NationStates Jolt Archive

OPEN RP.

Plot:

Grand Central is the largest metropolis in the western Slovakastania. Second only to Tokyo, the city is a hub of world travel, business, and activity.

Soon, it shall become the hub of violence and slaughter, the massive core of a zombie infestation.

No one knows where it started. Scattered news reports said that rural Slovakastanian families were vanishing without a trace, culminating with the total overnight disappearance of Leeper, a backwoods town. There was no known surivors. Three police patrols sent to investigate on June 2nd, 2005 also vanished. A full force of 100 special task force officers and SWAT troopers sent to the area the next day was repelled, with over 80 casualties in the retreat. Most of the survivors were covered in bite marks and spoke of rotting, dead corpses emerging from houses and swarming them.

A National Guard Platoon was completely annihilated on June 3rd, 2006. No known survivors. Three scouting helicopters reported masses of people slowly walking through the woods in a rapidly expanding radius. By June 8th, fully half of the east Slovakastanian backwoods was in a state of emergency. In an address to the nation, Secretary of Defense Anthony T. Bunker stated, "There is an unknown viral agent circulating through the countryside of eastern Slovakastania. CDC agents have been dispatched. Symptoms appear to be somewhat like rabies, except with an enhanced biological rage. There is an additional note we would like to make clear concerning the idea that these infected citizens are literally returning from the dead. This is false. At this time, we have dispatched a full division of Slovakastanian armed forces, including a detachment of Marines, for a full clean sweep of the brush. All citizens are advised to take necessary preventive cautions. No further comments."

Within days, the soldiers were overrun, the guns silent, the odd scream pervading the air. Trenches turned into mass graves. The fleeing personnel were wounded, infected, bleeding, and terrified.

By the end of June, Molokheiya and Hayden (two major cities in the easternmost provinces) were swarming with masses of undead creatures.

It spread like a tidal wave. National Guard units, fully mobilized, were annihilated. Police forces were engaged in battle and quickly devoured. Ground forces were unable to stop the onslaught of the undead. Even armor was useless; swarms of infected were able to pry off hatches.

A nervous Grand Leader's Address announced that the situation was critical but under control. Neighboring states were being evacuated. All would be fine. He was wrong.

The infection began to prop up everywhere, pockets throughout the entire country. China was revealed to have had a massive outbreak that had been suppressed by media intimidation. Africa was a hotbed of death, and Europe was going the same way as America.

Ironically, Australia just sealed its borders and went about normal business.

It is now July 17th. Grand Central is rotting, literally, from the inside out. You are a denizen of this once-fine city. Find your way out, or die, like billions of others.

RULES:

You may have a maximum of three (3) characters. They can be whomever you want; however, they must conform to modern-day society. Please don't do Resident Evil characters- they must be realistic. Also, be warned that being, say, a Delta Force Operative will not make your character superhuman. Zombies outnumber you fifty to one; a puny little assualt rifle won't hold them back.

Zombies can only be killed by severe head damage, though bodily damage can incapacitate them badly.

There is no vaccine or cure to the virus. Your immune system has a very slight chance of recovering, though for the most part, when you are bitten, you are dead. Well... in the sense that you fell down, got up again, and started feasting on human flesh.

Rescue won't come. You may be saved by, say, a military helicopter and flown to a "safe point," but be aware that anywhere you go is under siege.

The wilderness isn't a viable option. When the city is picked clean of humans, the undead will fan out in search of prey.

NO OOC DISCUSSION IN THE THREAD. I may open an OOC thread for confusion.

PM me for character approval.

Have zombierific fun.

Confirmed Military Groups- These are the military groups involved in the conflict- please do not creat your own without asking- Tactical Military Agency, GCPD, GCPD SWAT, Slovakastania Marines, Slovakastania armed forces, Lestana Force, Federal Ministry of Investigation (sorta like the FBI), and security guards. This is just to ensure that no one creates something like "THE UBERMARINES!!!one".

CHARACTERS:

Slovakastania-

Harrison Martile- A surgeon working for GC General, Harrison is arrogant, rude, and an overall jackass. 39 years old, he's still showing gray, but is surprisingly sprite for a man of his age. Quick to temper, Martile is no leader, but he boasts excellent technical and medical skills and is handy with a knife. Following the inital infestation, the hospital was swarmed by dead people from the morgue. He fled.

