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Post by ZANE AZEALIS on Jun 10, 2012 22:22:26 GMT -5
 If there hadn’t been a gym in the CDC compound, Zane was pretty sure he would have lost his mind a long time ago. He’d been active his entire life, and it was bad enough having his wanderlust stifled by being stuck in this one building for months now. If he hadn’t been able to blow off some steam with exercise, well… they’d be drugging him a hell of a lot more often, at least. Or maybe they’d have killed him by now. A couple of the patients even more troublesome than he was had just... vanished. Practically into midair. None of the nurses or doctors would give him a straight answer as to what had happened to them, but Zane had his suspicions.
He was completely and utterly frustrated with the whole deal. America was supposed to be the land of the free. They’d bragged left and right about their precious freedom for years. And yet, at the first sign of disaster, here were these bloody Americans locking people up supposedly ‘for their own good’. If it was truly for their own good, Zane figured, they would give you a choice one way or the other. Some people might think it was stupid to give up the relative safety of the CDC facility to face the hordes of zombies on their own, but wasn’t it the whole point of freedom that a person should be allowed to make that decision for him- or herself? It certainly seemed that way to Zane, which was why the hypocrisy of the whole thing was driving him slowly but surely up the wall. It ate away at him, frustration and restlessness making him even more of a pugnacious asshole than he normally was. The drugs the docs kept pumping into him didn’t help, either, either as a way to discipline him or as a solution for his irritability.
Zane had been jogging in circles around the gym for a good hour now, his legs burning slightly from fatigue. His ipod headphones were in his ears, blasting music high enough to drown out any ambient noise, including the sound of his own breathing. He’d spent the day before putting himself through his paces (again) on the various workout equipment strewn about the room. He might be cooped up in here, but Zane had no intention of letting himself go soft. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do with his time, after all.
He quit jogging and walked a lap to let his heart rate slow a little, pulling his ipod from his pocket long enough to switch playlists. There was a punching bag hung in one corner of the room, and Zane made his way over to it. Maybe it was clichéd, but there was nothing as useful in blowing off steam for him than beating the crap out of the punching bag while imagining it was wearing the white coats of the doctor. He balanced on the balls of his feet for a moment, letting his music pump him up, then let fly with a flurry of kicks and punches, each one harder than the last. When he did eventually get out of here, he would be able to give those zombie motherfuckers a run for their money.
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Post by TOTTORI NAOKO on Jun 17, 2012 12:26:50 GMT -5
 The young japanese woman had only discovered there was a gym about a week ago. At least, it felt like a week ago. The only thing she really could do was practice her judo skills and try to keep in shape. It had been hard for her, being trapped inside the walls and forced to be drugged up to avoid mental breakdowns, but she managed. However, exercise would only go so far trapped inside her bedroom, so the gym was a perfect place to go. Except that, when Naoko arrived at the gym, it was being occupied. A little turned off to the idea of practicing her skills in front of this white-haired stranger, she stood in the doorway and watched instead. He seemed rather interesting and focused on his running. It wasn't long before he stopped, though. As she studied him, she recognized him as being one of the trouble-makers in the facility. He was now punching a punching bag and doing different stuff. Naoko inhaled sharply and moved into the gym, going to a far corner and stretching.
When she was finished stretching, she began to do a few small exercises, keeping her gaze on the wall, but peeking over at the other once in a while. Naoko was sure he was watching her. At least, that's what she'd assume. She was a bit paranoid that he'd come over and tell her to get lost. He seemed like the type. Tough, scary. She didn't want to leave, though. Doing these exercises was hard to do in her room. Even the nice nurse said so. The one who gave her the knife. The knife stored in her sock. When the asian girl finally was warmed up, she went over to one of the other punching bags and began to practice her Juno moves. They were simple, yet precise. Her personal trainer had worked hard to ensure she learned all kinds of different styles of martial arts. He had to keep her in shape.
Too bad he was dead. At least, as far as Naoko was concerned. She had left him in Japan for that show and then the bomb went off and stuff. Naoko inhaled sharply as the images of zombies hit her in a wave. She almost toppled over from the hit. She had to lean forward, holding the punching bag until the images faded. This meant the raven-haired girl would have to go speak to one of the nurses to see about a higher dose of that medication she was on. As much as she hated it, the stuff helped her a lot. It just made her feel like a zombie when she wasn't sleeping. After catching herself and calming her mind down, she focused back on the task at hand, which happened to be hitting a punching bag with different moves. There was no way she would let herself get caught up in some bullcrap memory.
Not even if they were real and scary.
ooc. this is shit. i apologize. |
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Post by ZANE AZEALIS on Jul 3, 2012 20:08:57 GMT -5
At first, Zane was too wrapped up in what he was doing to notice that he was no longer alone in the gym as he usually was. It was rare for him to find someone else in here, weirdly enough, though Zane couldn’t imagine how the other people in the CDC compound didn’t go insane from being cooped up all the time. He got so bored of the same thing day after day: the same sterile white floors, bland walls, lack of windows. He had no idea what it even looked like outside; he’d arrived here in the middle of the night, so he wasn’t even entirely sure where it was. All he knew was that he wanted to be just about anywhere else.
His punches and kicks were fueled with frustration, the bag swaying and the frame it was hanging from rattling with each blow. He imagined the scientist who’d ‘treated’ him the other day after he’d punched one of the doctors in the face in place of his punching bag, slamming his fists repeatedly into the bag. How satisfying it would be to actually take out some of his frustration on the people responsible for his being cooped up in here. Maybe he’d get a chance soon; he’d heard rumors of an escape attempt, and he had every intention of getting the hell out of here if he got the chance.
By the time he finally left off long enough to catch his breath, there was a sheen of sweat covering his arms and torso (he’d been alone in the gym initially, and he hadn’t seen the point in having a shirt on when he was just going to stink it up). He raked sweat-damp gray hair out of his face, then adjusted the earphones he was wearing, as they’d been shaken around and knocked somewhat loose by his strikes.
As he did so, the song he was listening to ended, and he heard the distinct sound of a punching bag being struck. Zane blinked and turned towards the other bag hanging in the room. He expected to see one of the few other athletes who’d been cooped up in here like him, so he was surprised at who was actually there. A slender-looking Asian girl, with black hair well past her shoulders. She didn’t exactly cut an intimidating figure, didn’t seem like the type to be spending her time in a gym. Zane would have expected to see someone like her reading a book or something.
The girl suddenly stumbled as if struck, catching herself on the punching bag. Zane’s eyebrows furrowed; what the hell was that? After a moment, however, the girl straightened up again and started back to work. Zane watched her for a couple minutes, green eyes assessing. She obviously knew what she was doing. It looked like some form of martial arts more formal than Zane’s own mishmash, though he couldn’t have said what it was.
Eventually, Zane’s curiosity about the oddly frail-looking fighter overcame his natural tendency to be antisocial. He plucked one of the earbuds out of his ear and paused his music. Then, he spoke into the relatively quiet gym, his Aussie drawl evident and his voice loud enough to carry without yelling. ”Nice moves.”
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