The Last of Us: Exodus (IC/Open)

[The Vekta-Helghast Empire]

First-Lieutenant Friedrich 'Fritz' Von Stetten.

Since before even the sun had risen and before the intercom had howled - Friedrich had been entrenched in his daily paperwork in one of the rear offices of the town hall, filling out reports from the day before, writing up minor requisition forms for central command and writing up the next rota for the various duties that needed to be attended to by his men. It seemed like no matter how hard he worked, he never could get the back of the paperwork. He hated it, with every fiber of his being but it was one of those things that just had to be done. When the tannoy cried out for people to make way to the hall, he knew his work would get that bit more difficult - the hustle and bustle of the scanning process ringing through the wall and distracting him to no end.

Though little did he know how great the distraction would be, screams about someone being infected, the thumping of people running around - a man even screaming for people to get the fuck back, “By God I need a new spot for this shit..” He muttered silently to himself, gradually arising from his seated position, throwing his plate-carrier over his head before grabbing his rifle and helmet, neatly planting it atop his head and adjusting the chin-strap before marching out into the main hall - which was certainly crowded with the vast majority of the QZ’s population having gathered for their regular scanning. A light sigh escaped his lips as he adjusted his fatigues - attempting to gain some semblance of comfort in his clothing.

With a reasonable pace, he approached the scanning desks - not uttering a word, he simply loomed over the troops, eyes scanning those in the room - noting a few familiar faces from past scannings with a slight nod of approval. His rifle now slung over his shoulder, his hands tapping softly on the strap repeatedly, ”I presume you have the situation under control, Sergeant?” He questioned suspiciously, not actually looking at anyone in particular - he just presumed from past inspections that there'd be some form of sergeant on duty, no doubt in a supervisory role - clearly referring to the earlier yelling. Before glancing towards the new fuss - the mob around the panicked figure, furrowing his brow slightly, ”Or perhaps not.”

He couldn’t help but wonder about this place sometimes - how so many odd and bizarre things could happen, and yet - somehow, they got by. People were on edge, their now innate paranoia of all things disease ridden often making his life.. Difficult, to say the least. False flags were in abundance and people couldn’t help but accuse every Tom, Dick and Harry of having some kind of infection. But alas, he had little choice but to maintain his composure and take each day as it came.

[Damverland]

The other soldier, a red haired, pale and freckled man with eyes constantly darting back and forth, waved the remaining of the group over. An older woman, maybe fifty or forty-five came walking up, along with some girl with a limp. He scoffed at them, snorting air. “Names?” A shrill voice pierced their ears, his eyes unblinking seemingly.

Connifer made a smile. "Connifer Oakland Jackson." His cigarette was still leaning out of his mouth. He was still smoking it, even though it was halfway burned through. He inhaled. Then he exhaled. Wisps of smoke came running out of his nose. It was his only cig he brought with him to the town hall, he wanted to keep as many as he could. Suddenly his throat began to choke up, and he began to cough loudly and harshly, causing his cigarette to fall out of his mouth, dropping on the cold marble floor below. "Whoops," he said, leaning down to pick it up. When he raised up he had a face-full of scanner. Clear. He chuckled. "Good thing I'm not a mushroom-man, right sir?" His face was still stern, and all he got were blank stares. His smile vanished as he coughed again. He walked away from the desk, happy once again that he wasn't doomed to turn into those things.

"She's infected!" he heard, a cry coming from one of the other desks. He watched as a man cried and kicked, being dragged off to... wherever they took the infected ones to die. He was now on edge. Another man started crying, a panic attack, perhaps? I know how you feel, buddy.

[Kentucky Fried Land]

Sullivan creeped towards the man, taking wary glances down the street from whence he came. He stood next to the man, gun in his hands. The man was continuing to cry and beg, his ominous bellows making Sullivan stay back. “Listen, man. We can help you. Just… let me pick you up and take you to a hospital.” He gave a smooth, calm explanation of the situation, but the man continued to cry. “You can't help! No one can help anyone!” To this, Sullivan chuckled nervously. “That… we’re the military. I don't think some scavengers with a grudge are coming to so much as put a dent in our armor.” An amused grin appeared on his face. He couldn't help himself, the absurdity of this crybaby before him.

The man acted as if he were going to raise his head for a second, but stopped himself and continued sobbing on the asphalt. “Come on, man. I’m trying to help you.” Sullivan murmured, fearing for the safety of this man. He was broken, it seemed. The hellscape had taken it’s toll on his mind, and Sullivan empathized with the poor soul. He thanked God that he had never had to live outside of the zone. The man instantly stopped crying, having got an eerie sudden grip on reality. His head cocked up, a toothy, crooked grin plastered on his face. “Thank you…” He whispered, shaking now. Sullivan drew back and yelped, startled by the unsettling change in appearance the man had taken. “What? W-what the fuck?” Sullivan muttered, eyes glancing down over the man. He certainly hadn't seen that coming.

He was sure not see the next.

A quiet thwip fell on his now aware ears. He would soon no longer hear anymore. Sullivan barely even felt it; the arrow penetrating his eyeball, it’s head just poking out of the back of his skull. Sullivan stumbled forward, past the distraction and slapped to the ground. His body began convulsing, as his murderers began to approach Murrell’s Inlet.

***

The attack on Murrell’s Inlet had been planned for a long time. The place was filled with food, farming equipment, clothes, weapons, everything a hunter could ever want or need. They had planted sleeper agents in the town, of course. Today was a perfect day; cloudy, and everybody who was fit was in one place. Town hall. The military had grown too comfortable in their time here. They had become weak. They had become sick. They needed to be put down.

The Hunters approached town hall silently, undetected. A group of around ten had made it the town hall; the rest went after various other parts of town. They raided the armories, pillaged the hospitals. Reggie Watts in particular had managed to leave the hospital before any Hunter interference; unfortunately, he went to the town hall with the others, soon to be subject to gunfire.

Four of the hunters positioned themselves at the front door of the town hall, eager to start. One of the other hunters split off, finding Cpl. Davis and the infected a few yards off. After splitting Davis’ neck with a machete, he gutted the poor infectee like a fish.

Two hunters clambered up the back of the town hall, scaling the vines that stretched all the way up to the balcony window. One of them was armed with Sullivan’s M4, and the other only had a simple six-shooter revolver to massacre the unsuspecting survivors with. They snuck through the building, the top floor guarded by seemingly nobody. They eventually approached another balcony, this one overlooking the town hall’s lobby. They were all distressed about something; distracted. All the better.

The remaining three moved into the town hall through the side window, one that had been left unlocked by a careless officer, tired of doing paperwork all day without air conditioning. One of them held a metal baseball bat, rusted but still tough enough to crack a skull. Another held a sturdy hatchet in his left hand, what had once been a tool for chopping wood now only used to hack at bone. One of the hunters drew a short straw, however; he held a fragile board, jagged, rusty nails sticking out the head. He was not to be underestimated, however; the nails could certainly shred organs if twisted, and anybody who survived the initial tearing would die later from illness. God only knew how many diseases were on the sharp tips of the nails.

