BERLIN 2019

" Sweet dear holy drumsticks, have you seen that?"
The voice from the truck's side, hoarse and with heavy french accent, seems to belong to a female. Soon she shows up from her hideout, looking around carefully.
Tall, bright redhaired, with a fierce eyes of a reporter - only they can remain enthusiastic and curious towards anything happening around them. Even though her lip corners are arched up in a mocking, proud smirk, she has deep blue circles under her eyes, from barely any sleep for the past few days on their feet. Dusting off her jacket, woman kicked aside some junk off her way with a heavy boot and walked up to the weird man. Next to him, she seemed short, even though being more, than average height, but perhaps the fact, that she was more of an agile and skinny type, played the big role here - next to her companion, she did look pretty frail.

" Well, that's dealt with, good for us, no?"
Sticking another cigarette between her teeth, woman leaned down to look closer at the corpses. Pulling out recorder and changing a battery in it, she started muttering something into it, looking over the bodies swiftly, in search of anything useful on them, but finding nothing. Only after she was done with the record and hid everything back into a bag over her shoulder, redhead straightened herself and looked around once more, before speaking up.
" Man, that's some bad ones. Think there're more of them?"
Of course he's not replying, probably fed up with your talking since Frankfurt.
" Okay, okay, I'm shutting up. No need to be so grumpy. Shall we go?"
She added his name at the end and again with american sounding, on which he only had to sigh. Woman shrugged lightly, as if trying to show, that she can't really help it. Or she just didn't want to try and pronounce it right, giving preference to easy way instead.

A short distance away from Strausberger Platz.

Shots in the distance. The Terror paused. Gripping at his rifle. It was mainly for show, he would only use it if he couldn't run any further or his enemies where too big. Rounds are a commodity these days.

"I wouldn't wanna be in that guy's shoes.."

The Terror lowered his rifle and continued walking. He kept to the shadows of buildings as much as he could. Moving slowly and low to the ground. Cities made him nervous. Lots of hiding places, plus the infected could ambush you if you weren't careful. Damn infected...

The Terror prefered long, open roads. A while back he had -relieved- a working car from someone. The Terror had managed to get to the outskirts of Berlin before the car finally gave out.

He spat. A dirty, brown saliva. Water was his main priority. He hadn't eaten in two days either so he could use some grub.

To the distance, he could see a bright red light on top of a building. Probably a Raider-Lord's Stronghold he thought.

"So this is Berlin? Que mierda.." He said as he found a slight overlook. The Terror was able to see some of the city. It was a dreary and dull place with a few visable fires out in the extreme distance.

Night was coming soon. He'd better find a place to sleep.

Few miles away, in the rural area of Zehlendorf.

The lone, fatigued traveller stopped in the middle of the large junction, staring into the heart of Berlin with tired, blood-sprung eyes.
So close. And yet so far.
He shirt was drenched in sweat and blood, and the unforgiving sun didn't help - he was sweating, which wouldn't help on the lack of water, and his rations were dry.
But he smiled, an exhausted, dry laugh escaping him.
He was almost there. More than five hundred miles of manual travel, and he was almost there.
So close.
Berlin would be no match!

Unbeknownst to the survivor, his rather obvious location attracted quite some attention.
Bandits.
Leering from a shady alley out at the survivor who seemed well-stocked, due to his baggy pants, from a distance. It would be quite helpful. Shouldn't be too hard to overwhelm as three people, even though they were out of ammo. Oh well. The butts of the guns could be used.
As sneakily as they could, they crept out from their hideout, and once out in the opened, charged towards Daniel, improvised weapons raised high.

"The fuck?"
The relieved man turned around to face the bandits, and his smile widened.
"Food!"
He drew the USP, which he had plenty of ammo for, and shot three times at the closest thug - only one hit, though it hit him square in the chest, sending him reeling across the ground, dead.
The two others continued, despite certain that they would meet death.
But surprisingly, the dane holstered his gun quickly and drew his trusty bat, raising it high above his neck.
"Come at me you whores!" he shouted.

Two minutes later, it ended.
Two gory corpses laid at his feet, the third a few metres away with a round hole in his chest.
"Weak, weak, WEAK!" he grinned, searching through their bodies for any signs of food.
Out of the three, he found a can of asperges and a water bottle, and against all odds, he found half a bottle of beer on the third. Beer! Oh, how he had missed his precious beer.
Without thinking, he cocked open the improvised lid and gulped down the golden liquid, ending it with a loud sigh and smashing it against the asphalt with a loud crash. Oh, how he had missed his wonderful beer!
Deciding that his day had now been made due to his reunion with the liquid, he settled down in the upstairs offices of the Commerzbank overlooking the junction, where he forcibly opened the can and slowly, thoughtfully, ate the tasteless, pickled asperges as though they were made of gold. He hadn't seen food for so long, and especially vegetable was healthy to the food-deprived.

