Flashback: Memories from the world before the Apocalypse

..."Dan. Dan! Wake up!"
Sudden jolt back to the harsh reality, underlined by a slight jump through the train as it switched tracks.
"Huh? What, why the stress?"
"We're there, man. Next stop."
Oh, right. So close to escape... Sigh.
Tarek's head bobbed into view in front of me, his friendly smile and the broken nose a testimony of the harsh reality I resided in. Next to Tarek was Mathias; short, spiky hair and the fur-collared coat that made him look like a game poacher, together with the everlasting stench of alcohol. And next to me was Jasper, tall as a building, lanky as a crane and silent as a mule. But he was still a friend, and a good one too.

"Next stop: Vesterbro" the synthetic female voice droned from the cheap speakers.
"Fuck off" I snarled tiredly, wiping the last remnants of sleep out of my eyes.
Tarek grunted a quiet "Calm down, man. It won't take long."
"Can't we just go back to my apartment and watch the replays of yesterday's ma-"
"No" the giant next to me rumbled.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. For my own good. Whatever."

The red train grinded to a halt with a deafening whirr, and the squad left the train, almost dragging me on as they did.
"I'll buy you a beer once you're out" Mathias said optimistically, patting my back roughly. Judging from that, he probably wasn't completely sober - but then, when was he?
"Won't change the fact that I'm going to the fucking hornet's nest" I mumbled sourly.
"You'll survive."
"Yeah, right."

The building came into view. P-O-L-I-T-I the large sign spelled out, blinking faintly in the morning sun.
"Here goes nothing" I mumbled, pulled on my courage and marched in, with the buddies waiting behind at the gates of the police yard. Oh, how many times I'd rather shoot himself than endure half an hour of verbal assault. Fucking police, don't know shit about anything.

"Again, Rasmussen?"
"Yes."
The officer sighed, typing a few things into the computer.
"Will you ever learn?"
"Will you?"
"Now now, I'm asking the questions here."
Brief interval of silence.
"Yeah, I'll learn."
"You said that the last time, too. Theft isn't nice, you know, it hurts more than you gain."
Dan didn't reply.
"Do I have to retract your parole? Do you really want to go back to prison?"
I sighed deeply. "No, I don't."
"Then bloody stop stealing. This is your third mark - do anything illegal again, and your sentence starts from scratch. Five months for your thefts, three for falsifying credentials, eight for mugging, thir-"
"Thirteen for assault, two years for armed robbery. Four years and a bit in the shithole in total."
"Correct" the obese policeman let out, tapping away on that infernally noisy keyboard. Fuck's sake, couldn't he wait until they were done talking?
"Are we done here?"
"Mister Rasmussen, are yo-"
"Don't fucking call me that you prick! I've fucking had it with your shit - blahblahblah, and you just fucking tap as if this is a fucking comedy. You're fucking up my life, and you just treat like a fucking comedy, fat shithead!"
He raised, angrily shoving the metal chair backwards. All eyes in the office were on him now, the two guards were fidgeting their batons.
"Daniel, calm down."
"No! No I won't fucking calm down. Just look at you! Writing up everything as if I'm just a fucking statistics that the government treats me as. Numbers! Fucking numbers, just 'cus I haven't got enough money to pay my bills. You think I want to live on the fucking streets-" I remember throwing the nameplate on the secretary's chest a glance, "-Erik? You probably have a nice fucking house with a stable income, and what do I have? Fucking nothing! Reason I'm here is because of that - I want a fucking place to sleep, where it's at least dry and safe - unlike the fucking streets!"
My breath was fast and tense, my fingers tensing and relaxing sporadically.
"Daniel, take a deep breath and ca-"
"Fuck you. Fuck all of you!"
My hand seized the cold, artificial edge of the metal chair. But that was all I managed, before the brutally hard edge of a baton struck my neck, sending little blue stars dancing in front of my eyesight. I tried to retaliate, but as expected, the two officers overpowered me quickly, and dragged me into the back, where the cells were...


(( This thread is simple - it's just provide a little, fun background about how your character were during 'the time before' - don't have to be long, and can be in any format you wish, any length. Preferably English though (this extract was ofc translated from Danish).

((I am very sorry I have not replied in a while, just... Lacked the feel for it... Will try to get it done this week. While you wait, have some Background of Johan!))


"Arrival to Moscow, five minutes."

A plane flying from Arlanda, Stockholm, Sweden. Nothing weird at all. Some B-movie had been played during the trip. Most had just taken time to rest. Spring, April, Russia was still cold and few tourists littering the streets of the capital.

