"War of the Worlds": An EPIX channel fanfiction/RP

[AmyRoberts]

"War of the Worlds"

Open to writers who are familiar with
"War of the Worlds"
from Epix.
PM the Hostess first!​

Denver, Colorado:

Constance "Connie" Roberts had grown up joking that if extraterrestrial life was ever to come to Earth, she hoped it would happen in her lifetime. She'd never imagined that it would actually happen, though.

It was three days ago that the people of Earth had finally learned that they weren't alone in the universe. Astrophysicists working at a radio telescope array in the French Alps had discovered an alien signal coming from deep space.

It had at first been thought that the signal was an attempt to communicate with the people of Earth. It wasn't. By the time the Humans studying it realized that the signal was actually a scan of Earth -- the first step of an invasion -- it was simply too late to do anything to save the majority of the Human Race.

The signal or scan was followed by the arrival of thousands, even tens of thousands of objects crashing into the surface of Earth. The general public -- which was only peripherally informed of what was happening -- didn't know the objects were coming until they began striking the ground all about and within the largest of cities and towns. Most people initially thought the objects were meteors.

But the militaries of the world -- which had been tracking the objects for most of their day of arrival -- knew they weren't natural but were instead alien made. The objects both slowed in speed on their approach to the planet and then changed their courses, with the majority of them aimed at the largest of Earth's metropolitan areas.

Once they were on the ground, the objects were found to be perfectly spherical, two meter diameter metallic balls. They emitted a magnetic field that was anything but natural, and testing over the subsequent hours proved them to be made of 4 previously unidentified elements. Soon, a mysterious wave was detected coming from the balls, too. The spheres and their activity were beyond the knowledge of Earthly scientists.

There was from the very beginning, of course, fear that an alien invasion was underway. And 12 hours after the arrival of the first spheres, the first official warnings of an attack were broadcasted to the general public via -- what else -- Twitter. Dozens, hundreds, thousands, and then tens of thousands of Facebook and other social media platforms shared the message; the mainstream media caught the story and began reporting it.

A neuroscientist in London had found that the alien Wave was similar in effect to a series of experiments one of his colleagues had been performing, an experiment that caused catastrophic and deadly results in the brains of his primate test subjects.

The conclusion seemed obvious: the Alien Waves were designed to disrupt -- even cease -- the proper operation of brains ... of Human brains. The neuroscientist sent a warming to his son, a member of the British government, who himself sent out a Tweet of warning to the world: Hide!

All across the world, people who understood the details of subsequent warning messages scrambled to find a place to hide: underground, inside thick metal buildings or containers, underwater, anywhere that the Alien Waves might not reach them.

Few actually succeeded. No one was counting survivors, of course, but one day if anyone did, they might learn that less than 1% of the world's population made it to save, effective shelter.

One 26 year old in Colorado did. When she finally emerged cautiously from the old mine on her family's property outside of Denver, Connie gripped the butt of her treasured, antique Colt .45 in a trembling hand. She told the ranch's four permanent work hands to get to their families and -- if necessary -- bring them back here to the ranch's only presumed place of safety.

Only one had made it, though, Javier, who'd been fortunate in reaching and returning with his wife Maria and their three young children, Joseph, Julia, and Emilia. When the 5 of them exited the hole in the Earth, they found 8 others -- two ranch hands and their respective family members -- laying about the property between where they'd parked their cars at the bottom of the hill and the mine's entrance. They were, of course, dead. Connie hurried to them, checking them; each's eyes were wide open as they laid where they fell as their brain's simply shut off.

Connie looked about for her parents, John and Carla Roberts. They'd gone to town after the warning, thinking they would have time to both purchase end of the world supplies and get back with them. They hadn't. They were no where to be seen, unlike the hands who had died attempting to reach the mine.

Her two older brothers, William and James, were missing as well, but that wasn't a surprise. Both had been down south in Texas, buying new stock animals for the ranch. Cell service had ceased or been overwhelmed between the warning of the attack and the arrival of it, so Connie didn't know whether the brothers had gotten to safety or not.

She suddenly realized that -- with the exception of Javier, who of course wasn't family -- she was alone for the first time in her life. Even when she'd been away at University, Connie hadn't truly been alone. She'd been less than an hour from home and continued to see her family almost weekly, sometimes even more often than that as they would sometimes meet halfway between home and school for dinner or just a talk over Dunkin' Donuts coffee and hot chocolate.

"We need to take care of our friends, Javier," she told the hand. "We need to show them respect."

It had been just after 10am here in Colorado when the attack occurred; now, at almost 6pm -- and without the use of the heavy equipment which wouldn't start -- they began the laborious process of hand digging a mass grave for the 8 who had tried to reach safety but didn't. When they finished, both Connie and Javier spoke over the six headstones made of 1x6 inch boards that the pair cut and wrote names upon.

