2020, such an imaginitive year.

Jesse

There were so many other survivors, he could hardly believe it. Had they all come to try and find a cure for the virus in the hospital? Well, what else would they have come for? A few he didn't quite trust, there seemed to be something wrong about them. Like the hatchet-bearing man, Claudio. There was a look in his eye that Jesse couldn't quite place, but he didn't like it.

He slid the handle of his baseball bat through a loop in his backpack, securing it for the time being, and wandered over to the food table, making himself a coffee and taking one of the doughnuts, before leaning against the table and surveying the group once more. They seemed, except for those few he hadn't liked the look of, to be mostly trustworthy. People who could help him save his father and sister.

Just as that thought was crossing his mind, though, a woman burst through the door, gun in hand, aiming at everyone in the room. Damn...and I just put it away.

"Alright, which one of you took the injections?" She asked, glaring about. Well, this was just great. Apparently, someone from the group in the hospital had had time to grab injections before they'd been set upon by zombies. And there was someone who seemed to really want them back. Things were looking like they'd be going downhill fast.

Claudio

The accusation of the injection-theft struck him like a hammer, though he managed to keep his reaction from showing on the outside. If they searched his bag, there was a chance they'd find the injections he'd so carefully hidden away. And then, then they'd probably share them out! He couldn't let that happen.

His hand strayed towards his pistol, and then the one in the girl's hand snapped in his direction. "Don't even think about it." She growled.

Claudio moved his hand from his side, tilting his head a little, as if to say that he wouldn't dream of it. But they weren't getting his injections. "How can they have run out at the hospital, though?" He asked, "Aren't they meant to be stocked with heaps? And shouldn't there be a formula or something there?"

Berlin - Survivor

Apart from the weird silence when an infected was revealed, my entrance brought nothing greater. I had considered finding a bed or a room, maybe grabbing a solid meal, but then another survivor -gaining entrance in much the same way as I did- put up a gun, waving it dangerously and demanding to know where her injections were.
I snickered, holding back the full laughter I wanted to express: she'd never get the vials in my backpack. They probably weren't hers anyway: one thief to another. Her gun was no threat to me either, since I'd stopped bullets with my cross-blade before.
I ignored her and slipped from the room silently, grabbing a bagel as I passed the table.

Rachel - Survivor

I stood up slowly from my sofa, raising my arms above my head as I did so. The gun immediately snapped to me.
"It was you!" The woman shouted, moving a little closer and raising up the gun.
I laughed, "jesus, no. Do I look infected to you? I was just going to propose a solution instead of all this gun waving."
She didn't say anything, so I picked up my bag and threw it at her feet.
"There, search it. Put down your gun and search it."
She looked at me warily, knelt down and rummaged through it quickly; when she was done the chucked it back at me. I caught it and set it down.
"See? Surely that would be an easier way to check than going all crazy woman and killing us."
I looked at all the people who were in the room with me.
"So? You guys going to let yourselves be searched? To be honest it seems easier than getting shot. But I'm just saying."

((There's been a lot of controlling of other people's characters. On previous writer's sites, this was a no-no and huge breaking of the laws. On this site -Apparently- this rule is rather lax: explanations?))

Usually I think it's accepted, it moves the story along well. However, if you don't want people to control your character then just say.

It's not so much lax as understood differently - if the actions make sense and are in character, then, as AquaMarine said, it's generally accepted.

Grace Hurley

The rest of the group seemed hesitant to be searched, and all looked at Grace like she was insane. Not exactly the reaction she had hoped for, but now that she thought about it, an inevitable one.

"Look," she said, lowering her gun. "The hospital is stocked full, but I have only one secured section for my research. Someone took injections from my stash. All I want is to have them back. You all are perfectly able to explore the rest of the zombie infested hospital to find your own."

The girl who had let Grace search her bag smirked in satisfaction that she realized waving a gun around wasn't the best idea. Grace had to hold back her own satisfied smile. She quickly figured that this group was less hostile than others she had run into, and a different way of dealing with them was called for.

"I'm Grace, by the way," she said, completely letting the gun down. "Now, can I please have my injections back?"

Berlin - Survivor

Finally, she was getting civilized. I stopped just as I was about to leave the room and considered giving her back the injections...naah.
"So what'll you do if someone took them?" I asked, getting a tighter grip on my cross-blade. "That gun only has so many bullets."
I raised my eyebrows: well?

((Ok, it's alright for you to control my char. If her personality is clear by now, then follow it. if not...oh well))

I hope this is Ok.

