Utterly Mad

Jay was sitting on the now-defunct DJ table of the club. It was trying entirely too hard to feel like they were buried in a tomb, the grey, cracked walls were lined with plastic ivy and an enormous skull with spotlights for eyes dangled from the ceiling by a few chains. The floor was covered in empty cans, spent glowsticks, and had an oily sheen from residual hair gel. The entire place smelled more like angst than it did an actual tomb. And he knew what an actual tomb smelled like.

Jay slides off the edge of the booth, disturbing a pile of cheap replica femurs at the base of it. They clattered off the stage noisily, echoing through the silence. He sighs. "I'm not about to starve to death in a hole like this one." he says to the returning silence. "Gotta find a way to not choke to death out there, though."

He moves to one of the private booths of the club, finding a couple of glass-eyed goths lying dead in the seat. Judging by the syringes lying on the table, it seemed they took the easy way out. He reaches over and pulls a strip of cloth wrapped around one of their necks and moves on. Checking in the back room, there were a couple empty gallon jugs labeled 'liquid smoke'. He nabs one of them, and pulls out one of his beer bottles. Using the flat end of his hammer, he hacks off the big half of the jug, removes the cap, and stuffs the cloth in the neck. He pours some beer onto the cloth to help keep the seal, and he now had one of the worst looking makeshift gas masks he'd ever seen.

"Here's to not dying." he mumbles, and finishes off the bottle of beer. He then holds the mask up to his face with his hand, ascends the steps up to the street, and steps out into the ashen landscape. Taking a shallow breath, he trudges along through the empty streets, looking for any signs of life. Or food.

Corbitt sat at his desk quietly, his head in his hands as a bottle of whiskey sat on the desk next to him. The light above his head swayed as the thunderous footsteps of humanity's enemy caused dust to fall onto to Corbitt's head. He had taken refuge in the basement of a high school which luckily had a small shelter from the 60's that had a small generator that still worked. However, the grumbling in his stomach continued as the half biological half machine above him destroyed a wall in its search for him. He leaned back in his seat as he waited for it to pass, as eventually it will pass and he would continue to live for however much longer he had.

(Im not sure how to start my posts, assume i am asleep until i figure out what to post)

(Start with me Peri-kun~)