When they finished, they checked the various vehicles for operation and found that only the oldest of them -- a restored 1969 Ford pickup truck -- would start. Javier left his family behind with Connie as he went out to look for her parents and members of his extended family. As he was leaving, neither Connie nor Javier's wife, Julia, would know that they'd never see the man again.

"Let's get some food in us, shall we?" Connie asked Javier's children with a feigned tone of uplifting joy. They found the power out and -- presuming it would never return -- ate a good portion of what was inside the fridge. The freezer was raided of ice cream, and the two adult women mapped out a plan to use the propane barbeque and wood chip smoker to cook and dry the meat before it went bad.

"We'll be fine, Maria, trust me," Connie reassured the other, slightly older woman. "We have food, we have water, we have shelter, and we have fire. And we have guns if we need them, which -- hopefully -- we won't."

Connie hadn't been much of a movie goer so she hadn't seen many of the dizzying array of end-of-the-world horror movies or series. But she'd liked to read, and now she wished she hadn't read all those scary stories about how desperate and violent survivors became after tragic, worldwide events like what was now unfolding in real.

All they could do now was wait and see what came next.

 

[AmyRoberts]

In downtown Denver, Kimberly "Kimmie" Peters was far less calm and collected about what was happening than was Connie Roberts a few dozen miles away to the northwest. The barely 18 year old had just recently been kicked out of her mother and step-father's apartment after being caught getting high and getting fucked on the couch while her 6 month old brother was crying in his crib in the very same room.

She'd thought her same aged boyfriend would take her in, but his 6 roommates had nixed that idea of having yet another body living in their 2 bedroom apartment, even if she did look as good as Kimmie did. One had offered to share his bed with her -- which of course meant sleeping with him in that way -- but both Kimmie and her boyfriend had decided not to go that way.

She'd ended up bouncing between the homes and apartments of friends, acquaintances, and strangers, often opening her mouth or thighs in exchange. She'd begged her mother to take her back, but when her step-father agreed to her return on the condition that she began servicing him like she was half the guys in Denver, Kimmie instead found an abandoned building popular with junkies and other runaways and made a home in the bathroom of an 11th floor apartment.

It was here at her new home that she heard the news of the upcoming attack and the warning to get to safety underground. Most of her fellow squatters were too high or too apathetic about life and the world to respond, but Kimmie -- who hadn't yet totally given up -- headed quickly for the building's bomb shelter. It was a nasty affair: mold and mildew from water damage, combined with a buildup of trash and waste, some of it rotting biological matter.

But Kimmie ignored the tragic situation and hid in a corner, as did three others. Only after an unknown number of hours did she venture upwards again, and no sooner had she reach the abandoned building's main floor then she wanted to go back down into the darkness and dampness again.

The lobby was littered with the bodies of her fellow squatters. Beyond the window panes -- empty of glass, of course -- dozens, possibly hundreds of dead littered the street. The aliens did this, she thought to herself. They killed'em all. All of us. We're gone, we're doomed.

The downtown area was eerily quiet, like she'd never seen it before. Even in the dark of night, there had always been the sound of light traffic, distant music, overhead airplanes, and laughing or arguing or fucking people. Now, however, there was literally nothing.

 

[AmyRoberts]

Major Madeline "Maddy" Cooper had been getting updates on the alien threat constantly since the first indication that Human's were no longer alone in the universe. Her Company was a specialist unit with a classified mission: for the past two decades -- long before Maddy had joined it and ultimately rose to command it -- the Company had been tasked with protecting an underground bunker hidden in the Rockies just west of Denver, Colorado.

The bunker -- what they informally called The Hole -- was a place to which important people were to flee in the case of a foreign attack, be it nuclear, biological, or even conventional. No one had ever imagined -- though, it had been joked -- that the Hole would be used in the case of an alien attack or invasion.

Maddy understood the reasons behind the Hole and the reasons behind protecting it. What she didn't approve of, though, was the list of names permitted to occupy it in the case of a need. It included all the top US politicians and military leaders, of course, just in case any of them were in the Denver area at the time that need arose: the President, the Vice President, the Chiefs of Staff, yadda yadda. Maddy had never expected them to come here, of course, though, President Obama had once secretly toured the facility during a stopover in Denver for his reelection campaign. Again, that was before Maddy's time at the Hole.

No, the list of people that irked the Major were all civilians, rich fucks she called them, who had somehow bought their way into the Hole through their political connections. They included billionaires from tech, real estate, high finance, and more; there was a man who'd given millions to Republic candidates and women who'd given equally outrageous amounts to Democrats.

There was a man who Maddy had never heard of and -- after an exhaustive search through every available data base, be them military or civilian -- still couldn't identify beyond his name, Harry Hamilton, which Maddy suspected was not his real name.

In the end, this Harry guy and a handful of the dozens of other named potential occupants reached the Hole. There were 20 official guests, which was a very low number as the Hole had been designed to sustain up to 100 people for as long as 3 years. These people included 8 Permissibles -- half politicians, half other civilians -- and their respective family members.