*Survivor*

Name: Asha Storme

Age: 17

Weapons: She carries with her a gun, if she has the choice she prefers one-on-one combat as she is a black-belt (10th dan) in karate (highest possible rank).

Appearance: She has pink hair and pale skin. She is very tall (6'1) and is very slim. She dresses in Gothic clothing, and used to self harm - she has a few scars on her wrists.

Insane?: Everyone thinks she insane because she often mumbles codes, everything is always coded - she thinks it's the secret to finding the cure. So, yeah, she is a bit crazy.

History: She was brought up in Australia, living alongside the white sandy beaches, and then what seemed to be one a typical day, her parents died in a car crash, she was only six. Being an only child she had no-one to talk to, and her friends abandoned her. She was put into foster care and moved to America. She started karate - to channel all her bottled up emotions, and use them positively. A year before the zombie attacks she had really bad depression, and started to self-harm. Half a year after, she died her long blonde hair pink. She is very intelligent, got great marks when she was at school, but was most definitely NOT a teachers pet.

Personality: She doesn't give a damn. The only reason she's searching for the cure is for her own reasons. She thinks maybe that if she can bring a zombie back to life, it's almost like bringing back the dead, as she believes she may be able to bring her parents back to life. She's not necessarily mean, but she will definitely not be nice, unless she is treated with respect. She hates being treated like a child

Other: Up for love.

Grace Hurley

What would she do? Grace hadn't thought much about this, at least not what she physically could do. But she did know one thing.

"As far as I know, I'm the only person in the world even close to finding a cure. If I don't get those inejctions back, and die, or die while trying to get my hands on more, then we will all die," she said.

Grace's side of things didn't seem to sink into anyones brains, or they were idiots and it was taking an interestingly long amount of time. Grace sighed and leaned back against a wall. "I can stand here all day, but it's really going to take a toll on my research."

She looked over each person in the room as they remained silent. Grace certainly hoped at least some of them had the intelligence to understand and was probably decided to give back the injections. Most of the people in the group looked okay so far, for someone trying to surive a zombie attack that is, but some looked worse off. A few had obviously been contaminated.

"You," Grace gestured toward one of the people who didn't look so well. "You've been bitten. Wouldn't you want a cure?"

*can be anyone*

**Tis will be Jenna**

Jenna

She walked from the improvised medical room. She had been freshly injected, and her wound had been more securely bandaged. She had returned to the break room to find a bunch of gun waving. She frowned, this girl was insane. She said that this group hadn’t been searching for the cure. She couldn’t let this happen. Then she found herself being held at gun point against the wall.
“Are you stupid?”
This question surprised the girl with the gun. She was quickly angered. She shook her head, unable to think of a reply.
“We’re all looking for the cure, but holding a gun is pointless. And I stole your injections, and you’re not getting them back.”
She took a step forwards, taking the gun from the hands of Grace. She unloaded it, and removed the bullet from the chamber. She frowned. She didn’t like this girl one bit.

Daniel had wandered into the room, he looked like death, and ignored Jenna.
“What’s with the gun?!”
Jenna half smiled, though she had nothing to say. Daniel walked past her, and got himself some coffee. She tossed the gun away, and held up the magazine. She tossed it to Daniel, whom missed it, instead it fell into his coffee cup.

((Um, I stole the injections, also, what's this about tossing a gun and a magazine around? Oh, and Mo. I've seen that pic before on writerscafe.org, what's it from?))

*Asha - Survivor*

The harsh wind chilled my bones as I jumped from the ceiling of a small building to the floor. My gun was in hand as I walked carefully, as too not miss anything. I peered around the corner of the street, nothing but rubbish and debri, the coast was clear. Reloading my gun before I returned it to my waist-belt, I walked along the road, mumbling as I went. The latest code, the last remnants of a Zombie, scratched into it's putrid flesh, three numbers.

Too most they would seem insignificant, most would not notice that just seconds before I killed it, it had gouged through it's own flesh to lay those three numbers. However, I was not most, and these three numbers meant something. Every zombie I have found dead has had three numbers, similar to those I acquired from the most recent kill, but none the same. Like it's own identity branding, it's own reaction too the poison.

These codes ran through my mind, every second, of everyday. Most said I was crazy - well, that was before most were turned. But I know, and I have always known that I am not crazy, and each and every one of these three numbers mean something.

My pink hair flowed behind me as I walked down the deserted road, leaving nothing behind, but remenants of a now extinct life.

**Jenna stole injections too.**