Forum:Tage der Albträume

Tage der Albträume is the Call of Duty Wiki's first official role-play, set in late 1945 following the outbreak of zombies throughout central Europe.

Quick guide to roleplays
Anyone may join if they have an account by signing in the "Participants" section.

You create your own characters, fill out some information abut them in the "Characters" section below, introduce them into the story, and post a new chapter (it doesn't need to be that long; usually a minimum of a few to several hundred characters) in response to whatever just happened in the story and wait for someone else to post a chapter of their own.

Before you know it, you have an awesome story that you and others helped to create. Booyah!

Plot summary
''Zombies started appearing in Berlin and nearly all of its pevious inhabitants appear to have just off and left. A few people have barricaded themselves inside the Reichstag and have to face off against sequentially heavier zombie attacks that come without warning, separated by deadly lengths of silence.''

Rules

 * Don't cause harm to other users' characters or generally use them without consulting the controlling user first.
 * Don't God-mod (to make something overpowered) your characters.
 * Post in context with previous chapters.
 * Mystery boxes, Ray Guns, points, power-ups and the like don't exist.
 * Don't ruin it for others.
 * Have fun, be creative, and try to have good grammar, okay?

Participants

 * 05:44, March 19, 2010 (UTC)
 * EightOhEight 07:58, March 19, 2010 (UTC)
 * Icepac K s 12:50, March 19, 2010 (UTC)
 * Braden 0.0 14:34, March 19, 2010 (UTC)
 * Cpl. Wilding
 * Toilet Bowl Soldier 02:36, March 20, 2010 (UTC+8)

Chiafriend12

 * Name: Eugene Vicks
 * Faction: United States 101st Airborne Division
 * Rank: Sergeant
 * Weapon: M1 Garand, M1911
 * Previous experience: Dropped on D-Day, fought in Normandy, Market Garden, the Bulge and Germany until Hitler's surrender. Currently a member of the Allied occupying force in Germany.


 * Name: Michael Kuhn (placeholder; will try to include him when appropriate)
 * Faction: United States 2nd Ranger Battalion
 * Rank: Private First Class
 * Weapon: M1 Carbine
 * Previous experience: Replacement who arrived in Europe post-D-Day. Fought in Beaumont-Hague, the Battle of the Bulge and invaded Germany in Wallendar.

EightOhEight

 * Name: Michael Fletcher
 * Faction: Germany Kriegsmarines
 * Rank: Lieutenant
 * Weapon: FG42
 * Previous experience: Lost whole company on D-Day, escaped with a scar running all the way down his back from shrapnel. Currently retired.

Icepacks

 * Name: Brandon Richard
 * Faction: French Resistance, Army Air Forces
 * Rank: Staff Sergeant
 * Weapon: Thompson
 * Previous experience: American-born of French heritage. Arrived on the continent through Spain as a contact with British Intelligence, after Paris' liberation, joined the Army Air Forces. Served over France. Shot down when the Germans launched Operation Bodenplatte, rescued from a prisoner of war camp near the end of the war. Currently serving in Berlin with Allied Occupation Force.

Braden 0.0

 * Name: James Stanton
 * Faction: United States 82nd Airborne Division
 * Rank: Corporal
 * Weapon: M1 Garand
 * Previous experience: Dropped in Sicily, Italy, Normandy, Holland, Belgium, and the Rhine.


 * Name: Edward Allan
 * Faction: United States 1st Infantry division (The big red one)
 * Rank: Technical 4th Grade
 * Weapon: Springfield
 * Previous experience: Replacement, fought on Omaha beach during D-day, and participated in Operation Varsity.


 * Name: Edgar Butte
 * Faction: United States Army Rangers
 * Rank: Staff Sergeant
 * Weapon: Thompson
 * Previous experience: Fought in North Africa during Operation Torch, fought in D-day and The Battle of the Bulge.


 * Name: Arthur North
 * Faction: United States Marine Corps
 * Rank: Private
 * Weapon: M1897 Trench Gun
 * Previous experience: Fought in Pearl Harbor, Okinawa, and Guadalcanal. Sent to Europe on a peace keeping mission.

Cpl. Wilding

 * Name: Markus Wilding
 * Faction: German Wehrmacht
 * Rank: Unteroffizier (Corporal)
 * Weapon: Kar98k
 * Previous experience: Fought in Poland, France and Normandy. He lost his unit in Normandy and was one of the few survivors of his company in the Battle of Pointe du Hoc.

