Jeepers Creepers

Hacking and cursing are the first sounds that come, later one can see an oddly looking fellow, never the less not looking very odd in the context of things. He is dressed in military style fatigues, but missing the insignia. The mans face, awkwardly balding wears upon it a look of grim satisfaction as his large machete makes short the vines in his way. He keeps muttering and cursing under his breath as he continues to cut a broad path in the vines, this urban waymaker curses to himself, "Goddamnit, who the fuck forgets to buy cigarettes before martial law? What kind of fucking survivalist does this make me? Now Im gonna have to loot me a fucking store"

During one of the silences that seem to occur just between each machete stroke of the cigarette Questor, a very distinct clicking sound can be heard. Once, and then twice. It goes off in a rapid succession, fast, and then is gone again. Tka-Tka-Tka-Tka-Tka-Tka. It's close, right on the heels of the stranger, in fact. Other than that, and his talking, the night is as silent as death, an unsettling change of pace for the the City of Fallen Angels.

Stopping for a moment, the urban conquistador looks about, his normal paranoia obviously somewhat boosted by current events, he looks around for a moment and then calls out "What the fuck dude? Who's that? I dont have anything, I dont even have fucking cash, or smokes? Is that like a spider? Sounds like a spider man" The man, obviously one who speaks to himself when nervous lights his flashlight at his feet, mumbling under his breath, "I fucking hate spiders man, fucking creepy crawlers, jeepers creepers and all that other shit, I hate them" The odd thing about the man is that despite the state of his clothes, the miserable state of him, there is an odd wakedness in his eyes, a fiery composure that seems to speak out that this man is not one easily scarred or hurt by hardships, oddly enough the perceptive would see that this man is enjoying himself immensly, testing himself like this

The search of the flashlight shows a spider or two, whom seem to have increased their population since the arrival of the jungle, though neither of these seem to be the cause of the clicking sounds. It starts up again, coming somewhere from behind the man, but then is echoed several times through the course of the small area of this sudden forest. Whatever is making the sound, it's quite obvious that there is more than just one of whatever is making that noise. Overhead, the light of the moon is pale, full, but somewhat thwarted by the cover of the treescape.

A White male with scruffy short hair and fluff on his face is attempting to walk in what was a street, his hands are twiching as he does so. He wears a leather jacket now with a bit of green on it and faded blue jeans that have also got green in them, his sneakers are filled with mud. His face are full of bruisses as walks, steping over anything that seems to forestry for him. "Whet ye dink tis is.. Emianal Phanet or shomhat.." He touches his bruised face, his eyes blood shot. "Wa DA hEll Very BADY GA?"

"Cunt, cunt, cunt" comes the mantra from the man, as if to re-assure himself that his abillity to curse hasnt been marred by the nervous state of himself, "I hate feeling like that Australian fuck from Jurassic Park man" The balding gentleman suddenly curses under his breath, looking as though he just reached a realisation he had rather not uttered out loud, "Whatever is out there, it's not spiders, with my luck it'll be clown-kids with tapdancing shoes, i fucking hate clowns, and kids" It is obvious that this poor attempt at humour managed to raise the balding anarchists composure slightly, and he continues on his path, machete raised but flashlight on the ground, casually after a moment or two the man stops, twisting off a few thin branches he inserts these into his shoes, "Bite untill it crunches away guys" he mumbles before looking at the white man walking on the street, for a moment fear passing over his eyes.

Tka-Tka-Tka-Tka-Tka… comes the sounds again, pervading this little grove from what would seem to be all sides. It's everywhere now, from the hollow of a long-abandoned car that's been grown into the side of a spontaneous tree, to the bench that was once a bus stop, but now is nothing more than a glorified trellis for the clinging vines. With Samuel on one end of this stretch of forest, and Grant on the other, there is about a hundred feet of foliage and forest for them to cross before getting to one another.