The attack would soon begin.

***

The Staff Sergeant sighed, looking at the First Lieutenant before her. She had met the man often times; had a drink with him, even. They had always been friends, of course. Fritz had always been an agreeable person, to her at least. She approached him, not bothering to salute like some rookie. Those days were long gone; the values of the old military were rather seldom in this day and age.

“Sir… I’m sorry. Couldn't keep them under control. We’re training rookies today, and it ended up being a tougher day than usual. That guy’s having a breakdown, we got a citizen infected. Couldn't get much worse.” Emily Porter had always been a jinx.

Cpl. Pollack took the brunt of the attack; she heard a sizzling noise, and turned her head just as the front doors exploded. Her brain was knocked out of place, her skull fractured. She should have been glad that she never noticed the nail bomb rolling in trough the wooden double doors, then. She had no idea she was dead, or would die. Her last moment was simply the sizzling noise, and then darkness. Nothing.

A few other civilians were sliced and diced by nails and pieces of can shredding their insides. Jose Gonzalez took a piece of shrapnel to the throat, grabbing at his wound before falling on his back. The hunters moved in, then. Armed with shotguns, they took turns firing into the crowd of screaming, confused passerby. A distinct aroma of pissed pants and shit had already begun to spread through the room. Staff Sergeant Emily Porter screamed, and grappled Fritz in a bear hug and slammed him to the ground. They had taken poor cover behind a desk, shots flinging over them. Emily scrambled to a crouched position, pulling the pistol off of her belt and returning fire. One of the hunters caught a round in his cheek; he fell back, screaming a gargled mess of blood from his mouth.

More soldiers went down; eventually, it was just her, PFC. Johnson, 1st Lt. Fritz, Sgt. Walsh, Cpl. Kurwell and Pvt. Hale. The rest had fallen, a few civilians also managing to scramble their way. The hunters on top of the balcony had slunk off like rats, reloading their weapons only to return with more damnation flying from the barrels. Porter looked around frantically, taking in her surroundings. The majority of the citizens had run off; many lay dead on the ground. The remaining few were crouched behind desks, desperate for any protection from the firefight.

Soon enough, their prayers were answered.

The Staff Sergeant could barely believe her ears. Either she was deaf, or the gunfight had ended. The hunters had left just as fast as they had came. Rather, they had snuck off to return back and flank them. She looked around the room, tears welling up in her eyes.

But she couldn't let it get to her.

“Walsh! Johnson! Take any survivors you see to the meeting room. It should be safe in there, no windows or ways in other than one door. You’ll have to swing through the offices to get there.” She then began to designate the others. “Kurwell! Rose! You are to assist me and Lieutenant Stetten in hunting these motherfuckers down! Any civilians who wish to stay, STAY! Now MOVE!” She growled, reloading her pistol and retrieving the dead Pollack’s rifle. Poor girl, hadn't deserved this.

The groups dispersed.

[Anowa]

Shit went downhill rather quickly at that point. Anna noted as the front door to the town hall exploded, and in rollled something that suspiciously looked like a pipe-bomb. The Pink-haired woman didn't hesitate, and neither did her mother. As the elder woman dove behind a desk, Anna simply grabbed a man to her left, using him to cover her own mass before following her mother.

The sound of flesh being ripped open and gunfire pierced Anna's ears as she rolled her self over the desk. A few other civilians and soldiers joining them. And as soon as it started it ended. Either the tinnitus got to her or the gunfight was over, and seeing as her ears weren't wet, it was the latter.

After the sound, the next thing that hit her was the smell. It was a given, when people died all the muscles in their body went limp, including the ones in control of their organs.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, her mother no doubt, "Anna! Stay with the soldiers here, start gathering equipment for yourself. I'll see you again, that's a promise." With that Anna vaulted over the desk again and set her eyes on the body of what seemed to be a private. His rifle and plate carrier still in good condition. That was her goal, and with her pistol concealed within her belt, she was set.

As Anna started retrieving a plate carrier from one of the dead soldiers, Viktoriya ran over to Vedenin and his compatriot, M9 in hand a little over thirty years of experience under her belt. ^[1]"Веденин, спешите ебешь вверх, мертвецы не говорят и не сказки!"

---

TRANSLATE:^[1]Vedenin, hurry the fuck up, dead men tell no tales!

[Ormata]

Vedenin Arseniy Valeryevich
Murrell’s Inlet

It all happened so fast. Hunters shot into the courtyard, massacring the people around Vedenin, and all the shit had hit the fan. He heard the explosions farther-off, and though he had drawn his revolver, he never did get a shot. Too much chaos. Too much blood. Too much noise.

He crouched, amongst the bodies, along with Rylie. Reggie was somewhere else; he was soon found, bleeding from a few wounds. Twelve bullets to the head did nothing if not make him dead, and there was no point in giving words. The man was dead, blood pouring from the holes. Shards of wood were embedded in his throat, too. The man was dead. Nothing Vedenin could say would change that. Nothing he could say would atone for that. Now there was just the squad and keeping them alive.

“Walsh! Johnson! Take any survivors you see to the meeting room. It should be safe in there, no windows or ways in other than one door. You’ll have to swing through the offices to get there. Kurwell! Rose! You are to assist me and Lieutenant Stetten in hunting these motherfuckers down! Any civilians who wish to stay, STAY! Now MOVE!”

Meeting room. Bad idea. No windows, yes, and no ways inside but a single door. That spelt trouble. That spelt death. Clickers would make short work of anything like that, if they had heard the noise, and the Hunters...they had IEDs. That was enough to spell trouble. Vedenin doubted the walls would hold against those explosives. The doors had exploded; he could see at least a few dead soldiers.

He got-up. Plans. Plans. Plans. Viktoriya had been in Chechnya; that much Vedenin knew. Something about the Airborne; that was enough for him. She’d gotten through it. She knew the ins, and she knew the outs, of combat. She also had a good head on her.

Getting-up from his crouch, he said to the corpse, “Dance in heaven, you bastard. Rylie, on me.” From his overcoat, he got his Walther MP, slotting a magazine into it and cocking the weapon. He looked-about; Rylie was staring at the corpse. Placing one hand on her arm, Vedenin shook her; they didn’t have time for this shit. “C’mon,” he said, “We’ll drink to him later. Focus on now. Now we need to survive. Understand?”

“Understood,” she replied, looking him in the eye. Yet, Viktoriya ran-up to him, M9 in hand.

”Веденин, спешите ебешь вверх, мертвецы не говорят и не сказки!”