Jorge Ramirez- The leader of SWAT Squadron B of the Grand Central Special Duty Task Force, he's a 22-year-old, unseasoned rookie who left the police academy with full marks and an instant promotion. His first combat mission is the defense of the Grand Bridge that runs across Molokheiya River with the assistance of 50 riot troopers. It did not go well, and Jorge must flee...

Jennifer Watson- A bitchy Marine soldier who is stationed in Fort Braxton. Her detachment along with several units of regular Army were sent to the Uptown district to combat the infestation and hold back looting. Her squadron was destroyed and she was forced to link up with other survivors from the same Marine detachment and Army soldiers. They're currently moving towards the INGRAM Corporation Building to contact HQ.

Sabakano-

Name: Edward Arkham Age: 38. Info: Before the outbreak, Edward was a quiet man living in the middle class district. He was the owner of a bank in this district, which was quite successfull. However, after the outbreak he went totaly crazy from seeing his neightbors turned into zombies before his very eyes. Now he's stuck in his everyday habits, going to work as susal and going to his favorite resturant when the lunch comes. And he doesn't seem to mind blasting hordes of zombies on his way either....

"Move, move, move!" the Chief screamed as the van opened its back doors, the SWAT troopers hopping out, their rifles ready. "We got a critical situation!"

The barricade of police cars and SWAT vehicles had pulled up against one side of the Molokheiya Grand Bridge. The flashing lights and sirens added a screech of pain to the area. Already, police officers were aiming their pistols towards the shuffling masses already halfway across the bridge. Screams filled the air. A copter flying overhead illuminated the dark swarm momentarily, giving the men a good look at their rotting, half-eaten bodies.

"Hold your fire!" the Chief of Police screamed. "All right... riot troopers, move out!"

Instantly, twenty men in riot gear and helmets leaped out of the barricade and moved slowly down the bridge. Three tear gas grenades covered their approach. It should have worked, a standard riot-control manuever. But the masses of approaching people didn't show any effect other than to speed up slightly at the sight of living flesh.

The troopers dived in face-forward, clubbing, spraying mace, several firing their riot guns.

The men in the barricade gasped as the swarm of zombies literally swarmed over the riot troopers like a tidal wave, and advanced. Screaming could now be heard, as well as muffled gunshots.

Ramirez's squadron took the first position. From their location, they could see the bridge, covered with zombies, and the uptown side of Molokheiya across the bridge, burning to the ground and buzzing with activity and death. That side of town had been given up the previous day.

Two special duty officers hanging by rappel from the middle of the bridge prepared to blow the entire infrastructure. They would have succeeded if not for the fact that several of the infected peered over the railings. A swarm of undead dropped over the side, knocking one officer from the rappel and into the water, and clinging to the other and devouring him alive. He dropped the detonator.

"FIRE!" the Chief screamed. The first volley seemed to have an effect. THe wave of human rot staggered back.

Ramirez smiled. His face was wiped with horror when the wave continued to rise.

The gunfire continued. Slight displacements in tide made by the falling headshots. The swarm continued, until it was fifteen feet away from the barricade.

"ABANDON POSITIONS!" Someone screamed. Several of the troopers in back just ran like hell. The ones in front kept firing, right until the undead slammed themselves against the police cars, wrenching themselves past the door, and knocking the terrified SWAT back.

Ramirez himself swiveled and fired as he retreated. His squad kept suit. "Check one-two, check one-two," he screamed into his mike. "Retreat on retread route eighteen."

A scream. Bryant was down. Shots went in the general direction. Uritch went to grab him from the tide of undead. "BACK OFF!" Officer Franklin screamed, but it was too late. As Uritch turned, the tide pulled him back by his arms, legs, and hair, a look of horror on his face.

Janus was grabbed and mauled. The swarm kept coming, the barricade destroyed. The line had broke and officers were fleeing for their lives. Franklin was shoved back against the wall of a bank and ripped to shreds. Tarton was grabbed trying to crawl under a burning police car and was pulled back by his legs into the hive.

Ramirez couldn't see a single member of his unit. There was several officers nearby, one a black man wielding a shotgun, the other the Chief himself, in full dress uniform. They packed into a police cruiser and finding themselves blocked from behind, tried to pull through the swarm in the car, which immediately stalled. Everyone was dead, retreating, or surrounded.

