The evening was waning fast in the city of Atlanta. With it's once large infrastructure now into nothing more than a shell of its former glory, it was now home to those that was outside of the military's checkpoints. Those that wanted to be left alone, or to escape from its grip. However, outside of its walls was a lawless territory, especially of those that found encampments of those trying to survive, in turn would get killed, raped, or any combination. Although, those that could survive the scavengers, and the military, was still unprepared for what laid in the dark: The Infected. Creatures that had been exposed to its toxins in certain pockets of buildings, tunnels, sewers, or anywhere that had its deadly airborne virus. This virus was pretty much only in wet environments, since it is a water-thriving plant, still unable to become studied or turned into a vaccine. Typically, those that went into those areas either not stayed for very long, or they took extra equipment with them, to get anything of use to themselves, or for others: Either it be other scavengers, settlements, or even individuals.
In one part of Atlanta, down the long freeway, heading down one of the inner-city streets, was a man who was walking through the cramped streets. Its shops, once full of life, color, and people, were now just former shadows of things that once were: destroyed windows with missing lettering, debris and such scattered everywhere. The streets all lined up with skeletons of vehicles all around. The streets themselves were misshapen and disheveled. However, is traveling in groups, scouring for supplies out of the back of vehicles would be a wondrous thing. Ever so be it, it was just him, so he had to travel light. He was walking by himself, seeing the sun was waning fast. He knew that he had to be in shelter soon, otherwise the Infected would come out and find him. His last encounter from days before left his supplies running sparse: A hunting rifle with only one full magazine left, which was the equivalent of four rounds, a standard 9mm handgun with half a clip left, equivalent of ten rounds, and a dulled machete blade. His medical supplies were even scarce too. He only had one small first aid kit, which held only the basic essentials. The best items in it was a single roll of gauze and a single bandage roll. Everything else was like cheap plastic bandages, minor one-use ointment creams, tongue depressors, just typical barely use items. However, he himself looked like shit.
His hair was greasy, his facial hair was barely coming in, his clothing was dishoveled and covered in dirt, rain, mud, and blood. He had some makeshift patched wounds on parts of his body. His shirt and undershirt had tears and bullet holes. His eyes looked heavy, and his body ached. Looking around the former inner-city downtown Atlanta, he was looking around for anything he could use to stay in the night: duplex shop/apartment, townhome, hell even an abandoned military outpost, something, anything. Upon his back was a duffel green rucksack, holding the essential he mentioned, and a couple of other minor things. The sun was setting quickly. He began to look nervous. Eventually, he ran into a nearby shop. He didnt look at what kind of shop it was. When he entered it, he could see it was a small shop. The main floor was wrecked. Debris scattered everywhere with knocked out shelves. The windows were blown out. However, looking around, he noticed a door to the back. He walk over to it, and opened it. When he did, he fell back to the ground. A damned Infected was on top of him, trying to bite down on him. Its face caked in the scales with its mouth only exposed. The male was struggling with it for a while, until he kicked it off of him, shoving it downstairs. Hearing it tumbling down before a sickening crack sound was made, followed by gargling, hissing, then silence.
The male huffed heavily before heading downstairs. Seeing tiny slit windows on the upper-wall, he noticed he was in the basement. Glancing in the faint moonlight, he seen the dead Infected laying there, neck snapped from the fall. The male then grabbed the infected and carried it back upstairs. Seeing how pitch black it was, he knew he couldnt be out for long. So, after throwing the dead body into the streets, he ran back downstairs, after hastily closing the basement door behind him, locking it too. Walking downstairs, he walked over to his rucksack and reached for a battery lantern, lighting it to look around. The basement was small and cramped. It held a couple of metal shelves nearby which had nothing but scrap on it, a water heater in the corner with pipes that looked to have gone into a small janitor's closet, and even a service entrance, leading back up towards the city streets in the back. There looked to even be evidence of a small twin-size cot in the corner of the basement, along with a small radio next to it, and a small metal box by the foot of the cot. The male then thought to himself 'Could that dead Infected have been the previous owner of the store...?' He shook his head before setting his rucksack down by the edge of the bed. He sets the battery lantern on the nightstand before now sitting alone, in the dark with nothing but his thoughts, and this bed. He reached around his neck and played with the tattered military tags around his neck, along with a certain addition to it. His dirty fingers were caressing it softly before he sighed tiredly to himself. Setting his 9mm pistol on the nightstand, he flipped the pillow over on the twin-size cot, resting his weary head on it, hoping to get at least one night of decent sleep over the long travel he had from days before.