“Не трахать засаду для нас тогда,”^[1] came the reply, and he moved with her, Rylie in tow.

---

Translate^[1]Don't fucking wait for us then.

[WaRtArIa]

Everything, to say the least, was descending into chaos. Olivia jolted in shock as the front entrance to the town hall exploded in a fireball of orange light, heat, and intense shockwaves. Rubble, embers, and what seemed to be a pipe bomb were flinging themselves out of the building. Feeling for her handgun, Olivia cautiously stalked through the unorderly mess. She quickly ducked behind a desk, and a dead soldier was next to her. Blood was seeping out of his bullet wound, he was pale, and worst of all, his heartbeat stopped completely to a halt. Feeling rather disconcerted, Olivia quickly took off his helmet and plate carrier vest, donning it for herself. She would try to give it to someone else later; using the possessions of the dead gave her discomfort, and she only did this for necessity.

Olivia wrinkled her nose as intense feelings overwhelmed her senses. She smelled urine, feces, blood, and ash. A loud ringing echoed in her ears, and she heard the piercing of flesh. Certainly, that was not a pleasant combination; it sickened her, and reminded her of sickness, Infected, sadness, and death. Truly, that was close to what was here, now.

It gave her little relief to know that others were here too. Running over to the pink-haired woman, Olivia talked, and edged slowly. "I insist, let me come with you! It is not safe here. Save, survive, and escape first; investigation should be later."

[Futrellia]

Dustin Cole
Meeting Room, Town Hall

Dustin sat in a metal chair, near the corner of the room, rattled by what had happened. Murrell's Inlet attacked in the open, soldiers dead, civilians dead, it was a trainwreck. Before the attack, Dustin was one of the last scanned for an infection, which, by the grace of God, was Clear.

Dustin sat bent over, analyzing his Luminant Energy ballcap he had gotten from when he was much younger. The tan color had turned brown with sweat and the Luminant symbol just as much worn and dirty, the bright green "L" turned darker. It reminded him of a time that he barely remembers. He remembers his family's house on Victory Drive in Marshall. The two nice vehicles, an RV, picket fence. The only thing he remembers from a time long since past. It reminded him of his mom, who he left behind in Garden City, with the rest of the Firefly group, which dwindled by the day. He was worried for her, but knew that he had business to take care of. He hated leaving on a mission, but knew that was the only way he would be able to stay. If he didn't participate in the group activities, they would boot his ass to the Clickers and Bloaters, which seemed to be the dominant stages in Garden City, dangerous, and forced the settlement to monitor their loudness. Even just a raised voice would alert any nearby infected. If they did boot him, his mother would probably follow, no matter how much Darius pleaded. It would put his mom in danger, and he couldn't allow that, so he had to do what needed to be done.

[The United States of North Amerigo]

Hale was knocked to the ground by several explosions that made her want to vomit almost immediately. She dove into cover and that didn’t make it any better. “Jesus...Christ.” She said breathing somewhat rapidly. Then set the safety off her M4 and pulled the charging handle, the gunfire had subsided a short while ago.

“Walsh! Johnson! Take any survivors you see to the meeting room. It should be safe in there, no windows or ways in other than one door. You’ll have to swing through the offices to get there.” SSgt. Porter then began to make roles for the others. “Kurwell! Rose! You are to assist me and Lieutenant Stetten in hunting these motherfuckers down! Any civilians who wish to stay, STAY! Now MOVE!” She shouted in an aggressive tone.

Hale nodded looking up from her M4 Carbine, then noticed the badly mauled face and body of Cpl. Pollack, her body was ridden with shrapnel from the nail bombs. Pollack’s neck bleeding out the fastest.

“Oh…” Hale was about to swear but then vomited a bunch of empty bile.

“You good?” SSgt. Porter asked.

“I am now…” Hale replied, exhaling deeply, she closed her eyes for a second. “Okay. Let’s go to work.”

[Damverland]

Connifer was simply looking around, watching. At this point he started to wish he brought all of his things. He did bring his hammer, his bottle, and his money. Not like it would've been use for anything nowadays, really. Maybe there were some people out there who still exchanged money for other things, like food, clothing, maybe some books or movies or games... He remembered stay up late all night playing games on his PS3. He begged his parents to buy him one, the very day it released. His mother did not approve, but his father wanted his son to be happy. First he had to earn it, though. Connifer worked every day, doing chores around the house. his parents gave him money depending on the quality of his work, and he saved up enough to finally buy himself - on his own - a PS3. Nowadays when he looked back on it, he saw it as bad parenting. Just letting a little kid buy some gaming console. He barely had any games to play on it, but he was happy enough. And the movies, oh yes the movies. He missed those. Especially the first three Star Wars. Those were the best ones. The prequels were... not his style, to be blunt. I mean, Jar Jar was just pandering to the kids, the clones were just toy fodder, and-

BOOM!











.........Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...




Oh god, oh god! Please fucking help me!


Oh my god oh my god oh my god OH MY GOD!!!! MY- FUCK, MY LEG! MY LEG IS GONE! JESUS PLEASE FUCK NO! GOD PLEASE HELP ME!


Screaming. Begging. Crying. Connifer looked around. His ears rang, a loud "eeeeeeee". A man was screaming in pain, his leg was all the way across the room. A few more were dead. He crawled to the screaming man.

PLEASE HELP ME, YOU HAVE TO HELP ME, PLEASE I DON'T WANT TO DIE! I-


Just like that, the man was gone. A bullet, through his skull. Connifer felt a sharp pain in his side, another bullet. He took cover under the dead man's body. Two more stings, in his right leg.


The rattling of guns echoed in the room. "Go, go go! Get these civ-" ..... Another soldier down.

He squeezed his eyes tight. Zoom, ting, splat. He was scared. Very scared. He was going to die, he knew it. He was waiting for it, for the moment. He hoped there was a heaven, oh he hoped. He wished he could see his father and mother and sister... beautiful Alissa, and... Caroline. Caroline.... For a moment he grinned, even as people died around him. He was almost happy he was going to die.


....

Suddenly, the bullets were gone. Connifer pulled himself up. His hearing began to come back to him. He limped out of sight of the gunmen. "God.... Somebody help! My leg is... shit..."

[Vulkata II]

Alexander Maccus

Alex was confusing, thought he was doing good but then again he might've tried to fix a broken person then it happened.

If it was all planned by someone he was outside of what was happening and hid behind the tree he was in.

He ducked and covered learning what he did when they were under attacked and then the fighting stopped or at least that's what he thought.

Alex ran inside the wall trying to mix and mingle to the crowd and he saw soldiers escorting people inside the town hall

"Lucky me looks like today wasn't shit after all" he said to himself and then waited for someone to notice him and not shoot him.