So he ran, dashed like he had never run before, into the downtown.

Edward cheerfully strolled down the empty street while humming a nice little melody and swinging his cane as if he was in some musical. Of course, Edward's definition of "empty" was crowded with burning and wreacked cars, torn corpses, and zombies feasting on said corpses. He gave a polite nod to the zombie of Marcus Peterson, the owner of the local grocerie shop, who was busy feasting on his wife.

"And good evening to you, madam!" Edward happily said to the zombie of an old lady who was just about to tear of his arm when he blasted her head to bits with his old hunting shotgun, happily continuing a one-sided conversation with her headless body.

"The kids these days.. Always pulling pranks, ey?" Edward commented a zombie busy eating the left leg of his eight-year old daughter, her blood running down his cheek as he followed Edward with his hungry eyes.

Edward continued down the street like this, talking with all the zombies he saw, and sometimes just dead corpses, while automaticly blasting the head of anyone that attacked him, even if he seemed to not notice them. He even avoided larger chuncks of zombies as if he, underneth the fog of insanity, fought for his life in a battle of life and death.

"Good morning, Ms. Lesca! Lovely morning, isn't it?" Edward happily said as he entered the broken door of his ruined bank, hanging his coat on thin air, he noticed its fall to the ground as much as he noticed all the blood over his bank.

"So how's the kids then?" Edward laughted, tapping the almost completely devoured Ms. Lesca's shoulder.

Then Edward placed the shotgun on the counter, light his pipe, and sat down to await his customers.

Ben Michaelis: Ben was one of those guys who was nuts his whole life. He lived on base, as his dad was a marine. He never left his house. He accumulated a massive amount of weaponry, waiting for the "goddamn sinos" to come invade. He wasn't surprised by the undead, as he was entirely convinced that it was a "sino conspiracy". He prompty joined a few other vigilantes and began to follow the Marines, aiding in the destruction of the undead.

Ben walked around the neighborhood with the mail. He had taken up the position of mailman after the last one had been eaten alive. He wouldn't visit all the houses. Walking up the stairs to 903 W 19th, he noticed a zombie creeping towards him from the side. As he dropped the bills and letters in the mail slot, he unholstered a hidden magnum and shot the creature in the face. He didn't pay much attention, he was used to it.

"Goddamn communists" he muttered. "One day we'll find out that these damn zombies aren't even real."

And a big ol' bump.

Leon Barzar (No relation to the sqauresoft char of same name)
A high school kid in Southport (Velkyan Port City), which has been semi-overrun. Son of a Halo Force Commando who was killed by a fleshie, he has joined alongside whatever Army and Police Units still exist in Southport.

Equipment: AR-56 Assault rifle (similar to XM-29) 143 rounds, 23 ABS
9mm Glock 18 pistol, 160 rounds
Forrest Camo
Flare gun, 3 shots
Headset
12 inch survival knife

A horde of flesh eaters. No, a ocean of them. And on the other side, a gang of Marines, Police, and a couple of kids.

It was silent, except for the moaning of the undead.

Every now and then, a man would break out into prayer or check his weapon.

The 13 men inside the makeshift barricade were startled when they heard a deep voice.

"Alright ladies! Get your asses in gear, we begin engaging when they hit that traffic light!"

A few of the Marines answered "Sir Yes Sir!"

A minute passed. The pusbags passed the traffic light.

"OPEN FIRE!!!"

AR-56 cannons fired round after round of 20mm airburst, knocking out 3 to 4 zombies a piece.

"Burn in hell motherfuckers!!! HAHAHAHAH!!!"

The other rifles opened up. The zombie dropped like flies.

Eric Dredston: an abandoned SWAT officer perched on top of an old warehouse. Carries an MP5 submachine gun, a Beretta 9mm, and 200 rounds for each. His entire unit has been infected, but he escaped by climbing onto the roof.

Steve Trapton: A drummer in a mildly successful metal band. When his apartment was overrun, he and his girlfriend escaped, but a wild shot from a panicing soldier took her out. He is armed with a crowbar and a breadknife, but with these, he has personally killed over twenty zombies.


Eric Dredston sat on the roof of an abondoned furniture warehouse, gripping his compact but lethal MP5 in his tired hands. Below him, scores of zombies walked the streets, some staring up at him, others vacantly wandering through th various allys and builidngs.