Only 20 of Maddy's 102 subordinates reached the Hole in time. Some had been on duty at the time; others had come here hoping to be saved from whatever was about to happen. Each of them had been allowed to bring with them up to 3 family members. Some came alone, while others arrived with far more people than allowed. Maddy didn't hesitate to let them in.

In fact, despite the Hole's supposedly Top Secret designation, another 30 civilians and otherwise-assigned military members with no official connection to the location arrived at the gate at the bottom of the hill. Maddy had responded personally to the mayhem taking place down there and had been about to turn them all away when tragedy struck: one of her troops shot dead a civilian who began waving a gun about.

Calm was restored, for the most part, and after she had everyone searched and stripped of weapons, she allowed them up the hill to the Hole. Once the big, heavy, steel doors were closed, Maddy ordered her Sergeant to do a head count: 90 men, women and children.

Once everyone was assigned a berth and restricted to their Section until further notice, Maddy returned to Command Central to monitor what was happening out in the world. That turned out to be easier said than done with they lost all of the cameras and all electronic connections to the outside world. They were on their own until Maddy decided to open the doors again, and she had no intentions to do that anytime in the near future.

 

[KyleReevis]

(Ha ha, I failed to notice that you had already posted for your army officer.)

Staff Sergeant Connor O'Riley was conflicted about what was happening in the world. First, it might very well be the end of the world. At least that was what his superiors were suggesting by having them assemble what they called the Permissibles and their families in the bunker called The Hole. This, of course, was a bad thing.

But second, he was stuck in The Hole with "Major Maddy" Cooper, and that wasn't bad at all. She was without a doubt the sexiest army officer he'd ever served under. No, she was the sexiest army officer he'd ever known. No! She was the fucking sexiest woman he'd ever known, period!

Of course, she was a Major and he was a lowly Staff Sergeant. Officer versus NCO, con-commissioned officer. There wasn't anything gonna happen between the two of them, even with the end of the frickin' world. But he could still dream. Maybe if he was the last man on Earth!

"I have everyone assigned a bunk, Major," Connor reported to her after about an hour of herding mostly civilians about The Hole's various berthing rooms.

He looked to his clip board and listed the names and in some cases background descriptions of the Permissibles. There was a Congressman, a State Senator, a couple of politically connected billionaires, a famous though recently retired network anchorman who'd once been a Vice Presidential nominee, and others.

Connor didn't list the names of these folks' family members, but he did list the number of such people for each Permissible. He went on to speak of the number of Others they'd collected at the gate. Then he listed by name and rank the Company's members who'd made it. He also spoke of the total of friends and family who'd come with them.

Then he looked to Maddy with just a hint of a pleased smile. "They're applauding you down in the berthing area, Major."

When she looked to him for some sort of clarification, Connor said, "For letting in the Strays. That's what the Company's calling them already, Strays. I know it was against policy, and I know that if the shit doesn't--"

He stopped, got more serious, and continued, "I mean, Ma'am, if things don't go all to pieces like some are saying it will and we all go back to normal-normal, I know that it might cost you some. But I want you to know that we all support you, the whole Company. You did a good thing, letting those people inside. Whatever else happens, remember that."

He waited for her response, then took any further orders she had for him, saluted -- the Army did that indoors -- turned, and returned to his work. Later, if he got a chance for some privacy, he'd pull out his cock and stroke it to images of her sitting over his groin, like he had dozens of times since she took over command of The Hole.

But right now, he had work to do.

<><><><><><><>​

Note: I don't have a uniformed picture of a Staff Sergeant for Connor, but I'll look for one.

For now, imagine he looks something like this: pic link

26 years old, 5'10", 175, very fit.

 

[AmyRoberts]

Maddy had always been impressed by the service of her Staff Sergeant, Connor O'Riley; he was very professional, very organized, very intuitive to her needs, and -- not a negative to her in most cases -- very anal about making sure things were done right.

Connor -- she never called him Cori, the nickname some of the others had given him, along with Red -- was also something that Maddy didn't acknowledge to others: fucking cute as a puppy. She'd gone out to watch the other members of the Company play ball games and Ultimate Frisbee in the field near the Hole's entrance that was maintained for that purpose, and caught sight of Connor after he'd shed his shirt in the hot August heat.

His torso and legs revealed the dedication he had to his fitness, and together with that sweet face, Maddy would never have guessed that he was the same age as she was, 26 years old. As she watched him participating with obvious athletic ability, she found herself momentarily wishing that either she wasn't an officer or he was one.

But it had been a brief fantasy. She had responsibilities and command position over Connor, and he wasn't suddenly going to be commissioned to be the same rank as her, allowing a relationship, be it for a night or for a lifetime.

