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| 10 Aug 2015 02:04 PM |
You awaken to the drowsy feeling of a drop of water dripping on your head. You remember nothing, not where you are, not why you are lying in a grassy field, not even your own name. Nothing.
Coming into reality, you can clearly see that there is a coniferous tree planted firmly in the ground just a meter or so from your head, standing a good fifty or so meters tall, green and frilly, like conifers are supposed to be. The water drops again, from the needles of the lowest lying branch. Around the tree are clouds. Lots of clouds. Dense and covering up any glimpse of the sky, with the sun nowhere to be found.
Sitting up, you see the large skeleton of an overturned bus, lying eerily on it's side, with the walls and steel structuring bent and busted out of proportion, and what you can only assume are dead bodies scattered around it, lifeless and bloody, also bruised, as if they fell off a rocky cliff. The bus, mangled as it is, is covered in several raindrops, and now that you think about it, the field is also wet and discolored.
Behind the bus, you see an endless amount of water. Endless and gray, yet crisp and drifting off to the right because of the most miniscule wind. Following the horizon, you see what looks to be the same land mass you are on, curving off, making an isolated cove. On the horizon of the land mass, you can see a yellow, blinking light, sitting on the highest hill, with some other lights below it, either ships or a harbor, you can't quite tell.
You hear thunder in the distance.
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Male.
He is tall, 5'11, and dark-skinned. His hair is short-cropped and black. His eye color is dark brown, often looking black unless one is a foot away from him. His shoulders are broad, and he's barrel-chested. His bones are thick and large, making him look intimidating, but he isn't very muscled. His nose is large and protruding. He has mutton chops with a thick beard that goes all the way to the chin line. No mustache.
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| 10 Aug 2015 02:12 PM |
| The first thing in my mind is how I can get cover from the thunder. Thunder usually means rain, and I don't need to get sick. But first, I need to search my surroundings. I slowly get up, and I make my way over to the bus to examine the bodies of the dead. Maybe one of them will bring back some memories. |
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| 10 Aug 2015 02:21 PM |
Examining the bodies, you can count twenty three, men, women, and children. Most are of Caucasian descent, with three exceptions, which all seem to be of Asian descent.
Most people are wearing clothes that would point to it being sometime in the fall, though, with a considerable amount of what seem to be oak trees scattered in the plains, all of which have their leaves, it could really be any time. Your own clothing, though, is merely a blue t-shirt with black trousers.
A lot of the people have suitcases or handbags lying next to their bodies, with one suit case being snapped open, leaving a large pile of women's clothing, some small canisters of what looks like cosmetics or medicine, along with a plastic bag containing some papers. |
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| 10 Aug 2015 02:29 PM |
There could be war going on, and there was mandatory evacuation, or we were all being hauled off to a prison camp to be executed. It wouldn't make sense though, considering there's women and children among the group. It's odd that the group isn't more diverse in race, although I myself are different.
I walk over to the open suitcase and I examine both the canisters and the bag of papers, without opening it, if possible. |
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| 10 Aug 2015 02:37 PM |
The canisters turn out to be two perfumes and some skin smoothening crème, along with a small tin of mints.
The plastic bag has a document, about five or so pages long, stapled in the top left corner, and a small, red, softcover pamphlet of a thing, with pink, unbleached pages, a metallic, yellow, Cyrillic text on it, along with some sort of emblem. |
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| 10 Aug 2015 03:13 PM |
I open the tin of mints and pop one, then put it in my pocket. Minty. I apply some of the perfume on me, since I don't know if I might attract any animals with my regular, fleshy scent.
Not like I understand Cyrillic text. I carefully put the papers back for now, in case I can get something to carry the papers with me to meet somebody who can. I stand up, and I head to the nearest container and try to open it in search for valuable items. |
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| 10 Aug 2015 03:21 PM |
The closest container, aside from the broken suitcase, is a duffle bag, which you open easily with a zipper, though it's soggy and wet. Inside is a windbreaker, a pair of boots, some socks, and another plastic bag, with an almost identical booklet as the other one, along with a wallet and flip-open cell phone, labeled "NOKIA" in bold, silver letters on the top, accompanied by a charger and key chain.
Next to the bag is a man, who appears to be in his mid forties, maybe older, but definitely not any younger. He dons an unmarked black cap, running shoes, which appear to be your size, an looks to have suffered severe damage to his head. |
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| 10 Aug 2015 03:29 PM |
Jackpot.