Interestingly, as he was just almost melancholically finishing the last strand of asperges, he noticed a skulking, lanky figure crawling across the street towards the corpses.
"Infected? Fandens osse. And I thought they were in KBH only."
A deep wrinkle spread across his dirty forehead as he considered the implications of having to fight through the infected whilst reaching central Berlin.
All whilst the creep with a bloated, disfigured face had the meal of his lifetime.

Quiet shuffle. Hollow croak.
Those were the sounds of the interior of the darkened supermarket.
"Bad choice, man. Bad choice" Daniel grumbled to himself, beaming the sharp army-torch from shelf to shelf, searching for not only his pursuer, but for supplies too.
He soon found the conserves and tinned food aisle however, and was delightened to find many, unscathed cans. As quick as he could, he took the most nutritious foods and shoved them into his bag, and scurried down to the 'main road' of the store, looking for the water/alcohol aisle.

The stalking creep that had been following him emerged beforehand, though.

With a terrifying screech that almost scared the man to death, it appeared in front of him, a twisted, scarred face and a mouth full of rotten teeth. It seemed bestial, with a wild, diseased gaze, and yet the way it was crouched over as if prepared to attack, with a wooden board as a weapon...
Gave the impression of a semi-human.
"Son of a bitch, you scared me" Dan chuckled nervously, slowly unsheathing his hatchet. It was only half the size of the board, but it should be able to inflict more damage to both weapon and user, than the bat.
"Come on, come on... Make a move."
It did, lurching itself at Dan with the wood in a strike. He dodged the clumsy weapon easily and brought the hatchet down and into the putrid flesh of the infected, striking the spine with a disgusting crunch.
Content that the being was dead, he removed the axe and continued his stride...

Just to be ambushed by the crawling beast a few moments later, clawing his ankle mercilessly with horribly twisted fingers with what resembled talons more than nails. It dug deep into his flesh, and with a pained groan, he stomped the life out of the cripple with a kick to it's face, even smashing it's horrific face to a pulp with the blunt edge of his axe.
"Motherfucker... Hurt."
He grunted slightly, and set up a light with a small lantern, hastily pouring ethanol over the wound.
"This is gonna hurt even more, fuck fuck fuck."
He bit into the sleeve of his unused coat, and to eliminate any traces of the disease, set fire to the wound.

Have to give the redhead a thumbs up there, since every time she noticed her companion speed up in moving - she did fall silent and follow him swiftly, without falling behind or being most useless person to drag along. No stumbling, no complaining about fast runs or long days on the feet.
She also had a sharper eye on small details, proving to be a good salvaging companion - the moment they started the search through the building, she snorted, when man stepped over something and kept on going.
" Missing good stuff, look."
Kicking aside sticky debris, she lured out a box of matches, with a sly smirk pocketing it in her jacket. Fire, indeed, is not a thing to miss. She soon found another one, and continued shadowing the man with quiet mutters under her nose, constantly glancing over her shoulder and around, noting down anything, that they could and should pick up with them. While her companion, of course, was better at analyzing the situation danger-wise, woman still couldn't help, but keep an eye out for any movement either.

At some point they split up, when there was a choice to go through different rooms. The one she entered, wasn't as dark, as the one Johan went in, but it still gave her creeps - woman made each step carefully, checking every corner, before going further.
One of the passages was half-blocked, hastily, badly.
" Anyone there?"
Quiet, swiftly thrown into darkness behind the dusty closet and some trash. No reply. Carefully fishing out the gun out of the holster, woman took a short, deep breath in, unlocking the safety and kicking the lousy barricade in. Nothing.
Small, weak yellow circle on the floor - a flashlight. Crouching down to pick it up, she kept her attention on the room - someone was here and might still be. Battery in the flashlight seemed to run off - light kept blinking and becoming more and more faint. With a quiet grunt, redhead moved the fading light across the room, stopping on a single closet by the wall. Threading still the same carefully, she stopped by it and with one finger opened barely holding up doors.
" Holy shit. It's a paradise of food here."
Box of crispy bars, that were so popular with all the fitness culture back in peace times , a can with pearl onions (woman nearly squealed on the sight of that luxury), soda cans and half-used pack of sugar. Cinnamon sugar. Inhaling deeply on the sweet scent, she completely forgot to pay attention to her surroundings. Even more so, when woman quickly stuffed her findings into the bag and turned around to leave.