[Zhaas123]

Mason was still trying to calm the man down when it happened, he was went to the ground he heard the explosion. He got back up and moved to his helmet and gun. He fired a few times but that attack was almost over as soon as it begun. “Walsh! Johnson! Take any survivors you see to the meeting room. It should be safe in there, no windows or ways in other than one door. You’ll have to swing through the offices to get there". he heard the Staff Sergeant yell. He looked around, bible man had disappeared but mister crazy was still on the floor

He grabbed the man on the floor no time to calm him down now, as he was doing that he shouted "Connor get over and help me carry this guy", "Francis get who you can then go". He looked over and saw three people two women one man, "You three with me".

[The V O I D]

David Michaels

Dave heard the attack starting to happen, heard the gunfire. He was snapped viciously back into reality; and when he was roughly pulled to his feet, and was starting to be pulled in a direction; he moved. Dave kept moving with the group, keeping up the pace rather well. Dave's breathing became more regular. Dave couldn't afford to panic attack right now. He knew he couldn't. Dave's survival instincts kicked in. Soon enough, Dave was going to be safe. He knew he would be. Dave looked back as he was tugged, seeing other people hurt; he looked away. He couldn't help them. Not in his position.

"Th-thank you.", he mumbled to the soldier who helped him get out of there. Dave sighed. He'd be safe, soon.

[The Hoosier Alliance]

Brandon just stood there, staring at the man on the floor. He wondered what was wrong with this guy. Just as he was about to back away and go stand somewhere else, there was an explosion. Something slammed into his back, forcing him to the ground. He decided to just stay down, waiting for it to end.

Then suddenly, it did. At first he didn't notice. Then he heard the shuffling of feet. He looked up and saw soldiers and civilians moving about, trying to something, anything, before they returned. He pushed whatever was on top of him off. It was a body. Some guy behind him with nails in the back of his head. Some lady yelled something, he just didn't know what.

He looked around and could think of only one thing: His rifle. He had hidden his rifle under an old dumpster near his house. Luckily, it was near the town hall as well. He looked around him and slowly headed for the door.

If I can just get my rifle, he thought, I'll be okay.

He could see it. The dumpster. Only about fifty feet. He could make that, right?

He bolted. He ran faster than he had ever ran before in his life. Once he reached the dumpster he threw his hands underneath, groping for the rifle. Then his hands grasped something.

The rifle. It was a M700 Remington bolt action rifle. His backpack was also under there, holding the fifteen rounds he had. He grabbed both of them, then turned and ran, hoping there were no Hunters watching him.

[Krytonus]

The fuzzy crackle of the Murrel's Inlet intercom finally woke Nick from his slumber. He groaned and sat up, ever so so slowly opening his eyes. A sliver of weak sunlight peeked through the blinds, strategically shining directly into his eyes. He hissed and turned away, a ball of blankets and sheets. With regret, he pulled himself out of bed and changed into some cleanish clothes he'd dried overnight on the balcony. He stopped there for a moment, taking in the view. Miller's Inlet was a nice place, all things considered. It was safe, and it had food. A lot of the buildings were overgrown and rusted, but it was home. Stifling a yawn, he wandered back into the small one-room apartment and over to the other, smaller bundle of blankets. He nudged the pile gently.

"Molly..."

The bundle shifted. No reply.

Nick smiled.

"I know you're awake. C'mon, we gotta go." He nudged the pile again.

A small mumble of protest came from the pile.

"Do you want to eat today or not, kid?"

There was a small sigh and after a moment, Molly emerged, wiping sleep from her eyes. Her hair shot out in several independent directions. It was almost impressive.

"See, it's not so bad," Nick remarked as he handed her some fresh clothes.

Molly huffed as she pulled on a clean hoodie.

"I'm so tired."

"That's because you didn't wanna go to bed last night."

"But that was then. This is now."

Nick laughed and filled their water bottles from the plastic container he kept in the room. He made a mental note to fill it up again later.
He took a quick swig from his bottle. Lukewarm, but it was water.

"What work are you gonna do today?" Molly asked, putting her shoes on.

"Dunno," Nick replied through a mouthful of energy bar. He swallowed before replying. "I'll probably help out at the farms or something like that."

"Can I help?"

Nick handed her an energy bar. She tore open the wrapper and started eating.

"We've talked about this Mol. You've got to go to school."

"But I wanna help you." Molly exclaimed before taking another bite of energy bar.

"Look, if you want, you can help me on the weekend."

"Really?" Molly asked, eyes lighting up.

"Really. Now come on, we've gotta get to the town hall."

Nick wasn't even sure Molly heard him, she was so excited.

---

Having to get scanned in the town hall was a pain, but it was necessary. Unfortunately, Nick and Molly arrived pretty late, and so they were close to the back of the line. For the mostpart, things were quiet.

A call echoed through the hall.

Somebody was infected. Nick gripped Molly, unholstered his pistol, ready to act, but nothing came of it. The poor soul who'd been infected was dragged off to be dealt with.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Molly asked.

Nick sighed as he watched the man disappear from sight. He knelt down, put an arm on Molly's shoulder.

"No, Mol. He's not. He got infected. We have to get rid of the infected."

Molly nodded silently.

"I'm sure he was a nice man, sweetie. It's just how things have to be. Understand?"

She nodded again, but didn't meet his eye. Nick sighed. There was a little more ruckus towards the front, but before Nick could react, an explosion rocked the room. The doors were blasted off their hinges and a homemade bomb rolled in. Nick yelped and dove over Molly, protecting her from the blast. They were a little ways away from the entrance, but they were still close enough for a piece of metal to embed itself in the back of Nick's left arm. He just barely stopped himself from crying out as bullets started flying above them.

"Stay down, don't move," he whispered to Molly.

"Okay," she whispered, trembling.

And then, as quickly as it had started, it was over.

No more gunfire. Presumably, the attackers had left, or they'd killed everybody else. Nick stayed completely still, listening.

“Walsh! Johnson! Take any survivors you see to the meeting room. It should be safe in there, no windows or ways in other than one door. You’ll have to swing through the offices to get there.” She then began to designate the others. “Kurwell! Rose! You are to assist me and Lieutenant Stetten in hunting these motherfuckers down! Any civilians who wish to stay, STAY! Now MOVE!”

Nick wouldn't wait to ask again. He sprang up, pulling Molly up with him. She was crying quietly. He knelt down to get at eye level.

"Mol, Mol, listen to me. This is a scary situation. People out there are gonna try and hurt us. I need you to stick close to me and do everything I saw. Understand?"

Molly hesitated before nodding once.

"Good girl." Nick quickly unholstered his gun and started following the soldiers. Molly followed, clutching his other hand.

[The Vekta-Helghast Empire]

First-Lieutenant Friedrich 'Fritz' Von Stetten.