In one part of Atlanta, down the long freeway, heading down one of the inner-city streets, was a man who was walking through the cramped streets. Its shops, once full of life, color, and people, were now just former shadows of things that once were: destroyed windows with missing lettering, debris and such scattered everywhere. The streets all lined up with skeletons of vehicles all around. The streets themselves were misshapen and disheveled. However, is traveling in groups, scouring for supplies out of the back of vehicles would be a wondrous thing. Ever so be it, it was just him, so he had to travel light. He was walking by himself, seeing the sun was waning fast. He knew that he had to be in shelter soon, otherwise the Infected would come out and find him. His last encounter from days before left his supplies running sparse: A hunting rifle with only one full magazine left, which was the equivalent of four rounds, a standard 9mm handgun with half a clip left, equivalent of ten rounds, and a dulled machete blade. His medical supplies were even scarce too. He only had one small first aid kit, which held only the basic essentials. The best items in it was a single roll of gauze and a single bandage roll. Everything else was like cheap plastic bandages, minor one-use ointment creams, tongue depressors, just typical barely use items. However, he himself looked like shit.
His hair was greasy, his facial hair was barely coming in, his clothing was dishoveled and covered in dirt, rain, mud, and blood. He had some makeshift patched wounds on parts of his body. His shirt and undershirt had tears and bullet holes. His eyes looked heavy, and his body ached. Looking around the former inner-city downtown Atlanta, he was looking around for anything he could use to stay in the night: duplex shop/apartment, townhome, hell even an abandoned military outpost, something, anything. Upon his back was a duffel green rucksack, holding the essential he mentioned, and a couple of other minor things. The sun was setting quickly. He began to look nervous. Eventually, he ran into a nearby shop. He didnt look at what kind of shop it was. When he entered it, he could see it was a small shop. The main floor was wrecked. Debris scattered everywhere with knocked out shelves. The windows were blown out. However, looking around, he noticed a door to the back. He walk over to it, and opened it. When he did, he fell back to the ground. A damned Infected was on top of him, trying to bite down on him. Its face caked in the scales with its mouth only exposed. The male was struggling with it for a while, until he kicked it off of him, shoving it downstairs. Hearing it tumbling down before a sickening crack sound was made, followed by gargling, hissing, then silence.
The male huffed heavily before heading downstairs. Seeing tiny slit windows on the upper-wall, he noticed he was in the basement. Glancing in the faint moonlight, he seen the dead Infected laying there, neck snapped from the fall. The male then grabbed the infected and carried it back upstairs. Seeing how pitch black it was, he knew he couldnt be out for long. So, after throwing the dead body into the streets, he ran back downstairs, after hastily closing the basement door behind him, locking it too. Walking downstairs, he walked over to his rucksack and reached for a battery lantern, lighting it to look around. The basement was small and cramped. It held a couple of metal shelves nearby which had nothing but scrap on it, a water heater in the corner with pipes that looked to have gone into a small janitor's closet, and even a service entrance, leading back up towards the city streets in the back. There looked to even be evidence of a small twin-size cot in the corner of the basement, along with a small radio next to it, and a small metal box by the foot of the cot. The male then thought to himself 'Could that dead Infected have been the previous owner of the store...?' He shook his head before setting his rucksack down by the edge of the bed. He sets the battery lantern on the nightstand before now sitting alone, in the dark with nothing but his thoughts, and this bed. He reached around his neck and played with the tattered military tags around his neck, along with a certain addition to it. His dirty fingers were caressing it softly before he sighed tiredly to himself. Setting his 9mm pistol on the nightstand, he flipped the pillow over on the twin-size cot, resting his weary head on it, hoping to get at least one night of decent sleep over the long travel he had from days before.
It was pitch black. Luna looked around nervously for the infected. she heard a hissing sound and something tried to bite me. she pushed it away feeling scales. she took out my knife and slit its throat. she looked around and ran towards the nearest shop. she tripped over a body. she got up and just ran into the shop and found a basement. she picked the locked with her pocket knife and opened the door. luna saw a guy.
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