That's where she noticed something, she didn't see at first.
" HOLY FUCKING SHIT, WHAT THE FUCK Y-"
Yell ended same suddenly, as it started, when the shadow, that scared the hell out of her, remained still, curled up in the corner. It surely was a human being, sobbing, shivering and scared not any less, than woman herself.
Muzzle aimed at the shadow, hands shaking, heart racing through the seventh heaven, redhead took a deep breath in, trying to calm down, and stepped closer.
" Move. Move, before I shot you, show the face."
Faint light was enough to reveal a dirty face of a teen. No signs of infection showing. Redhead slowly lowered her weapon, but then the kid let out a sound, that at first didn't make any sense, barely audible and coherent. Gurgling. She lifted her arm, that was in a mess - infected for sure.
" Fuck."
Joan sighed quietly and picked up the aim again.
" Just close your eyes. It'll be over now."
Girl nodded shortly and closed her eyes, sobbing through the pain. Shot echoed through the building, leaving a bloody stains on the wall, next to the little head. Joan cursed quietly and stepped outside, staying on alert. Who knows, where the creeps, that maimed the kid are.

"Fucking piece of... Fuck-fuck-fucking HELL!"
Dan was limping along the highway, zig-zagging between cars, the left sleeve of his trousers tied around his knee with a piece of string, keeping the brutally charred piece of burnt flesh exposed to the mild, but cooling wind.
"Why the fuck... fuck."
He snarled with every step, as though even twitching his foot clearly causing a lot of pain.
"Fucking zombie had to fuck... FUCK!"

He was passing a large truck which was standing in the middle of the road, abandoned long ago, when he suddenly stopped and actually noted the large brand on the carriage.
Carlsberg.
With a baffled expression, the dane forgot the searing pain immediately and hastily made it backwards and pried open the back of it. The inside was unscathed.
"Sweet jesus of the wonderful heavens above..."

As expected, the interior of the truck was filled with a fresh load of beer, stored in caches against the sides. To the brim. With glorious, glorious beer.

Needless to say, it was quickly decided that he could do with a break, and since the sun was setting, he made a small hole in the lining of the truck to see the sun outside and remain in contact with the world, closed and locked the large door from the inside.

It didn't take him long to set up a small 'camp' inside the truck, despite there not being a lot of space; it was crammed with beer, after all. The heavy jacket was used as bedding and his spare clothing was wrapped into a pillow-like bundle. With the majority of his load off his legs, he decided to wait out on savouring the night by sharpening and cleaning the axe with a sharpening stone and a towel, paying great attention to it - experienced in it, one could only guess from where.
After that was done, he shoved a few bullets into a half-empty magazine and placed the gun next to his 'pillow', and only now heaved one of the crates down from the rack, pulling out the first of the many bottles of lager. He uncorked it with his army knife, and without thinking, poured it over his wound, which initially caused him to catch his breath in stinging pain, but which soon turned into obvious relief - the alcohol, however small the amount, had a numbing effect.
What was he going to do with the rest of the lager, though?

That answer was answered soon after when he was rocking back and forth, happily humming a low, distant tune and cracking jokes to himself.
Overly happy from his find, he fell asleep an hour or two later of sheer alcoholic bliss, a sweet and heavy sleep...
The same couldn't be said for when he woke up though, as his liver had for long been without beer, and wasn't appreciating the sudden overload of the liquid.

(( Slightly a co-post with Teo. ))

It was, when she just holstered the gun back in place and was about to turn around on her heels, when his arm reached past her, pointing at the poor kid. Another terrified gasp escaped her, as Joan turned around and stared at her companion with wide, scared eyes. He could literally hear her heart race for the grand prize of the Olympics.
A moment passed, with redhead just staring at the man in sheer terror, before she finally let out long, trembling sigh and spoke up.
" She was infected. Had to put her out of the misery..."
Surprisingly calm, to his ponder. Oh, wait. Now she stepped up, smacked her skinny fists against his chest and blurred out angrily.
" What the fuck you think you're doing?! Scared the hell out of me! Want me to die of heart attack or something?!"
Another moment, where she noticed the blood and scratches.
" The hell happened to you?..."