"I have everyone assigned a bunk, Major," he reported to her, adding the details he felt she needed. He often gave Maddy more than was necessary, but she never corrected him for it. Then he added, "They're applauding you down in the berthing area, Major."

She chuckled. "Applauding? For what?"

"For letting in the Strays," he told her, adding, "That's what the Company's calling them already, Strays."

She'd heard those found at the gate referred to that once earlier, and she chastised him softly, "How about we refer to them as, I dunno, unexpected guests or something."

"I know it was against policy, and I know that if the shit doesn't--"

He stopped, but she quickly added what he'd been about to say, "Hit the fan? Yeah, I know."

He spoke more on it, finishing, "You did a good thing, letting those people inside. Whatever else happens, remember that."

Maddy studied the Staff Sergeant a moment, then simply said, "Thank you, Connor. You're dismissed, unless there's more."

There wasn't, but before he left she asked, "Could you do me a personal favor and hide away some of the Ugandan morning mix. You know it's my favorite."

He confirmed her order to stuff away some of her favorite coffee beans and departed. She looked over the Tablet with the occupant information Connor had organized for her, paying close attention to the occupations and skills listed for the adults. Without her entire staff, they were going to need to replace some of the missing men and women's skills with civilians and other Strays.

Maddy looked up at the still open office door, as if still able to see Connor standing there; in her mind's eye, she saw him standing there in only his exercise shorts and running shoes. She chuckled to herself, dismissing the lustful thoughts she'd had that day and this day, too. You'll never be with him, you can't, so forget about it.

She was so wrong, but Maddy couldn't know that now, of course.

 

[KyleReevis]

Downtown Denver:

Gregory Washington had initially believed that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time when the whole alien attack thing began. It was his day off from Saint Joseph Hospital where he was an emergency room nurse, and like on so many of such days, he'd been spending it making house calls to the homeless and other less fortunates living in downtown squats.

He'd known all about the alien thing that was happening from the start, and he'd paid close attention to it through both the news and social media. Of course, there was no way of knowing whether the government and military knew the whole story, and even if they did, were they going to share it all with the general public?

Despite the rumors that an attack was imminent, he came downtown to the squats like he often did anyway, and now that the attack had happened and he'd had a chance to think about it, he knew he was right where he needed to be.

He and three others had run for the abandoned building's basement when a last Tweet said the attack was just minutes away. One of the survivors with him was a young woman he was familiar with, and addict and prostitute named Kimmie. She was the first to begin the slow, careful climb back to the lobby level of the building.

Gregory fell right in behind her, not knowing at all what they would find.

Everyone was dead.

As far as the eye could see, people littered the sidewalks and streets or slumped over in automobiles. Gregory checked a few of them for signs of life, finding no pulses, let alone breathing people. They all had an eerie look to them. There eyes were open, nearly all of them. They had a variety of expressions on their faces but the chief one was surprise or fright. It was like they'd seen a ghost, then simply died.

Gregory couldn't know yet that that was essentially what had happened. Many of the dead saw other frightened people around them and got frightened themselves. And then their brains simply turned off. Like someone had flipped a universal cranial switch.

"We shouldn't stay out here," he told Kimmie. The other two survivors had followed them up to the streets. One took off running, maybe for home and family? The other simply stood there with them in silence, scanning the death and destruction around them. Gregory stepped out before Kimmie to ensure he had her attention, then said more firmly, "We shouldn't stay out here. Kimmie, right? We should get to the hospital. It's just a handful of blocks that way, on 19th Avenue. I work there. Maybe there are others there, survivors. They have a bomb and storm shelter."

He waited for the young woman's response.

 

[AmyRoberts]

Downtown Denver:

"We shouldn't stay out here."

Kimmie Peters barely registered the suggestion from Gregory Washington that they find shelter and get off the streets. She was continuing to simple wander slowly, taking in the sight of body after body simply collapsed on the streets.

How could this happen? How could so many people -- all of the people, really -- simply drop dead like this? They weren't shot, they weren't blown up; they were simply no longer living. How could the aliens have done this? What was their method.

She finally stopped short when Gregory stepped right in front of her, speaking about the hospital down the street at which he worked. She knew he was a nurse, of course: he'd been coming to the Squat every week, sometimes twice a week, administering antibiotics and distributing non-opioid drugs and food and other things that he got somehow. Did he steal them from the hospital? Did he have a donor? GoFundMe? She didn't know. All she knew was Gregory had once provided her with Plan B after she'd been raped and later got her an appointment at the local Planned Parenthood so she could get an IUD. The last thing 18 year old junkie and whore Kimmie needed was to be pregnant.

"I work there," he continued on about the hospital. "Maybe there are others there, survivors. They have a bomb and storm shelter."

"Sure," Kimmie said softly, "Sure. Okay."

