Left for Dead: An open role play for anyone
The day’s start had been ordinary-her painting and feeding her two pets, an odd combination of a rabbit and cat that somehow got along well. Normally, the small time painter did not have animals living with her, but…since they were “brought to life” from her paintings, she had assumed full responsibility of their care and upkeep. However, around that day’s afternoon, things had taken a decidedly more lethal turn. She had been walking down the street, still wearing her paint stained clothes as she traversed on the ten blocks towards a lonely flat that she would spend yet another sleepless night in. Footsteps behind her were normal, as it was around this time that most were heading home. However, by the time she reached the ninth block, she was usually alone, left to travel that last block by herself, instead of being jostled about carelessly like some child’s toy, to her vast relief. Kasumi had not thought much of it at first, perhaps this person, not that it was her business to begin with, was visiting relatives or had just been out for an evening stroll before taking another turn for his own dwelling. Thus, being the type to have avoided confrontation, she was not a bit prepared for the hand that snatched her up from behind, encasing her in a heavy, vice like grip. Now, she panicked, struggling to free herself from his hold as he began to drag her away, eventually coming to a vehicle. Once there, he tossed her into the back, much like a sack of potatoes, allowing her to land heavily with a thud. For who knows how much time, she lay there in the back, paralyzed with a crippling dread that disabled her from being able to search for a way out. Then, she was hauled inside an old building, much like her studio had once been-decrepit and about to fall over. The difference was, her studio had been refurbished, fitted to work in, and was now cluttered with paintings. Here, she had no such comfort, instead looking up at her attacker with an increasing sense of trepidation. Blows, hard and ruthless, fell on her body with the tempestuous fury of a storm, brutal and ceaseless in their ferocity. She curled in on herself, trying to protect her body from the raining hits and pounding kicks, only to fail in the end. Time passed, and he left the Strain alone in that building, bleeding and bruised on the cold, gray cement floor. A dim light chased away some of the encroaching shadows, hitting upon the large bruises and other marks left upon her still form. Pale eyes were swollen shut, unable to see much in the gloom, her heart still lurching, for all that the torture was over. Blood caked open wounds, brown when dry, and pooled around her motionless form. Without anyone to help her, the brunette could only hope that death would take her quickly, if it would come at all. The question now was…how long would she last?