Toilet Bowl Soldier

 * Name: Riley Ketcherson
 * Faction: British Army
 * Rank: Sergeant
 * Weapon: Bren light machine gun, Webley Mk IV Revolver.
 * Previous experience: Fought in Juno Beach, half of his Company were killed by an MG42. Went to Berlin after the war for a vacation

Prologue
Eugene sat himself down in the Berlin coffee shop he would always go to, ever since things really settled down after Germany's full surrender a few months prior.

On the way there, albeit before sunrise, he had noticed that he didn't see a single other person walking the streets. Normally he would see a few cars driving around during his walk to the shoppe, but today he saw none.

He didn't think much of it. "Maybe everyone has a hangover today." he mumbled, adjusting his posture in the wooden chair and looking around the shop for Wolfgung, the English-speaking entrepreneur he started to get to know after weeks of getting a cup of coffe every morning.

Sergeant Vicks started to get a bit impatient and tapped his knuckles loudly a few times on the also-wooden table in the shoppe. "Why wasn't I invited to this party?"

He finally got up from his chair—didn't even push it in—and walked to the bar-like counter where Wolfgung or one of his employees would work during the later hours of the day where he tapped his knuckles on the wood loudly again.

Wolfgung, or any of the other employees, didn't make a sound.

Eugene leaned over his edge of the counter and called out, "Wolfgung! You have a customer!" as he started to get a little frustrated.

He looked around for safety or whatever reason and jumped over the counter and walked along the other side of the bar to the hallway that it led to, where he had always assumed was an 'employees only' section, but he stopped short and started looking at the various filled bottles of booze that lined the wall.

"I hope you don't mind me back here, but, uhh," he started walking toward the entrance to the hallway, "I know you certaintly haven't forgotten your English or your manners for your customers."

The room at the other end of the narrow brick hallway had a refrigerator—assumably for employee meals—on the opposite wall, a calendar to its right, a window to the right of that and a table with associated chairs in the middle.

Eugene pushed upward on the window to open it to take a peek outside, considering that maybe Wolfgung was just taking the garbage out at that moment. Poking his head out into the alley, he saw no one (nor any garbage), but did hear some footsteps that came from the main street the shoppe was on. "Well apparently I'm not the only one who missed out on that party, at least."

He closed the window and went back out into the main room and went back over the counter, fed up at this point at the lack of Wolfgung to prepare coffee, from which he decided that he would visit the cafe across the street that he knew was also open at this time in the morning.

Outside, he latched the door shut with delicacy, giving respect to the commercial establishment, even if he didn't get any service.

To his left, down the road, was the Reichstag: the ruined building that was once a key building held by the Nazis that was eventually sieged and captured by the Russians, marking the point of complete defeat for the Germans about six months prior.

Those footsteps he heard earlier grew louder and the early morning walker violently grabbed Sergeant Vicks by the shoulder of his service uniform.

"Hey!" he shouted as he shook off whoever decided to grab at him, shoving them completely over on their rump momentarilly later.

Eugene looked at what he then assumed to be a drunk, but noticed that his face was unhealthily gray with eyes yellow enough to imply that he had been drinking every minute of his life, and then some. The drunk was in no uniform; just a tanktop and standard pants.

Eugene brushed off his shoulder, annoyed by the fact that his recently press-cleaned jacket was now dirty. "If you're a serviceman," he began, pointing at the other, "I want you to get your ass back to wherever you normally stay and sober up."

The drunkard moaned.

"And if you're not a serviceman, I want you to remember that I am, and I have the physical ability to shoot you, among other things, alright?"

The other tried to stumble his way to a standing position, and Sergeant Vicks left for a walk in the direction of the Reichstag. The gray, drunk man then caught up and grabbed at the back of Vicks's collar to which Vicks grabbed the man from behind and pulled him over and slammed his back on the ground in front of him.

"What is your problem?" he asked in a shout.

The drunk reached and grabbed Eugene's ancle and dug their nails into him.

Eugene slammed on the man's wrist extremely hard and freed his other ancle and withdrew his sidearm. "Seriously, what are you trying to do?!" He took a considerable step back. "Now, I want you to back off of me." Eugene started to aim vaguely at the man as he walked around him, once again in the direction of the Reichstag.

The drunk began to push himself back up in a manner to unhuman-looking that it creeped the veteran paratrooper out. The man's joints bent in the wrong way and he showed no pain or even acknowledgement to it.