The survivors from the Squat's basement headed off, with Gregory out front and Kimmie in the back; only now did she realize that one of the other guys had run off down the street. The three made it several blocks, weaving in and out of cars that were haphazardly stopped on the road, the sidewalks, even the grassy shoulders and parks; many of them still had the dead inside at the wheels or buckled up in the passenger seats. And there were children, of course.

Suddenly, there was automatic gunfire a couple of blocks away. Kimmie had never liked guns, and she shrieked out in surprise. The rapidly repeating weapon fired again and was followed a moment later by six, more separately fired shots. She couldn't know, of course, that the shootout was taking place between an alien entity and a Human.

She ran off in the direction Gregory had been leading them, desperate for a place to hide. If he caught up with or even passed her, she would continue with him to the hospital or wherever he lead her; if he didn't, she would begin looking for a doorway to safety, desperate to hide.

 

[AmyRoberts]

Nearing midnight:

Major Madeline "Maddy" Cooper had dismissed her Adjutant, Staff Sergeant Connor O'Riley for the evening and was about to dress down for bed when one of the On Duty Guards knocked at her door, entering on her acknowledgment.

"We got a problem, ma'am," he told her with a serious tone.

A minute later, she was standing at the entrance to one of the smaller berthing areas, listening to a now heated argument between a Permissible -- Maddy recognized him as Colorado's Senior Senator -- and one of the Strays. The Senator was stating without any modesty at all that his greater importance gave him and his family -- which included only his wife and 1 child -- the right to occupy this particular berthing space.

This room had been designed for a family group of 4-6; it had all the comfort and most of the features of an apartment, including a comfortable living room, a kitchenette, and a full bathroom; and at 800 square feet, it was as large as many of the General Berthing Rooms that included little more than bunk beds and free standing metal lockers and were intended to house up to 30 individuals, whether family or strangers.

The Senator saw the facility's Commanding Officer enter and immediately turned to her, pressing his case; he used the word Strays at least twice during the heated monologue. Maddy listened in silence initially; she knew that her orders included placating to people like the Senator. When the man finally went silent, waiting for her to take his side of the argument and kick out the Strays, she asked him with a straight face, "Where do you want me to put the extra bunks, Senator?"

He stared at her for a moment before asking, "What bunks?"

"This space is designed for up to 6 people, Senator," she told him. That was true, of course. What she said next wasn't: "You, your wife, and child are 3. Where do you want me to put the bunks for the additional 3 Strays who will be assigned to this room?"

The man's face turned an even deeper red that is already was. In a low growl, he stressed the policy of room assignment as it had been explained to him years earlier. He added, "It was my amendment to the Annual Military Appropriations back in 1992 that made this place possible. And as the man responsible for it ... as the man who made it possible for you to be here, to survive whatever the fuck is going on out there right now ... I demand that you toss these people out of my family's living quarters ... and that no one else be assigned to this space."

Maddy's face didn't turn red like the Senator's did, but she was pretty much as angry as he was right now. After moving up close to him, she told him in barely over a whisper, "If you don't get your face ... outta my face, Senator ... I'm gonna have my Adjutant open the front door and throw you out into whatever it is that's going on out there."

The Senator's eyes opened in surprise at what he saw as a total lack of respect for his presumed authority and position here. He was, in fact, the highest ranking politician inside the Hole, and -- even though it was officially a military run site -- he thought that he should have say over the Major, seeing how since the beginning of the United States of America, the Military had always been answerable to the Civilian Government.

When the man didn't back off, Maddy called out into the Senator's face, "Staff Sergeant O'Riley!"

The Major hadn't had to turn to look at the hallway behind her to know that Connor had arrived; she knew the sound of his boots upon the echoing halls of the Hole well enough to more often than not know not only where he was and how fast he was moving but what kind of a mood or hurry he was in as well.

When he responded, Maddy began, "Sergeant, would you please escort the Senator and his family--"

"Wait!" the politician suddenly cut Maddy off, certain that she was going to follow through on her threat. He looked past her to the Adjutant, then to his left at his wife, who had heard the conversation and now had a panicked expression in her face while she clutched at her 9 year old daughter. In a whisper -- not wanting anyone to hear him surrender -- the Senator responded, "Please don't throw me out."

Then glancing to his wife and fearing she'd heard his limited request, added, "Please don't throw my family outside ... Major."

Maddy stared him down a moment, then -- as if she had been planning this order all along -- she continued, "Sergeant, would you please escort the Senator and his family back to their assigned berthing area ... and make sure that they have all they need to be comfortable."

Finally, the Senator backed out of the Major's face, diverted his eyes from her continuing hard stare, and gestured for his wife to join him as he left. Maddy didn't watch him go. Instead, she was looking at the Stray with whom the politician had been having the argument.

"I can't guarantee that you and yours will remain in this particular berthing assignment," she told him with a smile. Then, before giving him a wink, she added quietly, "But I can guarantee you this: that man will not replace you here."

The Stray nodded affirmation of her promise, and went back to dealing with his friends, family, and new acquaintances -- 12 in all -- who had nearly been settled in when the Senator came a'knockin'.

