[ He wakes with a groan, squinting against the light. It's full daylight, which doesn't make any sense, because he'd drawn the curtains -
In his house, where he definitely isn't right now. Instead he's lying on the ground outside of an abandoned gas station, which at least explains why his back is killing him. It doesn't explain anything else, though. Like where the hell he is, or why.
With a groan, he gets to his feet, walking around and trying to get his bearings. When he tries the door of the gas station, it's unlocked, but what's inside makes him doubletake. Rather than the overgrown, abandoned, trashed space he'd expected, it looks almost...new. Clean, intact, and inexplicably well-stocked. He doesn't hesitate to help himself, taking whatever looks potentially useful off the shelves and shoving it into his pockets until he runs out of space. Shit. His pack's gone too, of course, and he scans the store quickly, still unnerved at how it looks, trying to find a replacement.
Unfortunately, there's not a lot of choice. Joel stares grimly for a moment before sighing internally and grabbing the biggest backpack he can find - still comically small on him. Hopefully he'll be able to find his own again before long.
But first, he's gotta figure out where he is and what's going on. A stack of pamphlets on the counter catches his eye; he grabs one and scans it, but rolls his eyes at the contents before reflexively sticking it his new horrible backpack and heading out the door. Time to see what else is out there. ]
cabins
[ The next structures he finds look more like they should - that is, dusty and old and rotting away. Joel pushes open a door carefully, on his guard, but there's no sign of infected, or anyone else.
He pokes through; there's not as much to pick up here as there had been in the gas station, unsurprisingly. But when he opens the fridge, purely on reflex as he goes through every door and cabinet in the kitchen, he stops in his tracks.
It's working. The little light goes on, there's electricity here. And more than that...it's full. There's food, real food, and not just cans and granola bars. Fresh produce. Commercially-packaged milk. A block of cheese wrapped in plastic. This isn't just weird, like the gas station had been. This is impossible.
He reaches out, tentatively, for the milk, as if expecting it to bite him, or crumble to ash at the slightest touch.]
What the hell.
wildcard!
[ Go nuts! He'll be confused and paranoid, but at least he's unarmed for the moment...? ]
Joel Miller | OTA
[ He wakes with a groan, squinting against the light. It's full daylight, which doesn't make any sense, because he'd drawn the curtains -
In his house, where he definitely isn't right now. Instead he's lying on the ground outside of an abandoned gas station, which at least explains why his back is killing him. It doesn't explain anything else, though. Like where the hell he is, or why.
With a groan, he gets to his feet, walking around and trying to get his bearings. When he tries the door of the gas station, it's unlocked, but what's inside makes him doubletake. Rather than the overgrown, abandoned, trashed space he'd expected, it looks almost...new. Clean, intact, and inexplicably well-stocked. He doesn't hesitate to help himself, taking whatever looks potentially useful off the shelves and shoving it into his pockets until he runs out of space. Shit. His pack's gone too, of course, and he scans the store quickly, still unnerved at how it looks, trying to find a replacement.
Unfortunately, there's not a lot of choice. Joel stares grimly for a moment before sighing internally and grabbing the biggest backpack he can find - still comically small on him. Hopefully he'll be able to find his own again before long.
But first, he's gotta figure out where he is and what's going on. A stack of pamphlets on the counter catches his eye; he grabs one and scans it, but rolls his eyes at the contents before reflexively sticking it his new horrible backpack and heading out the door. Time to see what else is out there. ]
cabins
[ The next structures he finds look more like they should - that is, dusty and old and rotting away. Joel pushes open a door carefully, on his guard, but there's no sign of infected, or anyone else.
He pokes through; there's not as much to pick up here as there had been in the gas station, unsurprisingly. But when he opens the fridge, purely on reflex as he goes through every door and cabinet in the kitchen, he stops in his tracks.
It's working. The little light goes on, there's electricity here. And more than that...it's full. There's food, real food, and not just cans and granola bars. Fresh produce. Commercially-packaged milk. A block of cheese wrapped in plastic. This isn't just weird, like the gas station had been. This is impossible.
He reaches out, tentatively, for the milk, as if expecting it to bite him, or crumble to ash at the slightest touch.]
What the hell.
wildcard!
[ Go nuts! He'll be confused and paranoid, but at least he's unarmed for the moment...? ]