There were no human survivors in this part of the city. They had been turned into the rotting, flesh-eating cadavers that shambled steadily over the roads. But in the distance, in the more populated part of Grand Central, Dredston could make out flashes of gunfire and explsosions. The occasional Apache attack helicopter buzzed overhead through the rain.

Dredston sighed. He was debating wether or not to get down; an empty truck, the keys still in it, was humming at the end of the street. The only problem was the fifty or so zombies in between him and it.

Dredston's mind was made up when a young man, maybe twenty years old, appeared out of a nearby gas station, a crowbar gripped loosley in his left hand. Instantly, nearly thrity zombies turned to follow him, moaning hellsihly.

"You idiot, NO!" Dredston screamed, but the kid payed him no heed. In fact he jogged slowly to the car and got in, oblivious to the four zombies shuffling around to the doors.

Dredston cursed and jumped down from the roof, his submachine gun rattling. The nearest zombies ot him went down, each shot in the head, as he neared the truck.

Others, however, reached out and clutched at his uniform.

Arthur Dent had stayed most of the day indoors.
Quite frankly, he couldn´t leave, on account of being in house arrest for multiple sexual offences. Arthur had been several times caught red-handed while visiting the city morgue and becoming aquainted-in the biblical sense-with several female corpses.
But that day he was yet to receive his daily call from the local police station. This calls came every day at different hours, so he wouldn´t be able to leave the house without knowing at time the call would come.
But today, at 11 pm, no call yet...
He looked out the window, and saw a number of people walking very strangely about. Opening the door, a foul stench came to him...an odor reminiscent of older days, full of the risk of illicit discovery and carnal pleasures beyond belief.
Besides himself, Arthur Dent made his way towards the rotting animated corpse of his former seventy-year old Mrs. Thomson.

Arthur Dent came up to his former eighty-year old neighbour Mrs. Thompson, and feeling that social amenities would be a little out of touch amidst the apocalypse, hit her bluntly in the head with a hammer he had brought from his house.
Carrying Mrs Thompson inside, Dent droped his prey on her stomac on the bed ever so gently. Whistling like a school boy on the day of the prom, he raised with exquisite softness her filthy-oh-so-enticing dress and took a peek at her underwear. Simple, but in good taste, quite as Mrs. Thompson had been while among the living.
Suddenly, the corpse issued a angry moan and tried to stand up. Dent, after a first moment of surprise, hit her again with the but of the hammer, but not to hard, just enough to leave Mrs. Thompson momentarily down in the couch again.
Making a quick stop in the kitchen, he brought a bit of sturdy rope he always kept at hand for possible emergencies...or happy ocasions.
Skilfully, Dent tied Mrs Thompson´s hands behind her back and bounded her ankles solidly together.
The corpse kept going on on a stage of mad frenzy on the bead, snaping her head about, trying to bite her gracious host.
Putting safety first, Arthur tied another bit of rope around her neck and connected it to the small nightstand table besides the couch, rendering the corpse totally helpeless.
Arthur Dent lied on his neighbour´s back, and sighed longly on her bloodied half-eaten ear. Breathing heavily, he whispered:
"Oh, baby, this is going to be quite a show..."

OOC: *twitches*

Sergio, you better not go explicit, you're skirting forum rules already...

IC:

Flames licked the air as Ramirez trod through the burning streets. In all directions, shambling forms could be seen moving through the morning air.

To his left sat the ruined strip district, filled with smoldering car wreckage and corpses. The fruit stands still stood, rotting vegetables and fruit molding over among the caustic, disease-ridden bodies. Police cruisers had sat at intervals, either stained with the blood of some long-dead officer or abandoned. It was a bad day to be a GCPD officer, he thought.

At least he'd come across a shotgun. Ramirez had seen a chewed-up arm sticking out of a door, clutching the weapon, and with some effort, had managed to pry it from the rigor mortis-hardened hand. Long, metal, and steel, the automatic precision shotgun was a beauty. In fact, Ramirez thought it was the most beautiful thing he'd come across in days, ever since the hospitals had become overrun... Shaking his head, Ramirez realized that he'd have to get moving before any of the walking dead noticed he was there.

Ten shells for the shotgun and three clips for his pistol. Hopefully enough to reach the nearest precinct, and link up with more officers from there. Unless he was mistaken, it lay two blocks to the east...