Maddy returned to her own quarters and looked again at the berthing assignments Connor had arranged. She hadn't noticed earlier on the pattern of emphasis he'd used in ensuring everyone had a place to sleep this first night. In truth, the Senator did have the right to the larger space, despite there only being 3 in his party.

But Maddy couldn't fault her Adjutant for what he'd done. He'd put the group of 12 strays altogether, which made sense as they weren't theoretically authorized to be in the Hole anyway, and keeping them together made sense. Didn't matter to Maddy now, though; all that mattered to her was that she get some sleep so that she could deal with this well in the morning.

Once she was out of her uniform and in her sleeping gear -- a loose fitting sports bra and panties -- she laid down and closed her eyes. But sleep didn't come to her. What did come to her was a vision she'd had in the past but had always told her was something she needed to avoid: the image of her sitting atop her Adjutant's groin as she rocked to and fro, driving the two of the to orgasm.

She finally fell asleep, after putting her Bouncing Bunny vibrator to her clit and driving herself to a badly needed explosion.

 

[DeadManTyping]

Mateo, like most of the world's population, had been following the whole outer space man thing on social media, and the moment he heard that an attack was imminent, he headed directly for the southside safehouse.

He was the founder and head of a group called the Association. The cops like to call them a gang because they partially supported themselves through drug sales. But Mateo saw his 30+ members and 100+ affiliates (people not in the Association but who were sympathetic to and supported their cause) as far more than just another street gang.

The Association's primary focus was on operating an underground railroad for undocumented immigrants, people they termed UnDocs. Mateo had met a lot of very helpful people during the three years he'd spent in Juvie and the 6 years since getting out of Kiddie Prison. He'd put together an organization that was now providing safe passage and safe housing for 200-500 people a year, most of them from Central America but others from the nearer Mexico or even the much more distant North Africa or Middle East.

When he reached the southside safehouse, which he hadn't been to in a couple of weeks, he found he wasn't alone. Another Association member was watching over three newly arrived people, two from El Salvador and one from Guatemala. They'd both been scheduled for transport to the Deep South, but the whole alien thing had made it impossible to move them.

So, they just waited.

(Mateo's profile)

 

[AmyRoberts]

Adriana Cabello had been frightened since coming to the underground shelter. She'd been frightened since leaving from Tucson for Denver in the backend of an appliance delivery truck. Hell, she'd been frightened not just since taking to the road on foot from El Salvador but for the full decade before that, after gang members had killed her father and taken her mother and older sister into sexual slavery. Honestly, she couldn't remember a time in her life when she hadn't been frightened on one thing or another.

"What is your name?" she asked the man from the Association who'd arrived to close the underground safehouse's doors; four or five hours had passed in silence by now. He told her, she introduced herself, and silence once again reigned. She didn't know whether he was simply the quiet type or -- as she'd seen often during her trek north to America -- he simply didn't want to have anything to do with a grubby illegal. Eventually, she risked asking, "What is happening out there?"

She waited to see if he would answer and, once again, silence returned. Though they weren't speaking, Adriana noticed that he was looking at her more often, though, just for short instances. She smiled meekly at him a couple of times, but often he'd already diverted his eyes again. Was he shy? Or was he ashamed to be here with her? Or was it something else?

Adriana had already determined that the three UnDocs spoke no English, and the second Association member was soundly asleep, snoring. She gave a soft little wave to the man named Mateo and -- this time in English, which she'd learned a little bit from Aid Agency members as a little girl -- she asked, "You wish to make love to me?"

She saw the reaction in his face, smiled at it, then sat up from where she was and moved to sit down close to him on the far side of the barely room which was illuminated by a half dozen candles. Adriana stared into Mateo's eyes a moment, then reached a hand out to his thigh. In a whisper -- and without any sense of true desire to partake in what she was offering -- she said, "If you want me..."

Adriana was no stranger to having men take from her what they wanted. She'd been raped as a young teen, then again a few years later; an older man who took care of her family financially for a few years took her as his lover shortly after her 13th birthday; she was passed around between three gang members from age 15 to 17; and on her trek north, she'd either been raped or compensated for her services half a dozen times, including by an Association member in Texas, which was highly against the organizations policies on respectful treatment of their charges.

She finished quietly, "...you can have me."

 

[DeadManTyping]

The Salvadoran woman, Adriana asked Mateo, "What is your name?"

He hesitated a moment, knowing that the Association's policy for the protection of its members and its patrons was to not use names. But, supposedly, this was the end of the world. And presumably, that meant the end of ICE, the end of Border Patrol, and the end of pretty much everything that had anything to do with what he did and why this woman had had to sneak into Colorado in the back of a delivery truck, hidden inside a cardboard box.