"Don't worry about it Em', we'll get it all sorted out - I'm su-.." He knew the moment the words escaped his lips that something was wrong - that sizzling sound ringing out, all too familiar, "Oh shit.." he whispered to himself and before he knew it - he'd been hurled to the ground in Emily's clasp. A large blast and a number of shots rang out as the shock sank in. A few seconds later the shots had ended and the room fell silent. He quickly shuck himself down, regaining his composure, he quickly unslung his rifle and took up position behind the desk - scanning the area, "Get these civies clear!" he called out, breath a tad heavy - the wind having been knocked out of him.

He quickly took note of the Russians gathering arms and couldn't help but mutter to himself, "Fuck.." He quickly moved to Anna's side as she began removing the plate carrier - initially hoping to stop her, but realizing his own losses he had little choice, "Here, let me help." He commented, kneeling down before assisting her in the removal of the bindings and of the fallen soldier's helm - helping her lift it over the corpse's head, "And take this." He gripped the rifle and held it out to her, "See if you can't get some of the others to safety." With that he arose once again, glancing around the hall with another sigh, "Anyone left standing in my unit - take up positions by the windows, make sure the bastards aren't flanking and for God's sake someone clear those side rooms!"

[Kentucky Fried Land]

The groups had been settled, then, whether they liked it or not.

Sgt. Walsh and PFC. Johnson were to take Viktoriya, David, Brandon, Connifer, Connor, the Harris siblings, Dustin, and Alexander back to the meeting room. The others were to stay and assist the military. SSgt. Porter did not enjoy using civilians like soldiers; but desperate times called for desperate measures. She sauntered past Hale and towards the corpse of Pollack. Her face had been mangled beyond all recognition; her wish of having a quiet death in “some really hot guy, like Channing Tatum, I want to die in his arms” hadn’t come to fruition. Porter did not smile. The thoughts only drew her back farther. The woman sighed, rubbing at her temple again. A good many of the civilians were dead now. Some of them had tried to escape in the courtyard; they too had been gunned down, chunks of body parts missing from them where the shotgun spreads had touched down. Pools of blood everywhere, arms and legs thrown about like some horrific human salad. Porter wanted to puke. She couldn't, despite the smell. She had to grow used to this, to this bullshit. It was always something to see a fucking tragedy, the murder of defenseless civilians. It reminded her of when she heard of those olden days, in which crazy people would shoot others on a massive scale. She had been nothing but a little girl, then; she could barely understand it.

This, she didn't understand either. Violence for the sake of violence, it seemed. It had been so sporadic, so sudden. The Staff Sergeant was certainly shell-shocked, much like a few others such as Hale. Emily Porter watched as Walsh and Johnson led the few remaining civilians back to the meeting room. The woman’s muscles began to tense up, eyes watering and shivers running along her spine.

***

The offices were quite spacious. It seemed like the rows of cubicles stretched out to no end, sometimes complimented by a side room that led to an actually important person’s room. Walsh and Francis led the survivors through, unsuspecting of the Hunters that lied in wait. They creeped behind them, maneuvering through the holes in the walls of the cubicles. There were four of them, now; Cpl. Davis’ murderer had returned. Francis stopped for a minute, admiring the decayed carpet, the shattered screens of the computers, the remnants of the fungus attached to the top corner of a wall. He remembered when they finally got the balls to burn it, leaving a hole in the ceiling and floor, but eventually the spores disappeared. That was ten or so years ago. The entire group stopped to take a short break, Francis now ready to move on.

If he had only been paying less attention to his surroundings.

The machete wielding psychopath sprinted out, screaming and swinging the machete. PFC. Johnson leapt back, his belly recieving a slight cut. The gun flew from his hands and into his face, knocking him to the floor screaming and crying. Nobody had any time to gun down his attacker.

They all leaped over cubicle desks, screaming and lashing out like Indians on a particularly genocidal colonial camp. Weapons were swung, people were smacked. Sgt. Walsh and Dustin Cole were knocked back by the baseball player. Walsh’s gun flew from his hands, the baseball bat holder’s shoulder clotheslining him. Walsh flew up against the wall, his head bumping into the hard, wooden wall. He bumped back, attempting to keep himself up. Dustin was swept from under his feet, before getting punted in the ribs by the baseball player’s boot. He rose the baseball bat high, ready to crush Dustin’s head.

The other Firefly, Alexander, jumped back at the sight of a nail board. Brandon himself was too busy trying to point his gun to notice the feeble weapon. It cracked over his shins, breaking in two. He wouldn't die from it, but it certainly hurt like Hell. Brandon let out a yelp, the rifle pulled from his hands and in the mail board attacker’s grip. The hunter grinned, fiddling with the rifle and pointing it at the two, but not before they had scrounged up the two sharp, splintery chunks of the 2x4. His smile dimmed, and he continued swaying the rifle at each of them to stop one from sprinting at him.

The machete wielding man had left Francis to scream and cry on the floor, holding his stomach to futilely alleviate the pain. The machete man soon targeted two of them; Connor and David. He swung the machete in full force at Connor’s head, slicing a patch of hair out the left side of his head. A trickle of blood rushed down his head, around his left eye and into his lips. Connor fell backwards, shocked by his near demise, while the attacker leapt upon David. He pushed him to the ground, the two struggling for control of the machete. It appeared that the attacker was stronger than the defender; the machete would soon plunge into David’s gut if Connor wasn't out of his stupor in time.

Viktoriya, Connifer, Nick and Molly were the last four, and the axeman lumbered towards them. The hatchet in his hand was rusty, but not dull; he had spent long times at night sharpening it, preparing it for this moment. His moment of glory, his damned time to shine. The hatchet showed no glimmer, nor even a shine. Towards the bottom of the blade, it grew jagged. Perfect for throwing in, hooking someone’s shoulder and ripping out a chunk. Molly hid under a desk, cowering in fear as the man approached the other three. Connifer’s leg was still bum; the axeman was drawn to it like a shark to blood.

He first rushed Viktoriya, a guttural yell from his throat. He slammed into her, pushing the old woman to the floor. He then swung at Connifer, missing as Nick approached. The axeman kicked at Connifer’s wounded leg; he crumpled to the floor, whimpering. The axeman then took a swing at Nick, catching his left hip. Connifer cried out in pain. One of the survivors had helped him in initially, and then he could still at least limp about. Now he wasn't sure if he could even stand up without being carried. Nick cried out in pain, latching to his hip as the hatchet grazed along the skin. It didn't go too deep; Nick would not gain any infections or terrible blood loss from the weapon itself. He would probably need to bandage himself up later, however. The hatchet fell away from him, and the axeman grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

Those attacked were too focused on their attackers to hear the gunshots in the lobby.

***

The soldiers and those who stayed behind had managed to group back together in the lobby. The hunters had disappeared, hidden somewhere in the darkness. Fritz had barked off orders, but nobody had even begun to follow them until now. The siderooms were next; then they would move on to the second floor. It was likely that the hunters had fled, but it was still worthwhile to check.