Edward sighted happily as he looked around the totaly ruined bank, now littered with several more zombies who'd come inside for some fresh meat. "Lovely day, isn't it, Charles?"

Edward got up and put a comforting hand on his apprentice's cold and half-eaten shoulder, his corpse resting against a chair. "You're a fine boy, Charles. Your hard work will soon pay off!"

Edward walked over to where he had supposidly hung his jacket, giggled at the fact it had fallen off the hook that had been torn down the previous night, and brushed off some of the dust from it. He took his cane and high hat, not forgeting the shotgun, and headed for the door.

"Well, I'll be heading for some lunch, Ms. Lesca! I'll be back in a few!" he happily said to Melissa Lesca's corpse before heading towards his favorite resturant, the Blue Lagoon.

“Sir!”
“Wait, I’m thinking.”
“SIR!”

Bly emptied another magazine into the door which was fast becoming fire wood, he quickly ejected the magazine, picked up another one off the table which he had used to brace the door and slammed it in to his MP-8. He took a quick aim, then sprayed the magazine into the door again… resulting in the clunking sound of dead bodies hitting the floor.

3 men of the Phoenix Group team had been forced into this dank room, luckily it had a (increasingly less) solid door and a healthy supply of ammunition. The rest of the apartment must have been over run by now, and the radio equipment with it.

The rest of the team had been trapped in another room in the apartment and judging by the less-then friendly face of Sergeant James, who was now trying to claw his way through the door using only a stump and his winning smile, that room had now been overrun.

“Sir!” shouted Wills again.
“Right!” yelled back the Captain over the ear blistering gun fire. “Theres a fire escape on the other building, we can just jump over the ally…”
“JUMP OVER THE ALLEY!” yelled Bly… blatantly affected more then the other 2 men by the loud noise. “ARE YOU MAD?”
“Its not that far Bly… trust me!”
Wills dragged himself over to the window, looked down and pulled back quickly… “Bloody far down though Captain.”
“That only matters if you fall.”
“REALLY SIR?!”

Captain Ramsey, not being one for the first in, last out, style of command, was first out the window, dropping slightly before he landed on the railing of the fire escape, which was much closer then it originally looked, he nearly lost his grip in the process of pulling himself up.

“Wills, throw the kit over!”
“Right sir!” yelled wills, quickly disappearing from the window and throwing a rucksack through it, which clipped on the window frame and fell the 4 stories into the alley.
“Christ!” yelled Ramsey
”Sorry sir!”
“Next one!”
“Right Sir!”
“RUNNING LOW ON ROUNDS!” screamed Bly.
Another bag flew through the window, right on target this time, the 3rd rucksack flew out shortly after, followed by Wills. Ramsey caught him and pulled him onto the fire escape.

“Bly! Your turn now old chap!” shouted Ramsey.
“RIGHT SIR!” screamed bly, somewhat horse. He quickly flew out of the window without even looking, with the grace of the whole Romanian gymnastic team. His landing however let him down causing him to knock over wills and send them both flying through a window, smashing glass all over the place.

“What was that in aid of Bly, I on…” yelled Ramsey
“GRENADE!” yelled Bly, covering his head and shielding Wills, who were both lying in a nicely decorated bed-room. Ramsey didn’t even have time to react before he was hit by a shock wave as the grenade the good sergeant had left in the ‘Alamo’ went off, shattering zombie parts everywhere. The Captain was thrown back through another window, luckily ending up in the same room as the other 2.

“BRrrrrraai…..”
“Sir?” whispered wills
“Brraaamiiii…”
“Sergeant?” whispered Wills again, starting to pull himself out of the glass.
“GET DOWN!” shouted Bly, pushing him to the ground again, he drew his pistol and quickly fired a magazine into the darkness of the room.
“Ouch!” screamed Wills
“Braaniiia….”
Bly reloaded and emptied another magazine into the darkness. Wills rolled over onto his front, grabbing for his pistol and trying to locate the Captain at the same time.
“Braannii.”
“WHY WON’T YOU DIE!” yelled Bly
“AHHHHH” screamed Wills seeing what was appearing from the darkness… he took aim and emptied his magazine into the kindly old woman, who, missing both of her legs seemed to be stopping her from moving very fast.
“Cease fire god dam it, your wasting ammo.” yelled Ramsey.
“ITS NOT DIEING.” Screamed Bly taking an aimed shout at its chest.
“Its not a threat either! Cease fire.” Replied Ramesy. Bly stopped this time but kept his pistol pointed at… it. Wills pulled himself out the glass and did the same. The old woman looked like she was trying to say something, but her neck seemed to be missing, causing her head to drag along the floor.
“Aim at the head.” Said Ramesy.
“RIGHT!” said Bly, squeezing the trigger and finally detaching the head from the body.
“Is it dead?” Asked Wills
“Looks like it.” Replied Ramesy.