The White male keeps trecking on, steping carfully his hands by his sides, for a few moments before he calls out, while cobering the side of his mouth. "Halli Any One ate dare!" He takes a look around as he walks, he kicks some grass as he becomes fustrated. "Eva had ma Fimili Abandond ma, were da fook is teme?" he states to himself as he walks kicking more grass along the way

"Fucking stop man" Cries the balding man, "I think there's something in the grass or whatever man, fucking dont move, or It'll get you, I think, or move, I dont know really, but there's something more seriously fucked up with this shit than only some trees growing and claiming back society! White Haile Selassi man, listen to that fucking sound!" The man carefully reaches for a wine of some sort and starts trying to climb it, looking rather stupid, "Get some height on whatevers in the grass man, that's the Ticket!"

The man with the flashlight had been looking down this whole time, when perhaps, he should have been looking up. His attempt to find a vine that will hold, and his subsequent climb are both successful. He makes it just half-up before the sounds being to occur once more. Tka-Tka-Tka-Tka-Tka-Tka. Tka-Tks. Tka-Tka. He catches something out of the corner of his eye. Some movement, and looks up to see that it wasn't just the treetops that were blocking the moonlight from above, but the tight-stretched, massive amounts of webbing that have been laced through all of them, obliterating sight of the sky completely in certain places. The whole webscape is crawling with spiders about the size of a man's fist, all of which are a gloss black. Quite widow-like, but without a distinct marking at all. Tka-Tka.

The man nods as he looks at The man, he smiles as he starts to run towards him. Ya fella, hel happand to de peple huh.." he screams out, still looking towards the other man. "Wak up natin, everbady gane.." He screatches his head and as he runs quickly turns around, something freaked him out and his rubbing himself all over. "Fook Fook, Fook.." he jumps like a sissy then goes back to running

"Holy mother of FUCK!" Screams the balding man, "SPIDERS, SPIDERS! EVERYWHERE!" The mans often not very graceful form is this day doubly ungraceful as he tumbles towards the ground, flailing wildly, the flashlight is hastily extinguished in the mans ensuing panic and suddenly, the sound of a timehonoured Anarchist tradition is heard, retreating without formation is heard as the man flees for his life, "DUDE, THIS WAY, WE BEST STAY TOGETHER MAN!" He cries, the flashlight lit for a moment or two, "THIS WAY!"

The screaming and flailing and general chaos-making of the man seems to agitate and stir the arachnid presence above. The sounds they've been making grow more urgent, louder, and change up a bit. TKA-TKA-TKS. TKA-TKS. TKA-TKS-TKA. They don't quite jump, but do nothing more than begin to drop from their nest of webbing above both Grant and Samuel. Most of them hit the ground, of those which do fall, but one manages to grab upon Samuel's shoulder, while two of them cling to the Gypsy.

The man freaks out as he looks at the other mans eyes. "You gat a big fook pider dere.." He attempts to punch it away from the other mans shoulder, after a few mments he covers his head and his legs begi to pump up and down, but they dont go anywere. " piders Piders…."

"What the hell, try to grab one man!" Cries the balding man out, obviously the man seems to have regained some of his composure, "Shit man, you got spiders on you too, get them of you!" The man continues running the way he came, making use of the already cleared path in the foilage to make his retreat and expeditous one.

Grant's punch at the spider on Samuel's shoulder seems to knock it clear of it's perch, casting it off and onto the ground. Samuel, in kind return, is quite successful in the art of retreat, bursting a few of the sleek black bodies beneath his feet as he tries to navigate the carpet of grasses and vines. It's slow going though, due to the sheer nature of the terrain. The Gypsy, stamps around like a champion, squashing a few beneath his feet as well, though he doesn't seem to shake the two that are on him.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" The man squeels as he stops, he takes his lether jacket off and starts to run towards Samuel. "Danks Mate, Danks far all ya help dere.." He weaves in and out, as if like a race car driver. "Was da plan, was all da people?" he shouts out trying to follow samuel

"People, they were evacuated, because of the fucking jungle situation we have here, but not me, I figured i'd stay and make sure nobody touched my shit while I was gone, I didnt know this shit was going to turn into Jeepers Creepers four up in this" The man continues his running, but putting more effort into quietness than before, "The plan is getting to my place man, it's safe there, maybe we can try to find out why the fuck a jungle suddenly sprouted, and why Spiders have become the dominant species on the planet, but we need to get one of those specimens or somehting!"