Unfortunately, they didn't even have time to begin clearing.

One of the hunters emerged from the front of the town hall, shotgun in hand. He fired twice, the automatic in his hands scavenged from some now dead soldier. The hair on Emily Porter’s neck stood up, and she leapt to the floor. She took Hale with her, the unsuspecting girl thrown under 169 pounds of weight (including Porter’s armor). It was better than having her head blown off. Managing to scramble under cover behind a desk, Fritz was pinned down by the shotgunning bastard. Anna and Vedenin just managed to take cover on opposite walls, as the shotgunner ran away again. Emily Porter almost stood up, just to admire the carnage. They were taking potshots at them, like a kid with a slingshot.

But then, the window shattered as the other shotgun Hunter breached in. The other returned as well, back through the front doors right in between Vedenin and Anna. They raised their pistols to fire, but did not anticipate the sudden onslaught from above. The man with the revolver emerged from the darkness above, firing down at the group. Vedenin’s prosthetic limb took a hit, a chunk of rotten plastic flying off, sticking itself through the hole in his sleeve. Two of the bullets missed as well, hitting the wall just above Vedenin’s head. Another bullet strayed as well, shattering the already cracked ceramic floor. One bullet flew into Anna’s side, luckily passing through nothing but flab and skin.

The Hunter with Sullivan’s rifle returned, firing down at the crowd of soldiers. Fritz was no longer pinned, as the Hunter with the shotgun at the front fell dead. The cowboy had missed, one of his bullets ringing true through his skull. It was absolute chaos. Splinters of wood exploded off of desks, chunks of the wall fell from the sky. Vedenin and Anna managed to scramble out the front doors; Fritz was soon pinned behind a desk along with Olivia. The man with the revolver was fast; almost as fast as the Gunslinger had been, in those Stephen King books from the days of old. He pulled the pin back with his palm after every shot, a machine unloading death and fury. Once his shells were spent, he’d slink back and reload just as fast as he had shot them.

The man with the rifle fired wildly, a spray that made certain nobody would make it up the stairs. Hale, Porter and Rylie lay trapped behind an overturned desk; the sheet metal barely protecting them from bullets. “I need a distraction! You, can you do that?” She looked at Rylie with the last statement, making it obvious who she was referring to. “Me and her,” she aimed a thumb at Hale, “Me and her will flank them from the stairs!”

The sole surviving shotgunner had fled the town hall as well, having caught sight of Vedenin and Anna, like a dog after a rascally squirrel. He emptied the shells in his double-barrel, then reloaded, put the gun back together and aimed at the two fleeing.

[The United States of North Amerigo]

SSgt. Porter then rolled off of Hale. Who was a little out of breath to say yes, Hale just nodded instead, checking her M4 carbine yet again. 27 Rounds. Due to logistics it was a bit more convenient for soldiers to pack their rifles up to 27 rounds instead of a full thirty. A practice that had been implemented since the involvement of the United States in the middle east.

Rylie said something that Hale couldn't hear over the gunfire, but then popped above cover just barely, and squeezed off a few rounds with M9 Beretta in hand. Suppressing the enemy rifleman.

"GO, NOW!" SSgt. Porter began her sprint towards the stairwell with Hale not a meter behind, she lagged a little on purpose to raise her M4 into the firing position. Firing off three rounds towards their attacker before hugging into cover behind a stairwell. There was a hunter waiting at the top of the stairs, holding an M14 rambo style, he hit SSgt. Porter's plate-carrier, who didn't have time to react so she just dove into cover.

Hale lifted her M4 into her shoulder and then then fired another three times. The first bullet knocked his arm out, the second slammed into his tactical vest, the third finally penetrated his skull and knocked him clean dead. “Oh God.” This left Hale exasperating for a few seconds, and gave SSgt. Porter a bit of time to get up.

“You did your job, you did your job. It’s okay, you got one.” SSgt. Emily Porter reassured Hale. “Just think of it like basic, paper targets.” She then half begun to drag Hale up the stairs who was shuddering a little bit, but then Hale snapped back into movement, feeling slightly numb in her arms and legs.

“Right… Okay…” We're just words that came out Hale’s mouth at this point. The feeling of regurgitation returned again but she pushed it down, and instead focused on doing her job.

“Come on, we gotta move. Double-time.” Emily ordered, Hale nodded and began up the stairs just as well. A few hunters rushed towards the balcony to try and reinforce their man on the ground. “Oh no you don’t.” Emily said, at the top of the stairs, and then took aim, beginning to fire, Hale then reached the top of the stairs.

“Oh Shit!” One of them yelled. The hunters, who were still quite surprised, barely struggled to change direction. Emily shot him first, he yelped in pain then fell off the balcony. The rest scrambled for cover.

“I’m gonna get you, you little bitch!” A hunter yelled, then Hale lifted up her rifle and shot him in the leg, wounding him.

“Drop your weapons!” Hale shouted, trying to reach at least a somewhat peaceful resolution.

“Agh, Fuck you!” The hunter shouted in reply, holding his leg. Then pulled out a revolver and sprayed bullets in return, the recoil of the revolver shot rounds off center.

“Oh shi-” Hale who already had her finger on the trigger pulled the trigger on her carbine out of instinct, which sent a bullet through the Hunter’s neck. The last one bumrushed Hale and attempted to push her over, Hale ducked just before he slammed into her, rolling the large man off her back. He was on the floor and grabbed at her leg, attempting to trip her, Hale slammed the stock of her M4 into his head once, and the big man was knocked into trauma. His grip on her ankle subsided and Hale stepped backwards.

But the gunfire didn't, the office was in trouble.

[Zhaas123]

Mason smashed against the wall, he wobbled forward trying to find his standing. He looked up and saw the hunter taking the other man Brandon his name was. Brandon was on the ground, the hunter had started to lift his foot up, wanting to crush the civilians head into the floor. Looking around for just a moment for before charging

He ran, ran as fast as he could time seemed to slow as the hunter started to send his foot to Brandon's face. He crashed into the hunter bring them both to the ground. Getting up and getting on top of the hunter looked for the man's bat, before he could thought the hunter had recovered and sent a fist into Mason's face. Mason fell over and landed on the ground as he did the hunter grabbed the bat, walking over to the prone soldier he sent it flying towards his head. Mason looking up and saw the bat coming down towards him moved to dodged out of the way. Kicking at the feet of the hunter, he got back up and looked at the hunter looking for anything he could grab to even the odds. seeing his rifle lying on the ground Mason picked it up and used it to block the man's hit, pushing the hunter back and hitting him with the butt of the rifle in the stomach. Aiming the next hit at the man's head and hitting him square in the temple, the huter fell to the floor, Mason lifted the rifle and gave a few more hits to the downed man's head to make sure he wouldn't get up.

