IAmRisen's backstory

[iamrisen]

Some things should not be known. Some knowledge should stay hidden. Some things should remain unseen.

Michael Ackhurst was a reasonably successful attorney with a practice in Malton. When the Crisis started, he dutifully boarded up his house and got weapons and provisions together. He survived for quite a while.

But no one lives forever. Except, apparently, in Malton.

Like thousands of others, Michael died. Like thousands of others, Michael rose as a zombie. Like thousands of others, Michael was revived. Over and over and over.

But when he died some time in early 2006, something happened to him. Some religions say that a dead man's soul passes through a great void before awakening to its final reward; the "light at the end of the tunnel" that people with near-death experiences see wakes them up, like a passenger waking up as his plane lands. What these people see is only the end of the journey.

Michael did not sleep through his journey. He stayed awake, with his disembodied eyes wide open. His soul saw things that no human soul was meant to see. The things he saw cannot even be described in a way that the human mind would understand, or that the human brain, with its processing capacity limited by the mundane laws of physics, can even perceive. But his perfect, wide-open consciousness saw, even though his living mind could not remember. At least, not exactly.

When he woke up, he understood the murderous zombies a little better. He understood why they threw themselves out of windows when they found themselves breathing again. He understood why so many of them underwent the ritualistic mutalation of the spinal column and brain that resulted in the condition known as "brain rot."

He understood that they were awake for their journey through the Void, too. When they died, their eyes remained open while their souls floated through the abyss of nameless horrors. In terror, they looked to their right and saw faith. They called it Barhah.

Michael didn't understand the nature of Barhah, as he didn't look to the right in fear and find comfort in faith. He looked to his left and saw the nameless, formless, impossible abominations that screamed silently at him from across space and time. He looked directly at them and screamed back, not in fear, but in rage. He looked to his left and saw hate.

[Tovarisch Khrushchev]

DUN DUN DUN!

And so begins the tale of one of Malton's most notorious PKers. The loved, the hated, the one and only...

IamRisen!

[iamrisen]

He hee! The way I've got this incorporates both scientific "explanations" for zombies as well as religious/spiritual/supernatural ones. Science brings them back to life; instinct makes them eat people; scary Lovecraftian things makes them keep eating people after they're revived.

[iamrisen]

May 2nd, 2006
Pescodside

The defenders of the Inman Building were getting really, really annoyed.

The building was under zombie attack for the fifth time in as many days. By the exact same lone zombie who had been attacking it for the last five days. Just him, no one else.

Like most Necrotech buildings, the Inman building had a revive point nearby at Mermagen Street. Any survivors who found themselves on the other side of the grave were to proceed there and await a revive. One day, a revive technician finished administering syringes to all of the zombies at the designated revive point when he noticed an unfamiliar zombie swaying nearby, in front of the Inman Building itself. Disregarding protocol, the technician administered a revive to the zombie.

The next day, attorney Michael Ackhurst murdered two wounded Inman technicians with a fire axe before he was shot down and dumped outside. Apparently, he had taken the revive as a personal insult.

The day after that, he smashed through the building's barricades, alone, in an undead rage. And apparently, he still had a sick sense of humor; he had crudely carved the phrase "I am risen" into his chest with the blade of his fire axe. Once again, he was shot down and dumped out.

On the third day, he rose again. This time, he didn't make it through the barricades. In fact, he had horrible luck with them; all he did was make it easier for survivors to get in. That's when he stumbled on an idea: with the last of his energy, he walked a little to the north-west before the exertions of the day numbed his clouded brain. An absentminded revive technician brought him back to life in due course.

The next day, he was in the building killing people again.

By this time, the revive technicians in the area had strict orders not to revive the zombie with the words "I am risen" carved into his chest. In fact, they were to kill him on sight. As often as possible.

Hopefully, he would go away sooner or later.

[iamrisen]

August 19th, 2006
Dulston

Michael knew that he was somehow different from the other zombies. He didn't crave death in the same way that they did. He could be revived while a lot of them could not be. And more than anything else, he lacked their faith.

Another zombie asked if Michael had ever been to Ridleybank. No, he had not. Well, then he should go. That was the zombie homeland. It was the Mecca of zombies. Perhaps Michael would find faith there. Perhaps he would find Barhah there.

And so Michael set off. Along the way, he heard stories about Ridleybank; no survivors anywhere, except for a few courageous (or foolhardy) breathers who stole their way in and were devoured in due course. Zombies everywhere, and a shrine to zombidom at Moggridge Place Police Department. The heart of Barhah.

August 20, 2006
Ridleybank

There were a lot of zombies here, alright. And they were very, very angry about something. It didn't take Michael long to see what: barricades. They were everywhere. On police departments, hospitals, schools... and there were lights on. Through the windows, Michael could see people - living people, no doubt - darting back and forth in the buildings. He could see them crossing between the buildings. There were survivors everywhere.

And at the center of it all was the Blackmore Building. Michael understood how Necrotech syringes worked by this point; they enabled the survivors to resist the flood of zombies better than any shotgun ever could. They brought people back to life. Occasionally, they brought back people like him. But usually, the survivors they brought back to life wanted to be alive, and wanted to keep others alive. So an operational Necrotech building generally enabled the survivors to sustain a presence in an area.

And from the howls of rage, crack of gunfire, and orders shouted at the Blackmore building, Michael deduced that apparently one was enough.

Michael wasn't expecting Ridleybank to be like this. He was expecting a somber shrine to undeath. He was not expecting a war zone. But maybe this was how he would find barhah; perhaps his purpose was to help reclaim Ridleybank for the zombies. Yes, of course! It was so obvious: over the last few months, Michael had led small charges on Necrotech buildings in small suburbs. Once a Necrotech building fell, the rest of the suburb tended to fall on its own as survivors swayed in revive queues, hoping for a needle that never came. He even knew how to use the needles against the survivors.

All of the humans running through the buildings relied on what the Blackmore Building produced. Every last one of them. Without those syringes, they would either have to leave, or they would remain in Ridleybank as zombies as they slowly died to attrition. The Blackmore Building was their life support. But in the end, it was just another Necrotech building.

His destiny was clear: this half-zombie, hated by survivor and zombie fundamentalist alike, would rip Ridleybank back from the hands of the survivors and give it back to the zombies. He would do what he always did: unplug the life support system.

Michael adjusted the axe that he kept on his belt, checked his ammunition supplies, and stepped into the throng of zombies milling about on Margery Avenue. He was ready to earn his place in history, and find faith. Surely, he would touch Barhah shortly.