"Mateo," he said softly, not wanting to wake the other Association member who might not have approved. He didn't provide her with a surname, not because of the rules but because he had never had a surname that was truly his own. As a boy, in the foster care system, he'd been given surnames for paperwork purposes, but they'd never been his. "You?"

She told him, he smiled politely, and then silence returned to the dimly lit room. He didn't know what to say to her. Not because she was an UnDoc and not even because they didn't know each other. Mateo simply didn't know what to talk about on this day that an alien race just might be wiping out his own Human race up there in the world.

Of course, this could all be a bunch of bullshit, too. He remembered listening to the original War of the Worlds radio broadcast in the Denver library once, learning that the program had begun without any pre-airing promotion and had then been so realistic that many people had actually believed Earth was being invaded by aliens.

Was that happening upstairs now? Were people now laughing at what had been an internet and Twitter hoax? Were they getting back to their lives while he huddled in a corner in a damp, dark basement with people he didn't know?

After a bit, Adriana asked, "What is happening out there?"

Mateo hesitated, then only shrugged. He honestly didn't have an answer, and he certainly didn't want to give one that was wildly off. Extraterrestrials are eating every Human on Earth ... OR maybe everyone's out getting ice cream and chatting about the crazy hoax that sent you and me down here.

The two of them made eye contact a few times, and each time Mateo glanced away. Ironically, considering what he did in his spare time, he was actually a pretty shy person around strangers. It took him some time to warm up to people and even more time to trust them. He didn't expect to know Adriana much longer, of course, so he doubted that they were going to become close, trusting friends.

Then suddenly, she asked, "You wish to make love to me?"

Mateo's eyes opened wide with surprise. Adriana smiled, moved to sit next to him, and reached a hand out, setting it softly on his thigh in a way that caused his cock to instantly begin hardening. In a whisper, she said, "If you want me ... you can have me."

Mateo did want her, of course. She was a beautiful, young woman with flawless features and a mesmerizing smile. But he quickly responded, "No. No!"

This time it was his turn to see the reaction in Adriana's face. He quickly explained, "I mean ... no, you don't have to do that for me. It's my job to -- no, it's my duty, and my pleasure -- to help get you to a safe place, a place where you can find safe housing and a job that will support you and..."

When he realized that he was likely selling a story that was no longer applicable, he went silent for a moment, took her hand, squeezed it gently, then removed it from his thigh.

"I'm sure I would very much enjoy making love to you, Adriana," he said in a whisper, seeing some of the others eying them and wondering whether they spoke English well enough to understand the conversation. He set her hand back in her own lap and finished, "But not here, not now, and not necessary."

Making an assumption that giving herself to men had become a way to get through life, Mateo told Adriana, "You don't have to do that anymore. You're safe now."

 

[KyleReevis]

Saint Joseph's Hospital
Downtown Denver:

Gregory Washington's attention shifted to the direction of the automatic gunfire just as Kimmie Peters' had. When he turned his attention back to Kimmie, she was no longer there. His first thought was that she'd abandoned him, just like one of the other survivors had.

But then he found her running in the direction, and without hesitation he took off after her, with the third in their party just a few steps behind him. He caught up with her and led her through a maze of cars, and bodies.

They got to Saint Josephs to find a dead man laying in the entrance with the automatic sliding doors closing to bump softly against his head before pulling back open again. Gregory moved the corpse out of the doorway, then gestured the other two to follow.

"If there's gonna be anyone left alive, any survivors," he told them, "they'll be in the basement bomb shelter."

He moved slower now, yet again weaving to his left and right to avoid the dead. He began recognizing corpses as people he'd worked with, some of them for years. He even recognized a patient, a heart attack victim who had been released just this morning but who apparently hadn't left the hospital.

"Just in case," he explained when they came across one of the armed security guards and he leaned down to take the man's sidearm. He found two extra clips on the man's belt and pocketed them. To his companions, he said, "We don't know what's going on here, so I'd rather be armed than not."

He was remembering the gunfire out on the street earlier as they continued onward. He'd grown up in a violent, crime ridden neighborhood, and he'd heard his share of shooting, including automatic gunfire. The weapon he'd heard earlier hadn't sounded like any submachine gun or assault rifle he'd ever heard before.

It set him to wondering whether it might have been an alien weapon. But that didn't seem to make any sense because none of the dead they'd seen so far had been killed with firearms. They all looked like they'd simply fallen to the grown dead. Was it a fast acting biological weapon? He doubted it, otherwise they would be dead, too.

He pressed the button for the elevator, and not only did the elevator not move but even the light for it remained dark. He looked around, telling the others something they may have already noticed: "The power's out. Let's take the stairs."

Gregory headed down the hall and turned the corner for the stairs. He gasped and backed up, raising the security guard's pistol, then quickly dropping it to his side again when he recognized the face of a coworker.

 

[AmyRoberts]

(OOC: For Kimmie's image below, you have to picture her looking not so hot: she's living in a squat, eating poorly, falling behind on hygiene, and doing drugs when ever she can find a guy who'll pay her to suck his cock.)