Mason looked at Brandon getting up, then looking over at Francis lying on the ground. Mason ran over to him, he knelled down next to the boy, "Let me see your wound" he lifted Francis arm "you'll be fine barely scrapped you" he said as he got up to look for how the others where doing.

[Zhaas123]

[REDACTED]

[Anowa]

The impact knocked the wind out of Viktoriya, either a stroke of luck or she was getting rusty, likely the latter. But as she slammed into the ground, and conditioned by thirty tears of warfare, Viktoriya didn't hesitate. Her pistol remained firmly in her grasp as she fell, three sharply echoing rounds ripped into the axeman, two in center mass and one in his head. He was dead, immediate threat was neutralized. Standing up she kept her pistol raised, moving further down the hall, although she was aware of fights going on, she wouldn't react in time anyway, it was up to the others at that point.

Anna grunted in pain, the one gap in her pilfered plate carrier and that cowboy wannabee managed to find it. Great, at least it was just flesh not too big of a worry at the moment. Both her and Vedenin ducked out the front door, as gunfire echoed from within. Anna was prepared to start taking pot shots at the Hunters still inside, but the movement out of the corner of her made her move with a purpose. A man with a over under shotgun, likely a clay shooter before everything ended. He fired both barrels and by some miracle the one fired at her only wrecked the M4 and smashed into the plate carrier. The wind knocked out of her, she pulled the 14/45 from her belt and squared her aim at the man as he started to reload. Chest and head, just like her mother taught her, she squeezed the trigger

Three rounds, with a slightly shaky hand it was enough, one ripped through the man's firing hand and further into his forearm. He dropped the weapon and collapsed, howling in pain as the .45 JHP remained lodged, likely in his bone. The second round slammed into his gut, likely his stomach, judging from his immediate response of vomiting a pool of blood. The third and final round -meant for his head- went wide, slamming into a wall far behind him.

Anna didn't feel like wasting anymore ammo on the man, he'd be dead anyway. Vedenin and herself however were still a worry, she could feel her shirt and pant leg start to become damp, with her off hand she reached around and started putting pressure on the wound. She knew deep down that the only way she'd survive is if she kept the adrenaline pumping. She wouldn't really feel it until then, giving her time to find something to patch her up with. So she shoved her thumb into the wound.

With a howl of pain her legs nearly buckled, with a ragged breath she leaned against the wall. She mentally noted that that wasn't the smartest thing to do at least she was awake now. She looked over at Vedenin, "Are you good?"

[The Hoosier Alliance]

"Fuck!" Brandon yelled as the nail board made contact with his shins and broke in two. Then the rifle was yanked from his hands. Not wasting a second he grabbed a half of the broken board, as did his counterpart. The Hunter stared at the pair, aiming at one then the other. The Hunter was smart enough to know that if he shot at one of the two then he would not have enough time to pull back the bolt and load a new round.

Brandon knew that he would have to do something, probably something stupid, or else he would die. When the Hunter was aiming at Alexander, Brandon dove. As he did the Hunter turned the rifle to the right to shoot Brandon, but as he dove he brought up the board to hit the bottom of the Remington. As he did, the Hunter fired a round into the ceiling on reflex as the gun was forced to point up. Brandon then began to wrestle with the man, managing to throw the rifle to the side. Still, he was at a disadvantage. He was stronger than the Hunter but he was at an awkward position and had a messed up shin. He hoped that Alexander, or someone else, would be able to help him in his struggle.

[Futrellia]

Dustin fell to his side, and immediately felt the steel-toe boot knock his ribs, causing his breath to explode out of his body. At the time, Dustin couldn't believe it was happening to him, and he wasn't about to let it happen any further. Even with his breath knocked out, he was still in a state of calm terror. He could think and was surprisingly prepared for what was standing above him. The pain he felt in his chest was brutal, and intense, but his adrenaline had began pumping, and all he could think of was ending him before he ended Dustin. He didn't want to die here, so far away from home. Daily, he was surrounded by death in the form of clickers and bloaters. He couldn't allow another one of his own kind to end him.

"Aw, fuck!" Dustin mumbled quickly as he reached behind his back, and retrieved the 1911 pistol that had miraculously stayed in his leather belt as he fell. He clicked the safety off and fired off six shots into the baseball player. He didn't care about wasting bullets, he just wanted this man above him, hovering over him, the board laying up and ready to injure him further, dead.

[Damverland]

Viktoriya, Connifer, Nick and Molly were the last four, and the axeman lumbered towards them. The hatchet in his hand was rusty, but not dull; he had spent long times at night sharpening it, preparing it for this moment. His moment of glory, his damned time to shine. The hatchet showed no glimmer, nor even a shine. Towards the bottom of the blade, it grew jagged. Perfect for throwing in, hooking someone’s shoulder and ripping out a chunk. Molly hid under a desk, cowering in fear as the man approached the other three. Connifer’s leg was still bum; the axeman was drawn to it like a shark to blood.

He first rushed Viktoriya, a guttural yell from his throat. He slammed into her, pushing the old woman to the floor. He then swung at Connifer, missing as Nick approached. The axeman kicked at Connifer’s wounded leg; he crumpled to the floor, whimpering. The axeman then took a swing at Nick, catching his left hip. Connifer cried out in pain. One of the survivors had helped him in initially, and then he could still at least limp about. Now he wasn't sure if he could even stand up without being carried. Nick cried out in pain, latching to his hip as the hatchet grazed along the skin. It didn't go too deep; Nick would not gain any infections or terrible blood loss from the weapon itself. He would probably need to bandage himself up later, however. The hatchet fell away from him, and the axeman grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

Ooooh god. Oooooh my god. Connifer watched as the man slowly walked towards them. Then suddenly, he shot a look at him. Connifer and the axeman had eye contact. Sharp, vicious eyes. Connifer stepped back. Suddenly, he yelled at the top of his lungs, now charging at the Russian lady. Then he swung his axe at him. Connifer barely missed, jumping back and stumbling due to his busted leg. Suddenly, his foot swung at his leg.


Aaaaahhh! FUUUCK!


Connifer crashed down to the floor. His leg felt like it was smashed with a ten-ton hammer. It went numb. He cried and screamed. His arms were shaking something fierce. He slowly reached to his backpack, his arms shaking like a rattlesnake. He slipped out his hammer, tightly gripping it. He started getting light-headed. The pain was searing. His grip on the hammer started to slip. Then, he passed out.

[Ormata]

Vedenin Arseniy Valeryevich
Murrell’s Inlet

Anna and Vedenin just managed to take cover on opposite walls, as the shotgunner ran away again. Emily Porter almost stood up, just to admire the carnage. They were taking potshots at them, like a kid with a slingshot.