Eugene stopped and held his .45 pistol at his side in a way that looked both casual and as if he was trying to make it obvious he was holding a pistol. "Private, whatever the Hell rank you are, whoever the Hell you are," he pointed to his situational forward and the man's reverse, "I want you to go home and straighten yourself out--"

He stood up nearly fully, moaned, slumped his head over to his right shoulder and limped forward.

Sergeant Vicks assumed battle stance and aimed for a killshot on the man. "Halt!" No one in Europe would go without knowing what it meant.

The drunk leaped toward Eugene who took a large step back and shot the man in the chest, downing him.

As the man was slumped over in the street, Eugene looked around frantically, now thinking others would think he was a killer. "What the Hell, man?" He approached what he thought was a corpse. "I said to back off, and you didn't!" He very lightly kicked the body, trying to get a reaction, but got none. "Oh, shit."

Still, not a soul was anywhere to he heard or found, and considering a gunshot just went off, it would make sense for someone to have gotten up at the sound, but it was as if everyone was deaf or moralless.

Eugene panicked, and ran toward the Reichstag for whatever reason, probably subconsciously trying to get help.

A horrifying crescendo of inhumane screams and moans started to be heard and Eugene only ran faster.

He reached the end of the road and arrived at the large set of staircases that led up to the Reichstag: a Roman-styled building several stories tall and many football fields wide.

Eugene spotted another man pounding on the apparently locked doors and loudly shouted at him to get his attention.

The man stopped his pounding dead cold, turned his head, saw Vicks, and started running down the final staircase.

Eugene also started up the stairs, but partway up noticed that the man also had dangerously gray skin and morbidly yellow eyes.

The other also-seemingly-drunk man lunged for Eugene when he got close, but he simply stepped out of the way and the man just fell down the staircase.

Eugene reached the larged doors, tugged on them but to no avail. Freaking out by this point, he started pounding on it. "Hey!" he called. "Anyone in there? I need help!"

Someone said something inside, and the sound of wood scratching on wood was heard.

He called again. "Is someone there? I need a doctor!"

The doors opened just a crack so that someone else to talk back. "Question: when did Hitler start the war?"

Eugene felt that this wasn't the time for trivia. "What?"

"Answer the question!" The voice growled from inside. "Do it or die!"

Eugene felt most definitely scared at this point and tried to mumble the answer. "Uh, September 1939, right?"

There was no immediate response, and he took a step back in thought that someone might pop out and shoot at him, but the doors opened and he rushed inside. 05:44, March 19, 2010 (UTC)

1
Michael lifted his gun as the stranger tumbled in. "Lift your face up!" he yelled, in an authoritative voice. The man did as he was told and then Michael could see that he was not one of the infected.

"What are you doing here?" Michael asked, lowering his gun. "How did you escape?"

The man mumbled something incoherently, then said in an obvious American accent, "I don't know, man, I just was getting some coffee."

Michael shook his head. "So you have no idea what's going on here, then?" He asked.

The man violently nodded, and pointed at his service uniform. "I'm an American," he said.

"No shit," Michael shot back. "I don't want your life story - just your help."

Before the man could answer, there was a heavy pounding on the door.

"Shit!" Michael yelled. "Hold on, they've found us!"

EightOhEight 06:03, March 19, 2010 (UTC)

2
Michael and Eugene took up firing positions behind collapsed support pillars as the pounding continued. Then they heard a voice mutter out, "Stupid door.." and then firing noises.

On the other side of the door, Brandon Richard was marveling at the relative lack of destruction in the area. Noticing the lack of people on the street that morning, he had decided to venture up to the Reichstag and see what was left. He had not encountered anyone like Eugene or Michael had, and was thinking that everyone had just decided to sleep in.

Upon encountering the obstinate door, he began firing into it with his Thompson. He then proceeded to kick the door down and amble inside.

He received the same treatment afforded to Eugene. He was immediately tackled and questioned upon crossing the threshold and was only released when the two inside were entirely certain that he was friendly. Then they introduced themselves.

"That's all really great, nice to meet you," said Brandon, "But you know the war is over, nobody's going to attack you."

"You haven't seen?" asked Michael incredulously.

Brandon shrugged one shoulder. "I saw some people on the street, but it seems they just had a little too much fun last night.."

"Well, you'll see soon enough," said Michael, reclosing the door.

Icepac K s 12:50, March 19, 2010 (UTC)

3
Cpl. Stanton had NEVER encountered an enemy like this, several seemingly drunk and injured Germans who were fiercely running at him that he could have sworn minutes ago he saw dead in the church's graveyard.