Saint Joseph's Hospital
Downtown Denver:

"Jesus Christ," Vicki Parker snapped when she found herself looking into the deadly end of a gun held by her fellow emergency room worker, Gregory Washington. "What the fuck?"

He lowered the pistol upon seeing it was her. She asked with surprise, "Where'd you get that?"

The two of them -- as with all emergency room medical personnel -- saw way too much damage done by guns to so easily pick up themselves, let alone point one at someone. Her heart had already been beating fast just from coming out of the hospital's basement shelter and seeing all the dead; she didn't need this, too.

Vicki asked Gregory about where he'd been and what he'd seen, then told him she was with about 30 others -- half staff, half patients -- and that coming upstairs, she'd seen pretty much the same he had. She asked if he knew what happened and didn't learn anything more than what she already knew, which was nothing.

"Doctor Taylor, from neurology, you know him," she asked, getting a nod from Gregory. "He thinks it was some sort of brain killer weapon. He didn't actually say brain killer, but you know how he talks. I've been in the Med' profession since I was 18 and I still don't understand half of what he's saying half the time."

Vicki looked to the young woman, Kimmie Peters, who was standing beyond Gregory a couple of steps. She had the look of a drug addict: wide, spacy eyes; pale skin; dirty clothes. Like Greg, Vicki had a soft spot in her heart and her profession for the vulnerable. She strode forth, said hello to the man accompanying them -- he looks homeless but surprisingly not drug addicted -- and then offered out a hand to Kimmie.

"You look like you could use some food and a shower and a change of clothes," the nurse told the addict. "We still got hot water, for now anyway. C'mon. You can trust me."

Kimmie hesitated, then took the other woman's hand. Vicki looked to Gregory and the second man before departing with the teen, "Why don't you head down to the shelter and check in. They're putting together some teams to try to figure out what to do next. Meantime, I'll get our friend here--"

"Kimmie," the Peters girl said softly, clarifying, "My name is Kimmie."

Vicki smiled to her, continuing, "Meantime, I'll get Kimmie here into a shower and some clean clothes from the second hand."

She looked to Kimmie with a wide smile. "You should see the closet of clothes we keep here for people whose clothes were ruined or bloody or whatever and needed something to wear to go home. My God, it's better than my closet at home by far."

The two women headed away to the stairwell, with Vicki gesturing Gregory to follow. They would go their separate directions the next floor down, and an hour later they would appear once again with Kimmie looking like a whole different person.

"We're checking all of the floors for survivors," one of the surviving security guards told Vicki when she asked what she'd missed. The man gently shook his head, indicating that there'd been no luck in that regard.

"Doc Taylor's the most senior staff member, so he's sort of taken charge," another surviving nurse said. "The delivery elevator can be operated manually -- no electric, obviously. It's slower than fuck, but it'll get some equipment we need down here, and the emergency generator -- down here in the basement -- still works, so we're gonna get some equipment down here for the patients who need it."

"Kimmie, you stick with me," Vicki said, wanting to keep an eye on the girl who was beginning to show some signs of withdrawal. "I'll take care of you."

The nurse got an assignment -- she was to gather medications from the pharmacy for those down here that might need them -- and with the security guard escorting her, she dragged Kimmie along with her. At the pharmacy, Vicki sat the other woman in a chair away from the cabinets of drugs -- some of them just what Kimmie could use right about now -- and went to work filling the top tray of a rolling cart.

"What've you been using?" Vicki asked the other girl with a sympathetic tone. "Truthfully. What, how much, how often? When was the last time you used?"

Kimmie was hesitant to admit her drug usage but finally did when Vicki reassured her that she was going to help. The nurse finished with the cart and approached the younger woman. She handed her a small bottle of water and a single pill from a small envelope of pills which Vicki then stuck inside her bra.

"Take this, it'll help," the nurse told the addict. "Every six hours for six days -- assuming we're still alive in six days -- I'll give you another one. You'll kick this easily if you just trust me and do as I say."

Suddenly, Kimmie was sobbing, big tears coming down her face. "All those people. They're all dead. What the fuck's happening?"

Vicki took the other girl's head into her bosom for a comforting hug, telling her, "I don't know, honey, but we're alive and we're gonna stay that way."

They eventually got the cart of drugs and other pharmacy provided items to the stairs, and with some help carried it down three flights of stairs rather than take up space on the slowly moving freight elevator.

"I'm gonna put you to work helping me," Vicki told the teen. "You're gonna play nurse, okay? Like Barbie, only you're not a six inch tall blonde doll who's all legs and boobs."

She laughed and gave Kimmie a clipboard, and they went about the room taking names and looking at medical files if they were available; during the evacuation from upstairs, most of the patients' informational boards had been brought down, but a lot of the most recent information had only been written on dry erase boards near their beds.