But then, the window shattered as the other shotgun Hunter breached in. The other returned as well, back through the front doors right in between Vedenin and Anna. They raised their pistols to fire, but did not anticipate the sudden onslaught from above. The man with the revolver emerged from the darkness above, firing down at the group. Vedenin’s prosthetic limb took a hit, a chunk of rotten plastic flying off, sticking itself through the hole in his sleeve. Two of the bullets missed as well, hitting the wall just above Vedenin’s head. Another bullet strayed as well, shattering the already cracked ceramic floor. One bullet flew into Anna’s side, luckily passing through nothing but flab and skin.

The sole surviving shotgunner had fled the town hall as well, having caught sight of Vedenin and Anna, like a dog after a rascally squirrel. He emptied the shells in his double-barrel, then reloaded, put the gun back together and aimed at the two fleeing.

Anna was shot. Vedenin didn’t know how extreme the wound was; he was shot too. He didn’t feel any pain, but he did feel the plastics spew into his face. That said enough, in terms of being shot at; his arm was hit. There wasn’t much on him that was plastic, and that was one of the few things. The prosthetic was metal, for the most part, but had a good portion of plastic coating and for the joints. That’d be what was hit.

Not that he went over this. Vedenin’s mind went through everything like lightning; there wasn’t much else to do. He ran out, along with the girl. As she ran, the Russian noted how easily she ran. Flesh wound, then; it wouldn’t kill her. Not quickly, anyways. If anything, it would eventually slow her down.

The bastard with a shotgun ran out, after them. He fired both barrels from the waist, splashing his shots on Anna’s plate and gun. She pulled a pistol from her belt, firing it into the man. He jerked, dying on the third round.

Then Anna did a smart thing. She stuck her thumb into the wound, before her legs nearly buckled. Looking up, she said, "Are you good?" Am I good. That was, actually, a good question. Vedenin took a glimpse at his arm; it looked fine. The suit was torn, but then again, that was it’s natural habitat. That would be fine.

“I’m alright. Can you walk?”

Yet, then he realized something. Rylie was still in there. Rylie. On one hand, he would have to go back. No use beating himself up now; that comes later. She should be able to take care of herself, and would. Rylie wasn’t stupid. But Vedenin could hear screams, farther-off; they were male, though. They weren’t her.

“Is it just me, or has this place gone to shit,” he muttered to himself, scanning the area about them and crouching somewhat. He had no intent to get shot, and he was relatively assured that his Walther could kill any bastard within range.

---

The man with the rifle fired wildly, a spray that made certain nobody would make it up the stairs. Hale, Porter and Rylie lay trapped behind an overturned desk; the sheet metal barely protecting them from bullets. “I need a distraction! You, can you do that?” She looked at Rylie with the last statement, making it obvious who she was referring to. “Me and her,” she aimed a thumb at Hale, “Me and her will flank them from the stairs!”

Rylie nodded, saying, “Yeah, yeah, sure.” The words were lost in the chaos, though. It was too loud, and the shots seemed to be just going and going and going.

Then her mind went-about. What would she do. She could do the moronic thing and just stand up; that’s a good way to die, she’d heard. Being shot was, after all, not on her bucket list. Then again, Rylie thought, she didn’t have a bucket list. That was one of those things you didn’t want to do when the death is unnatural. When you can see it coming, it’s fine. When not, then it is creepy.

Instead, she opted for the more simple approach; covering fire. Crouching behind the table, she looked up just enough to see the enemy, laying her 1911 on the top of the sheet metal and firing away. The general direction was all she wanted; shoot in a direction, and everyone in that direction can’t shoot back. In her peripheral she could see the two running, but three shots in and Rylie realized that, while she was shooting and was covering, no-one was covering her. After all, she was rather concentrated; one shot and she would be dead. Two more shots, and she ducked back down behind the table.

Rylie could hear more shots, more and more and more, and just waited. She didn’t want to duck-out; that’s how you got shot. Yet, she peeked-over the table, in a different place, making sure no-one was trying to come up on her and that no-one was throwing grenades. The hunters had, at the very least, proven their competence in explosives.

[WaRtArIa]

The impact knocked the wind out of Viktoriya, either a stroke of luck or she was getting rusty, likely the latter. But as she slammed into the ground, and conditioned by thirty tears of warfare, Viktoriya didn't hesitate. Her pistol remained firmly in her grasp as she fell, three sharply echoing rounds ripped into the axeman, two in center mass and one in his head. He was dead, immediate threat was neutralized. Standing up she kept her pistol raised, moving further down the hall, although she was aware of fights going on, she wouldn't react in time anyway, it was up to the others at that point.

Anna grunted in pain, the one gap in her pilfered plate carrier and that cowboy wannabee managed to find it. Great, at least it was just flesh not too big of a worry at the moment. Both her and Vedenin ducked out the front door, as gunfire echoed from within. Anna was prepared to start taking pot shots at the Hunters still inside, but the movement out of the corner of her made her move with a purpose. A man with a over under shotgun, likely a clay shooter before everything ended. He fired both barrels and by some miracle the one fired at her only wrecked the M4 and smashed into the plate carrier. The wind knocked out of her, she pulled the 14/45 from her belt and squared her aim at the man as he started to reload. Chest and head, just like her mother taught her, she squeezed the trigger

Three rounds, with a slightly shaky hand it was enough, one ripped through the man's firing hand and further into his forearm. He dropped the weapon and collapsed, howling in pain as the .45 JHP remained lodged, likely in his bone. The second round slammed into his gut, likely his stomach, judging from his immediate response of vomiting a pool of blood. The third and final round -meant for his head- went wide, slamming into a wall far behind him.

Anna didn't feel like wasting anymore ammo on the man, he'd be dead anyway. Vedenin and herself however were still a worry, she could feel her shirt and pant leg start to become damp, with her off hand she reached around and started putting pressure on the wound. She knew deep down that the only way she'd survive is if she kept the adrenaline pumping. She wouldn't really feel it until then, giving her time to find something to patch her up with. So she shoved her thumb into the wound.

With a howl of pain her legs nearly buckled, with a ragged breath she leaned against the wall. She mentally noted that that wasn't the smartest thing to do at least she was awake now. She looked over at Vedenin, "Are you good?"

Another man, presumedly a hunter, was attacking the group. Panicking, Olivia drew her handgun, and immediately shot at him. With the help of the strange pink-haired woman, the man swiftly was defeated. Suddenly, two members of the group were shot. As most people should know, Olivia knew that they were trudging in dangerous, deep water. The woman then stuck her thumb in the wound, and looked a bit teary-eyed at the pain. She blinked, and then her normal, hardened expression had returned.

Olivia directed them into a dark corridor, and took out a water bottle and a rag. "Please, hold still! I'm going to treat your wounds."

Strangely, she didn't see those two around before.

They probably were once some obscure citizens... right?