recorded messages to continue playing as he strode back toward the waiting room at the entrance to the building. He’d seen enough. Anything lurking here had long since been alerted by all the noise, and it would come to them sooner or later.
"Thrrreeee Dooooggg! That's me, kids. Comin' to you live from my fortified bunker at Radio Station Karl, right smack in the middle of this hellhole whoever's left out there calls home. Ain't life grand?" The voice was still upbeat and jovial enough, but there was something...off about it. Something somehow sad, subdued. Just a little less energy, and a little less...flair in the way this report had started off. It gave Colonel pause, for just a moment, as he lingered in the doorway, listening intently. "What rhymes with shoes? And often gives you the blues? That's right, it's time for the cashews! Okay, that, doesn't really rhyme... How about, news?"
"That's right, ladies and gentlemen of this no longer really all that fair town...Three Dog's got one last bit of news for you all." Last bit of news? That didn't sound good.
"Not too long ago, I reported that a cat had recently left the hospital, somehow or other, even with that quarantine in place. His name was James, good guy. Was working on a cure for this whole thing, headed for some bunker out in the wilderness around here. Turns out, it gets worse, though! I've got a new report here that said James didn't quite make it out as clean as he thought, and the poor guy was infected after all. Not too long after that, though, things started gettin' real bad. Military and police were called in to help keep things under control, but as I'm sure anyone else still around here knows, that didn't go down too well... Makes you wonder what's really happening to this town. Is it really just some kind of plague? Some kind of biological weapon? Some prime out there playin' god? Your guess is as good as mine kiddies." There was a faint clic-clack sound, just barely registered on the recording, and a horrible, muffled coughing noise, accompanied by the squeaking of a chair.
When the DJ continued, his voice was wavering and unsteady. "All I know is that ol' Three Dog ain't staying around to find out. Managed to get myself into a bit of trouble, got infected a while ago... And whether or not there is a cure coming, it's clear enough we ain't making it to get it. So...it's been a hell of a ride, boys and girls..." Seemingly with an effort of will, strength returned to the recorded voice as he finished his last report. "Thanks for listening, chiiill-dren! This is Three Dog, OWWWWWW! And you've been listening to Radio Station Karl!" And with the sound of a gunshot, the recorded message lapsed into silence, announcing its end with a crackle of static a few short seconds later.
Colonel's expression turned grim, turning away from the recording studio. There was nothing left here.
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