Roleplaying > Freeform Roleplaying

Blood, Brains, and Rock and Roll


The music pounded, vibrating bone and shaking the walls of the club. Isolated in a booth, the DJ pushed levers and knobs on a board of electronic equipment as arcane as the control panel of the space shuttle. The lights pulsed and strobed with the music. The light lit up the smoke in the air from the cigarettes and from the random speak that had failed. Above, unheard, the air conditioners labored to cool the building and its thrashing and flailing occupants. The news called the club an obscenity and the police called it a major source of complaints, loud music, drunk driving, violence in the parking lot. All it did was draw more disgruntled young adults to the venue.

"This place is too d**n loud, I don't feel good!" Brittany shouted, her friend looked at her, "You've got wood? Thats not even possible!" She clutched her drink, sprite or something like that and felt her stomach churn. The sweat beaded up on her forehead wasn't from the heat, it was from the fever that had been stalking her since some time the night before. She could feel the music pounding through her, vibrating her heart, shaking her sour stomach and twisting her already tormented guts. She all but dropped the drink as she bashed to the ladies room. There were some shouts as she cut in the line and bolted into a stall that was thankfully being vacated by a tall blonde in a miniskirt. She slammed herself down on the toilet, tears in her eyes.

It was about that time that Brittany died. Her heart failed, a combination of the disease that had infected her, dehydration, and a minor defect in the organ itself. She sat there for almost an hour, the heat of the fever seeping out of her body, leaned against the wall of the tiny stall. Her friend paid no attention, since she was too busy flirting with this cute guy from the Valley. The stalls around her opened and closed, and a few mentioned the horrible smell, but it was a bathroom in the busiest club in town.

One eye slid open. Vision blurry, what had previously Brittany Cofield started looking around. Function was slowly being restored to the semi-rigid limbs. Her toes flexed and curled inside expensive shoes while she started dragging her hands around on the wall of the stall. It took a few minutes before the corpse regained enough coordination to stand. With dull eyes, it looked at the shiny chrome latch on the stall door and clubbed at it. After a few other bathroom patrons hurled a few sex jokes over the wall, it managed to get the door open. The corpse of Brittany staggered out into the bright glare of the bathroom. Its reflection was gruesome, death is always messy and hers had been no different. The girl at the mirror applying more mascara turned around with a look of shock and disgust on her face. Brittany lurched towards her, catching her by the side of the head and then smashing the pale girl's head into the mirror. The glass cracked, and the other girl slumped to the floor, cracking her head on the sink as she fell.

A few hard smacks against the tile floor and her skull was burst open. Brittany, who liked organic tomatoes and complained about the blandness of rice cakes, started pulling bloody hunks of brain out of the dead girl's head, eating them like candy. The next woman into the bathroom screamed at the sight of the blood and murder, panic spread as a few had been hiding in their stalls, hoping that whatever was going on outside by the mirror was just a spat that would be over in a few minutes.

Out in the club, the chaos and panic in the bathroom was completely drowned out by the powerful bassline of the music and the psychotic strobing lights.

"Come on Casey, don't be scared," Luke said, shouting over the music in the club. "Its not like any of these girls are going to bite you," there was a round of laughing as the guys made their way inside. It was packed, as usual, and the pair of cops watching the place seemed more like voyeurs than law enforcement. It didn't matter, nothing mattered. They ordered a round of shots from the bar, followed with a pair of light beers and topshelf LIT.

The lights went black, and a bell started screaming. The din of the patrons suddenly went from a roar to a muted buzz, there was concern. This was odd and unexpected business. Then the lights swirled to life and the the bell died and the music came back on. The bassline modulations were running a new frequency and the beat instead of hammering relentlessly like a machine spun through an almost organic pattern of highs and lows, speeding up and slowing down. Casey found a pretty girl in a pair of tight gold shorts and hella high heel black boots. She said her name was Zee and she totally dug this club. This DJ was somewhere between a genius and a sadist for the way he put his beats together. Casey didn't care about her river of noise praising the composition of the music. He was more interested in the way the lights in the club lit up her cleavage.

They stopped dancing between songs and moved closer to the side of the club. The middle where all the dancing was was too intense for anything other than short shouted comments and a sort of violent thrashing that was dancing. Along the edges, there was more conversation and a bit more action than thrashing. She leaned against the wall, he leaned into her, smelling that smell that was club girl, expensive perfume, the musky scent of sweat, and a hint of her last drink. He kissed her, she pulled on his hair. She went rigid in his arms and pushed him away.