I quickly throw on the windbreaker. Even if it doesn't fully fit my body, some protection is better than no protection. A new pair of socks and boots go onto my feet.
I open the wallet and look for an ID. |
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| 11 Aug 2015 07:13 AM |
You throw off your dirty sneakers and wet, soggy socks to don the warmer gear, while also throwing on the windbreaker, which happens to be a bit too big, with the bottom sagging down halfway to your knees, and the sleeves covering up your hands.
The wallet has several credit and rewards cards, a green one, a blue one, a silver one, and a white one. All of them are intact and barely seemed to have been scratched. With that, you also find two permits, a driver's license and a firearms license. His identity, written in capital, English letters, under the Cyrillic text, turns out to be "DMITRY FALKINSKOV". In his wallet you also locate a nail clipper and file. |
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| 11 Aug 2015 03:23 PM |
Dmitry Falkinskov.
I can't bury these dead. I have no tools to do so, but I'll remember them. My name, at least until I remember my actual one, will be Dmitry.
I pocket the wallet for now. Interesting, that he has a license for a firearm. Maybe I missed it when I looked through his stuff? I search through his stuff again, hoping to find some sort of weapon. |
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| 12 Aug 2015 06:45 AM |
You check the bag again, with no luck. Proceeding to his actual body, you can feel the lump of a holstered pistol on his waist, though it happens to be on the left side, rather than the right. Taking out the holster with his belt and all, you quickly identify his weapon to be a Makarov PM with plastic furniture.
Scratch that, it's marked as an "MP-71H" and for .380 ACP. You notice that his belt has one extra magazine to add on to the one that's loaded into the gun. |
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| 12 Aug 2015 12:10 PM |
| Putting the belt on, I bite the mint in my mouth and exhale. The smell of the mint isn't enough to mask the scent of the rotting, which is quite a shame. I holster the pistol. Now, here comes the moment of truth. Taking out the phone, I flip it open in hopes that it would turn on and have at least some sort of signal. |
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| 12 Aug 2015 01:00 PM |
It turns out to work, with about half of its battery and a bunch of contacts, all labeled in Cyrillic text, again. The display is set to the language, too.
The time is 00:34, according to the phone. |
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| 12 Aug 2015 02:50 PM |
| Cyrillic. Why is everything in Cyrillic?! I was so close! Holding back the desire to chuck the phone at a tree, I mess around with it in the hopes that I could change the language to something more readable. |
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| 13 Aug 2015 06:56 AM |
| You go to a section marked with a gear, which was probably settings, then, from a drop-down box of sorts, or at least the closest thing that the phone can support, and switch the phone over to English. |
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| 13 Aug 2015 01:04 PM |
| I smile. Maybe I could call for help or something? How's the phone signal? |
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| 13 Aug 2015 01:11 PM |
| It's at three out of five bars when it comes to reception, and is labeled "Мегафон", despite being on the English setting. |
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| 13 Aug 2015 04:02 PM |
Hah! Yes! I can just taste the safety!
...but, what number am I supposed to call? I stroke my beard in thought, before quickly giving up and angrily chucking the phone at a tree. I stomp around for a while, sometimes shouting for a few moments, looking like a complete turd.
After getting the anger out my system, I sigh and look at the bus. Maybe I can climb it? I try to find a foothold to get on top. |
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| 14 Aug 2015 07:07 AM |
| You climb the axis and fuel tank to get onto what was the wall of the bus. You get a batter view of the water, where you see some islands and an odd triangle-shaped rusty thing, all about three kilometers offshore. |
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| 14 Aug 2015 02:36 PM |
| Not like I could swim there. Probably. What's behind me, on the land? Are there any signs of a road, or path that I could follow? |
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| 15 Aug 2015 08:00 AM |
| Behind you is about 300m of grasslands before it merges into a thick woodland. Behind the tree you woke up by is a narrow, dirt road, which the bus must have been driving along. |
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| 15 Aug 2015 08:18 PM |
I carefully climb down, and take a moment just to look at the dead. Wonder where they go.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I follow the road. |
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| 16 Aug 2015 08:27 AM |
| In the direction of the lights, where the bus is facing, or opposite of them? |
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| 16 Aug 2015 01:49 PM |
| The direction of the lights. I don't know how far the bus managed to get before it was overturned, but the lights give me some hope in getting where the bus was supposed to be. |
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| 17 Aug 2015 07:36 AM |
| After walking for a while, you can hear a low drone, echoing through the empty plains and woods. It doesn't seem to be coming from land, though, more so coming from above or maybe in the water somewhere. |
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