"Shit, shit, shit..." He slowly panted as he ran over the bridge into town.

"There's gotta be somebody that could help me!" He thought.

He then heard several moaning, rolling words in garbled English he could hardly make out: "SAaaAM!" "No, no, no, no, NO!!",

He then was out running them for a safe distrance, he made it, and then in hopes of killing them, emptied his clip into one. The zombie went down.

"Wait, how could an already injured looking German be killed with more than half the magazine of powerful rifle rounds?!" He vocalized his thought.

He then spun around, and, having enough of the chase, charged straight at the, that.. thing, and impaled it with his bayonet, instantly killing it.

And then another came, and Stanton emptied his Garand clip into it. 'PING!' the sound of the ejected clip made as he fired off the 8th and final bullet. "Holy shit, holy shit, how did a bayonet kill it instantly?"

The young Corporal thought hard. He then saw a figure slumped in a corner. Stanton, curiously, walked towards the body.

He then took out his flash light and shone light on the corpse, he then recoilled with disgust, the German soldier had very few, but also very severe, burns on his face, with some portions missing.

"Huh, poor bastard got cooked by a flamethrower." He openly thought.

But then, to his most unimaginable mind, the corpse's eyes sprung open, the eyes were definitely not human, the white eyes were glowing orange eyes, with red, glowing pupils. It was definitely dead, but also alive too.

"AH SHIT!!!" Cpl. Stanton swore as he procceded to empty his clip into the zombie.

But the zombie didn't react to the bullets, as if this one was stronger, or at least, growing stronger.

The zombie rose, and then gruesomely, moaned and screamed at him. Bracing himself, Stanton prepared to take a hit, bite, or kick from this undead bastard.

But then, the sound of a rifle rang out, and the zombie fell over. "Huh? Who was that?" Stanton followed the figure to the door and paused for a second. "Who are you?".... Braden 0.0

4
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! Ich bin in der deutschen Armee!" Cpl. Wilding slung his rifle up to show he had no ill intentions, but quickly took it back into his hands, aimed it at a zombie that was approaching Cpl. Stanton, then fired. "Der Ami Stoß ist tot." He pulled the bolt back, releasing the last round in his clip. "Sie dort… Sie sprechen Deutsches?" It was obvious Cpl. Wilding knew very little English and was more comfortable speaking in German. He shook his head when no response came from Stanton and rushed to a window, looking out for more zombies, if they ever came. Cpl. Wilding 18:12, March 19, 2010 (UTC)

5
Meanwhile, Riley heard distant sounds of gunfire and some zombies running after his Jeep while driving in the streets of Berlin, and then he asked himself. "Is it bloody halloween already?" he then exited his jeep and took out his Bren gun and checked his surroundings, he then saw people firing at the Zombies and he then rushed to the building and knocked on the door... "Hello there, is anybody in? i've been hearing gunfire and wondered what the bloody hell is happening!" and he saw an American Soldier looking out for more "things". Toilet Bowl Soldier 03:05, March 20, 2010 (UTC+8)

6
"Thunder! Or I'll fire on you!" Stanton said at the sillouhetted figure in the door way.

"Hey! Calm down, I'm a British soldier here!" the man said. "You should've said flash, or I'd have killed you." Stanton driely replied. "Why are you here in the first place?"

"I was here takin' a bloody vacay in Berlin, when I heard moaning and all of these zombies from fucking hell running after me!" the British man replied.

"Similar thing happened to me, I was walking by a graveyard and these drunkards started running at me. But when I looked at one up close, it wasn't a drunkard, it was an undead bastard!" Stanton said.

"Um, Corporal, whats your name?" the Brit asked,

"I'm Corporal James T. Stanton, 82nd Airborne." Stanton proclaimed.

"I'm Sergeant Riley Ketcherson, British 7th Armoured." Riley responded. "And who's that bloody Jerry doing with you?"

"He saved my life rom a Zombie that nearly killed me. I don't know who he is, but he certainly doesn't speak English." Stanton said.

"AHHHH! FUCKY SHIT! SOMEONE ANYONE HEEELLLPPP!!!" A voice screamed from the street.

"Who was that?" Stanton asked.

"I don't know, but I'm gonna find out." Said Riley as he picked up his Bren LMG.

"Alright, check back later if you find him! I'll stay behind with this Kraut and guard the halls, just find any survivors!" Stanton called as Riley walked outside, cautious of any zombies ready to attack.

Braden 0.0 19:27, March 19, 2010 (UTC)