The plane landed at Sheremetyevo International Airport. The travelers left the plane and splitted up, going to their individual ways once they had their luggage. A man in his twenties walked the route towards the train. He carried a big sports-bag. His cloths were casual, jeans, shirt, a jacket, boots. Blonde hair and blue eyes marked him out a little, but when ariving with a plane from Sweden, he was not alone with this look.

Finally, vacation. I really needed this.

He got on the train and picked up his phone. Iphone 4, a bit old, but funtional. He checked his messeges. Three new ones. One from the phone company with some new retarded offer. One from his job, asking him about some issue, typical. One was from a number he did not recognize, and just said "call me".

Taxi through the city to his hotel. Stepping out to the car with the back and going into the lobby. He got his key and went to his room. He took off his shoes and stepped into the room. Bed, TV, a table with a chair, balcony, bathroom. The room had costed, but was very good. It would suit him for the almost month long vacation.

The man placed the bag next to teh bed and opened it. He took out a laptop that he moved to the table and plugged in. Starting up. Connecting to the hotel's Wi-fi while He went downstair and brought a bottle of coke. He returned and checked his mail. Once again, the company had tried to contact him. Seemed like someone had screwed up the site they were making for Invigotech. How could they even have managed that? He had only been gone for a day.

He mailed a back-up to the office and sighed. They had said they would be fine while he was away, but he already doubted it. Web designer and programmer, already among the best in the company, even if he according to some was a bit asocial.

He took out his phone and looked on the odd text message. With a tap on the screen he called up the number and put the phone next to his ear, waiting for whoever it belonged to to pick up. A female voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Who is this?"

"Oh, Johan, you finally called back!"

The man frowned when he recognized the voice. He replied with a sharper tone on his voice.

"I am on vacation Lina, you know that. You better got a good reason for this call, and why you are not using your own mobile phone, but instead call me up on an unknown number while I am on a plane to Moscow."

There was a pause before the next reply. In the background it sounded like a car passed by.

"Sorry Johan, but this is important. I am still at the front in the Middle east, and I found something really interesting! I need you to check up a few things for me."

"Fine. Just give me the names."

As he wrote down the names she mentioned he though over the whole irony. He was no hacker, nor a soldier in the stupid border wars. Why did this have to become his issue? What else would go wrong to this vacation?

Record #01
Quiet giggle on the background, some shuffling. Female voice, low, with soft purring 'r'.

Stop it... I am trying to make a first record, damn it.

Another female voice, happily ringing with quick chirping, replying something on French. Silence, until first one starts speaking again.

September 13th, 2004.
My name is Joan Remy and I am a student of Schiller International University, course Media, Communication and Information. This is my first record and I will keep making those through my studies and future work. Why?
Because I hope to record history, no matter what it will be, and I will do anything to keep facts true.
Record out.

Another giggle on the background, before the record ends.



Record #3071
Voice on the tape calm, slightly hoarse from smoking. Background noise of a microwave working.

November 6th, 2015.
The tense situation in the world is finally going to it's peak. Even though our governments are attempting to ensure us, that everything shall be good - it is clearly not so. The lies, being spread in the media, the lies being told by the politicians.
I know of the media lies. You, whoever you will be, listening to this days, years, decades later, should trust me on that. Yesterday I was to give a report on the evening news about situation between RF and US being under control. I refused - I spent too much time being the "justice and truth" journalist. Well, now I am without a job, just like that.

Click of fingers can be heard and quiet "bling!" of the microwave. Rustle of the paper a moment later.

I've got my hands on some interesting documents, regarding the politics lies. I'd probably get shot, if someone finds out about it, but I am not planning on keeping those. I will read them on in next record and code it up. I am sure, whoever will access these records, will be able to decypher the code.
God, I am tired.
Record out.

Record #3082
Many voices on the background, noise similar to that of panic and chaos.

January 2nd, 2016.
Happy New fucking Year.
Hear that? It's the music of people finding out, that the first attack was launched. The war has officially begun. A few months ago we were told, that nothing is going to happen. Look at this now. Paris is going mad, someone is forming a revolt to storm the Élysée Palace. Angry mob is angry.
Not without prophets, screaming of the Day of Doom and the Final Apocalypse.

Sarcastic snort is heard and someone yelling something in French.

Standing in a traffic jam. Volunteered myself along with a few other ex-coworkers, as a field reporter, for Russian side of the conflict. Experience and willing person is all you need. All I need, is to get to the damn military airport and fly there, to the front lines. Just hope they won't decide to start attacking random ca-
Ah shit.
Record out.