“Where to now, sir?” asked Wills
“Wilderness, hide out and wait for extraction. We’ll need to get transport… and maybe some help if theres anyone else out there.”
“THERES A POLICE STATION ABOUT A MILE TO THE NORTH SIR!” yelled Bly, slapping his ear.

I can't post now but I'll bump... 7th page, yikes...

ooc.:sorry for not picking one of the pre-assigned characters, but i believe Dent has something to offer.

Arthur Dent had always been a sucker for ambiance. After playfully nibbling the ruined ear of the corpse formelly know as Mrs. Thompson, which somehow didn´t seem to please it, he got up. Going to the stereo on top of the nightstand, Arthur rumaged briefly through a array of cd´s. After some seconds, he picked up a old-time-favorit. Putting it in the stereo, he closed his eyes and a twitch of lubricity distorted his features the moment the smooth bass of Barry White´s voice flooded the room.
"Let´s get it on...", Barry crooned, setting the tempo for Arthur´s inebriated [I]sollo across the room.
"Ah, Barry, you´re the man...", sied Dent, while still slowly cavoting next to the bead, where the corpse seemed to somehow get a feeling of things to come and duttifuly moaned more louder and urgentely.
Sticking to his role of gracious host, Arthur spreaded some scent candles around the bed. After ignited, they lent a delightfull myriad of thousand-and-one-nights atmosphere to the setting.
Arthur Dent again leaned over the zombie. While ever-so-gentely caressing her blood-soaked hair, he tried to mimic his idol´s deep croon:
"Oh baby, let´s get it on..."

A loud bang shook the walls. Arthur jumped up, his pants around his ankles, panic riveted across his face. Across the corridor, a thumping sound neared closer. A large bulk started emerging from the dimly-lit area besides the room door. Coming into the light, one could make out that it vaguely remembered the figure of a man-or what what it used to be a man. Its left arm was almost torn out of the socket. Its chest showed extensive bite marks, as so did its legs. Half of its head was severely burned, oozing a putrid smell. Its right eye was dangling obscenly from his rightful place, like a truant scholl boy flaunting his offence.
Arthur Dent stayed nailed to the ground, and it took him more than a fair amount of time to overcome his incredulity. Finally, hr uttered:
"Mr. Thompson, is that you...?"

OOC: There was no pre-assigned characters, those were my characters. And I was talking about the necrophilia skirting the rules ;)

OOC: There was no pre-assigned characters, those were my characters. And I was talking about the necrophilia skirting the rules ;)
OOc:OK, but i guess one could always think that even in a planet overrun by zombies, some people could have a hell of a lot of fun...

Steve looked up at the sound of frantic firing and saw what looked like a police officer coming his way, shooting madly at dozens of zombies shambling for him.

"GET OUT OF THE CAR!" the officer screamed, wavign with one hand. Steve thought, screw that, and promplty rammed the truck into first gear. Just when his foot hit the pedal, though, a large, mouldy hand reached up and grabbed him by the throat.

Steve looked down and yelled in surprise. Curled up in the floorboard of the passenger's side, a zombie gnashed its teeth and moaned at him. Steve let go of the wheel, took his foot off the gas, grabbed his prybar and swung it as hard as he could against the monster's head. With a crack, the skull caved in and sprayed blood all over the seats.

The police officer was screaming incoherently. He reached the truck and jumped on the hood, firing at something to Steve's right. Looking, he saw four zombies approaching the car, nearing it. However, under the spray of machine gun fire, they staggered back.

The officer swung around to the passenger's seat nad leapt in, slamming the door behind him. "Drive, kid, drive!" He noticed the dead zombie in the passenger's seat and cried out before realizing it was dead.

Steve let his questions go for now and floored it.