#shamblesverse

1.

“...those who love you best, an’ are with you to th’ end...”

There’s a person, a living one, singing. I recognize the song, from ages ago, I could sing along, if I wanted to, but I don’t. Why would you do that, I think, you fuckin’ idiot, you’re drawin’ ‘em right towards you.

The dead aren't deaf after all, no matter how easy that pun is. And even with her eyes rotted off, a shambles can still hear, can still know from where the sound is coming. It can still go through the basic thinking process of “the sound my food makes is in that direction, therefore my food is there, too,” even if in its stupid, rotted brain “noise food makes” means “every little fucking sound ever.”

The singing vanishes, which isn’t surprising. These tunnels are rabbit-warrens dug by humans, sprawling under what was a city, once. Sound carries strangely down here, as though Echo were living always a few steps ahead. I don’t speak, down here, unless I have to, or like to think I don't.

A few moments later, the voice is back whoever they are, they can’t be going very far around, just in circles, maybe, which is easy down here. I can’t hear the exact words, here, just vague sound and what almost sounds like “rise again,” before they go quiet.

Great, one of the cuckoos then, probably. Singing an old song as a new hymn to whatever it is they call the shambles. The blessed, I think, or something, I don’t have to remember what they call it to know that they’re stupid.

I’m carrying a softball bat, which is smaller than a baseball bat sure, but it’s still metal, and it still can destroy the only thing that keeps a shambles walking easily. And softball is just the better sport. I just have to make sure not to get overwhelmed, which will be easy enough. I consider seeking out the person who was singing and just whacking them over the head. Smash the skull so they don’t go to shambles, put them out of whatever misery induced stupidity they’re in. Stop them from drawing all the shambles in this little section of corridors to me. Maybe, if they have something on them, get food, or ammo for Laina. Maybe they even have pills on them. That would be nice.

But no, that would mean finding them, and there is a sound to a skull being hit by a bat. It’s a good sound to hear when the thing I’m hitting is only formerly a person but with a real person it’s not worth the risk. And maybe they’re nice, not an idiot, maybe they’re just lost.

Their voice was broken, even though it’s stupid as fuck for them to be singing, their voice was broken. And I know that song they were singing, and maybe it’s desperate hope and not idiot after-made religion.

It turns out I don’t have to worry too much about finding them. I’m making my way through a tunnel with old, long unelectrified tracks running along part of the floor, seeking an almost entirely blocked from the outside world subway station I originally entered the tunnels through. I hear the singing again.

It cuts off suddenly. I hear laughter and a gunshot.

Sound of rotted flesh collapsing on itself. They’re close.

Running footsteps, and the sound of worn rubber soles halting suddenly on metal and concrete floor. “You’re not rotted,” the person says. They’re bleeding, or possibly were bleeding, but they’re definitely not a shambles- could they be a reborn, stuck down here somehow? They’re holding the gun in one hand- some old lesson from forever ago makes me automatically think don’t hold your finger over the trigger, idiot but I don’t know what kind of gun it is specifically. Handgun, obviously, but beyond that, I don’t know. The bullets will probably fits Laina’s.

If they have a gun, then they have ammo. That’s just how this works. Maybe I can get some.

“No,” I reply, and they grin, broad and horrible. They’re wearing a worryingly stained labcoat- there’s a cut to them, I can recognize it even though it’s not white, even though it’s dry-rust-blood colored. They’re wearing a hat.

“Oh, good,” they say, “did you hear me singing?” they ask, and I nod. “You gonna try and hit me over the head with that?” they say, looking at my bat. “I could shoot you if you did, I have four bullets left.”

“It wouldn’t hurt me long,” I say, and their grin widens. “You only have four bullets?”

“I had more, but the shambles come to singers,” they say. So they know how stupid they're being. Maybe they are a cuckoo after all. “I wonder if I’ll ever get enough to come to me that I’ll be overwhelmed, there’ll be some many that I won’t be able to regen under all those mouths,” they say, their smile suddenly wiped.

“You want me to hit you over the head a few times instead? That might just do the job too,” I say. Talking is so stupid, it might just fulfill this crazy’s wish but they’ve been fucking singing, so I don’t know if me staying quiet would make any sort of difference. And I’ve been talking too, without thinking about it, am I so desperate to hear words?

Strange.

They cackle, the smile still gone. “Oh, so you haven’t experimented so much with it, have you?” they say, “You could bash my brains in and I’d be fine and dandy moments later. It takes mouths to kill the reborn.”

“Mouths?” I ask, almost stupid. I know what they mean, but I still ask it and they shift their grip on the gun. They’re now holding it two handed, apparently solely for the purpose of looking down at it contemplatively.

Alan Straka: Age: 23 Gender: Neutral Status: Reborn Bite mark: left shoulder Height: 6′ Eyes: Blue (left), gray (right) Hair: Shaggy, dirty-blonde Other physical traits: Their hands are a little larger than they should be.  Personality: Can be somewhat manic, unknown whether this is legitimate mania or a put-on, a tendency towards situationally inappropriate singing, has basic training on how to use handguns. They don’t use pills, instead just pushing through the pain of regen, and getting good enough at avoiding injury. Roe Moore: Age: 17 Gender: ? Status: Reborn Bite mark: Right wrist. Height: 5′3″ Eyes: Blue (left), brown (right) Hair: short crapped black. Other physical traits: to be added Personality: Nervous, can be paranoid, generally hyper-aware of his surroundings, always convinced a shambles will be coming just around around the corner. Has necessity driven skill with firearms, but is much more proficient with blunt melee weapons. (ie. his softball bat). Definitely pill user. Laina Chekoff: Age: 19 Gender: Female Status: Reborn Bite mark: Back of neck Height: 6′2″ Eyes: Blue (left), green (right) Hair: Short, ginger Other physical traits: Freckles Personality: Very intelligent, as well as very strong, is a former paramedic, is good with dirty fighting (ie. overpowering the other person) has no aversion to being bitten by shambles as she is now completely immune, like any other reborn. Pill user.

Cecelia Murray Age: 52 Gender: Female Status: Free  Bite mark: N/A Height: 4′11″ Eyes: Brown Hair: Black, shaved Other physical traits: Almost completely shaved head Personality: Wicked smart, was a doctor in a former life, one of the longest-around residents of the towns by the draw bridge, keeper of the stash, keeper of rations.