The girl behind him staggered like a drunk, her eyes wide like a terrified rabbit. Blood squirted through her fingers, clutched over her throat. She gurgled and tried to make some sort of sound but she couldn't. She grabbed the front of Casey's shirt as she buckled and went to her knees, he could see tears and terror in her eyes. This wasn't some wanna be vampire prank. If it was, it wasn't funny!

The girl that had been Brittany had gotten out of the bathroom, and the line had scattered, but the music, oh that pounding dubstep madness had kept the vast majority of clubbers from realizing what was going on. She lurched up to a rough looking guy, pausing a second before lunging at him and taking a bloody bite out of his cheek.

Panic infects people in the same fashion that a bacteria infects living organisms. The initial exposure can take a while, as the bacterium spreads slowly at first and then as more and more tissue is infected, the rate of spread accelerates. Panic was now past the point of incubation, having lurked in the women's bathroom for over an hour. Screams and shrieks of terror started to rise to meet the thunderous music, and the chaotic gyrations of dancing were being transmuted to the pushing and shoving of the stampede. But, for the moment the inertia of the club scene held.

T-Ray grinned as the blonde twins danced, taking turns grinding against him, and against each other. Then, he saw the d**nedest thing, some chick bit some fingers off of a snowman, one of those stand and watch white-boys. He blinked, he was flailing around, blood going everywhere. The girl chewed and swallowed while the people around her started freaking out. He felt like freaking out himself, but he had to keep his cool. The girl staggered towards him and his dynamic duo. Blood streamed down her face, covered the front of her Wal-Mart chic outfit. He looked her in the eye and his blood went cold. The music was almost muted, he was barely aware of the way one sister was mocking fellatio on him, while the other flailed like a stripper on meth. He saw evil, something that should not be.

He pulled his gun and fired once. The thing that had been Brittany jerked hard and hit the ground, her skull blown open like a melon. Blood spattered across dozens of people, and the mad stampede was started.

The Action Evening NewsIn local news, the 303 Club was the site of a major disturbance. In a stampede to exit the club, more than fourteen club goers were trampled to death and another sixty were injured. These injuries range from cuts and bruises to more serious injuries such as bites and cuts. Witnesses claim that the cause of the panic was a club goer discharging a firearm in the club. It is believed that the event was gang related and police are looking for Thomas Ray Washington, a young black male with a criminal record.

In other news, Ali Williams has our pet of the week

Suresh fought to get the IV in the man's arm, holding him down with one arm and a knee. The patient, a Mr. Luke O'Connell, had a few nasty bite wounds from a club. It was weird, but not that weird. He'd seen worse from suburban white kids on bad LSD raves. But the man was panicking, crying out something awful and flailing. "Sir, if you can just hold still, I can give you something for the pain," Dr. Varma said loudly and firmly, over the din of the screaming. But the patient just screamed louder and clawed at the doctor's arm.

"God, what's going on back there?" Ann yelled from the driver's seat. She liked Varma, he was young and cute and had nice accent. She kept her eyes on the road, the ambulance careening carefully through the city streets and busy intersections, weaving around traffic when she needed to. Suresh started to reply, but the words turned into a scream. Ann grabbed the mirror to see what was going on. The patient was on Varma now, biting into his arm unrelentingly, breaking an artery and spraying scarlet life. Ann started to slam on the brakes, but before she even slowed the ambulance the vehicle slammed into a Civic trying to beat the light.

Ann woke up again about a minute later. A paramedic from another hospital was cutting her belt as police cruisers with blue lights screeched to a halt in the intersection. She started to look around. "Where's Suresh?" she asked, blood thumping in her ears. The other doc looked confused at her. "The doctor in the back."

The doctor got a grim look on his face. "He looked pretty rough. Lot of blood. They've already got him going to St. John's."

Ann nodded. "And the other guy? O'Connell?"

The doctor blinked. "Hey, just stay calm, okay? I need to check you out."

Ann shook her head as he pulled the stethoscope to his ears. "There was a patient, O'Connell something."

"There wasn't anyone else back there," he said half-listening as he put the instrument to her chest. "You sure you had someone?"

She lay back, the pain of the accident finally setting in. "Yeah. Twenty-something male, white. Bad bite wounds." She closed her eyes. "God, I hope we didn't lose him. Like, lose him lose him. That wouldn't look good..." She quietly faded back into unconsciousness.


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