Vaccinations? CDC Clinic in the mall carpark on Day 0.
Danny from Rico’s went for a shot before the outbreak, did not return.
Emergency personnel not responding. Perhaps they were amongst the first to go under?
Habit is everything…broken routines lead to extreme pack violence.
Crazy metabolism? The infected need to eat every hour or so. Some cannibalism observed.
Power and water intermittent, but still connected.
The teenaged staff performed quite well with no sleep. Things turned ugly when the sliced pickles ran out on day 3. The infected were not convinced that these cheeseburgers were authentic, and swarmed the shop en masse. Gustav had a revolver stashed behind the slushie machine and took out three eaters before they tore him apart
The shop was completely destroyed, and the mob nearly got through the rear entrance before we jammed it shut with a pallet of cooking oil. This was nearly a complete disaster, and we agreed that the rear walkway needs to remain barricaded at all times.
Lasted until day 5. Rico hid several razor blades and broken glass in his baked potatoes, but as his customers typically wandered away to eat their meals he remained undetected. An old man ate his food right at the counter, and his screams of pain coupled with the blood streaming down his chin brought the mob running. Rico vaulted the counter and tried to run for it, but he was brought down outside of Bannon’s Sportsware.
The shop was spared, and with the lights off we were able to carefully remove fresh ingredients. These were divided evenly between the remaining stalls.
Apart from running out of fresh cream for his fettucini carbonara, Lou did remarkably well. He stirred a fatal dose of rat poison into all of his dishes, and put more spices into the sauce to disguise the taste. Ironically this was his undoing, as an infected woman accused him of adding too much salt. He managed to kill her with a skillet but this attracted the attention of the other eaters.
We weren’t able to remove the barricade in time, and we heard them beating him to death against the back door. Shop completely destroyed on day 6.
Mei attempted to inflict severe food poisoning on the infected. She dropped the temperature on all her food-warmers, and switched off the refrigerator on day 2. By day 4 all of her meat had started to turn, and some of the eaters were later observed with intestinal distress, several defecating openly in the atrium.
She came under attack by an infected with the wits to recall where he’d got the food from. He leapt over the counter, naked and covered in his own filth. Mei wriggled through the rear entrance and triggered the barricade (several heavy sacks of rice).
Mei has been helping as a runner, and she is light enough to travel through the air-ducts. We hope that she can help us to search for weapons, food, or an escape route. As the mall seems to be an epicentre for this outbreak, escape is highly unlikely.
Proprietor of Sandwich Kings,
So there I am, holding four to a flush and confident as hell. The werewolf on my left has the best tell in the world; his tail droops when he’s got nothing. The vampire across from me has a mirror behind and to one side of him so I can see every hand. And the mummy on my right is too stupid to live; barely intelligent enough to unlive, if you ask me.
I bet twenty guldens, Dogboy folds, the Count matches my bet then throws in a blood-red jewel, and the mummy slowly topples forward into its plate of nachos. “I take it you’re folding,” I say, and push all my winnings into the pot. To the Count: “I’ll see your Heart of Mongombo.” Then I pull the deed out of my inner pocket. “And raise you Castle von Frankenstein.” I unfold the document and set it reverently in the center of the table.
The inn goes quiet. The squeak of the golem’s rag on already clean glasses stops, and a succubus clutches my right shoulder. They know.
They know there’s only one thing the Count has that’s worth anything to me. His gaze finds mine, and I know he’s trying to exert his vampiric influence, to find out what I’ve got or to force me to fold. Nothing doing; I’m beyond his power.
Then, slowly, he extends a hand toward a shadowed corner without removing his attention from me. A woman glides across the room and enters the circle of his arm. Leaning on him, she too looks across at me in mute challenge. Her all too solid reflection blocks my view of the Count’s cards.
Good, I think. He’s not made her entirely his.
I deal him two cards, and take one for my own hand. I barely glance at them before placing them face down on the table.
He studies the pasteboards. “Pass,” he says.
I have nothing more to bet. He could have had the pot for a gulden, but I know his pride.
He puts the cards down. “Full house,” says his ensorcelled ‘wife’. “Aces over eights.” She reaches for the pot.
“Royal flush,” I say, tipping the cards over.
The werewolf snorts, and everyone in the inn – those that breathe, anyway – exhales at once. I stand, and take my wife’s still-outstretched hand. I pull her to me, pick up the deed to my castle, and shamble to the door.
I fear no retribution. Fear was mislaid when I was made.
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