The man slows down and points towards where they came from.. his hand shacking. "The only specimen is dere.." he looks abck to Samuel his hands still shaking. "Ya gonna have ta do it…" He then wquickly adds to justify his point. "Ya plan you go

Grant's removal of his coat is a smart enough move to get the fist-sized arachnids off of him, and he finds it much easier to pick through the vines and foliage and general entanglement of nature than the man he's catching up to. Suddenly, about fourty feet in front of them in the direction they're both heading, voices start up, panicked and shouting, "OH GOD NO!", or, "SHIT. RUN. LOOKIT' DAT FUCKER". These are followed by a chorus of wails, screaming, and sounds of general pain, along with a cavernous roar of righteous hatred that resounds from the alley. Just one man seems to make it out, tripping and landing on his face right on his first sprint into view. He's trailed by an ill wind, warm and hot, and carrying upon it the still-glowing cinders and ash of whatever happened in there.

"Sweet merciful fucking Zeus what the fuck is that now?!" Cries the bespectacled man, "No time to get spiders, Something just killed like, an entire public school in that alley!" Shrieks the man, obviously panic gripping him, "Something burned them up and shit, RUUN MAN, RUUUN FOR YOUR LIFE!"

Grant keeps running for his life. "I hate fire i hate fire!" he shouts out

The bespectacled man stops for a moment and deviates from his course, to run to the side of the man that fell out of the alley, "C'mon, get your ass up, Run, C'mon!" Screams the man as he tugs at the alley survive's shirt, "I said run, C'mon, you got time to for post-traumatic stress later, right now you just gotta fucking leg it like a queer in a nascar rally!"

The man pumps his legs up and oown as he screams like a girl, he follows Samuel. "How fa ya place is den.. we are gonna die!" he squeels as he runs

"Not that far! Just help me get this guy on his feet and we'll go there, and keep an eye out for the sumbitch in the alley, whatever the fuck that is!" The bespectacled man continues tugging on the mans sleeve

It soon becomes quite clear to the men that the lone survivor of the alley is dead, though it's just been seconds since he'd left the alley and hit the ground. Another hot, hard wind sweeps over both Grant and Samuel, following a second ear-blowing sound of roaring and indignant pissiness. It's quite clear that..it's not really a wind at all, but the air movement from the rage of whatever is lurking in the back of the darkened alley. Grant almost loses his mind at this, clutching the sides of his head with his hands and tailing it into the closest building.

"Shit!" Cries the now lonesome bespectacled man before turning and running like crazy, flailing his arms, heading for the safety of his house as quickly as possible without looking back

Whatever is in the pitch-black back of the alley doesn't seem to follow out, though the buildings on each side crumble just a bit as if it were moving. There's a bit of shaking, and then it's gone again, and Samuel manages to make a clean escape. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices an un-opened pack of Lucky Strikes on the dashboard of an entangled car that he passes, and the windows are blessedly down.

Making a defiant turn the anarchist shoves his sweaty, bloody, greasy arm into the car, snatching the blessed tobacco from the dashboard before making his way to his house, ten minutes later a shaken, crying and obviously delirious Samuel "Brown" Dockery lights a cigarette with shaking hands, cupping his hands over the glow to make the lit cigarette less visible, with a shaking hand the man switches on the camera and aims it at himself, tears painting streaks in the grime in his face, he takes a deep drag from his cigarette and speaks to the camera, "Spiders…and something else, deep in the city, it's huge, it's huge and murderous, if you find this, run, run for your life" He looks down on the cigarette and takes another deep drag, "Totally worth it" he mumbles.

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