He looked at her for a moment, before turning his attention to himself. He tilted his head as if he hadn't noticed the blood before now. He checked one of the rips, seemingly worried that a claw might have gone through. it had not.
"I was attacked by a mutated beast. Long claws, suprising amount of blood. Didn't have time to draw weapon. Had to go into melee. Grabbed a bottle from the floor and crushed it against the beast. Then stabbed it. Then stabbed again. It did not die, and attacked me. Clawed for me, so I kicked it, followed with a punch, ripped off a limb and... I am going into way too many details here."
Going silent, he left her with the simple knowledge this was the longest time she ever heard him talk in a row, not the most normal subject.
"Let us leave then."
He turned towards the door, but waited, giving her time to think.

" Fuck sake, man... You sure like killing the bastards."
Quickly wiping her hands off the blood, nearly obsessively, until not a single drop remained (and even then she lit up a match and ran the tiny licking flame along her skin and under the nails, just to make sure every drop of it will be gone). Of course it took her some time, but the effort was understandable - neither of them would want her to accidentally come in contact with infected blood the fatal way. Only when this was done, she glanced around last time, making sure nothing is amiss.
" Right... Just don't sneak up on me again, either you'll kill me, or I might shoot you in shock."
Sighing out in a relief, Joan tapped the bag on her hip.
" I found some food, though, on a bright side."
The usual weird smile crooked on her lips and woman nodded lightly towards the exit.
" Yeah... Lets get the fuck out of here, before something more showed up, indeed."
Letting him lead the way, as usually, she just shadowed him, step in step. Until they were nearly out, where she stopped and darted to the wall with excited chirping. A moment later he found out the reason - she wiped off a layer of dust from a small cabinet on the wall and it revealed faded red cross. Breaking out the locked door of it, Joan smirked and just emptied the kit into her bag, not checking what meds were there - later, everything can be used.
" Now done."
With another nod, catching up with the man, she seemed eager to leave. Not that she felt bad for killing off infected one, but certainly she wasn't comfortable with killing yet another child. Walking behind her companion, she wrinkled her nose, remembering the first time. About the same time, when she met him.



Record nr. 5034.
Voice on the tape is quiet, filled with unhealthy harsh tone of a smoker. Some static on the background.
" It is approximately September, fifth of sixth, not sure, 2019. Frankfurt, still the same, Weißfrauenstraße, what appears to be ruins of the Velvet-club.
The last group of survivors I hooked up with..."
Quiet curse and low cough to the side.
" The woman, the one that was in charge, yes, the bitch with the toddler... Ah, blasted. I regret agreeing to tag along with them, when they found me. I was better on my own - didn't encounter any infected, always had a place to sleep in safely. What the fuck was I thinking, when I said yes to a party with a child in it. It ought to get killed or infected. And it did. Badly and these morons noticed too late - couldn't burn the wound off anymore, infection spreading fast.
I did, what any of them should have done. Immoral? Perhaps. If someone thinks, that anyone deserves the suffering of becoming one of those creeps - I say they are fucking stupid. I'm not. And if so happens to me - I will shoot my brains out, before the infection gets me, if there'll be nothing to be done.
Of course I shot the little brat. Couldn't watch it suffer. All this crying, groaning, slowly deteriorating into gurgling mess. What kind of a sick person would keep him alive like this? Well, whole bunch of these motherfuckers was like that. Bitch nearly stabbed me, luckily her suck-up had a little bit of brain. Gave me a choice to leave. I did.
Fuck. There's a creep here.
Record over."

Record nr. 5035.
" September the 7th, just found working tabloid with still rolling date. Still Velvet, but I will be moving tonight. Nothing else to say here. If someone finds this, the main reason I keep doing this shit, and this is the last record to hear - well, fuck, your faithful MMI servant met her end. I wish I could go back to shadowing the cops and bring news to the people. Or wish I never dropped those last months of the 'peaceful' war. There's no excuse for my cowardly behavior then, but I guess I didn't have enough nerve to continue watching people slaughter each other even without horrific weapons. If only I knew.
Joan Remy, France 24, record out."

Record nr. 5036.
" September 11th. I am still alive, thank the fuck something, that let us rot like this. Kaiserstraße, on the way to the highway on Berlin.
What the fuck, you'd think.
Yeah, was about the similar thought in my head.
Lets put it this way - I got too many on my ass. I shot three. I set one on fire. The other one fell through debris and I didn't see him anymore. Man, but last one was fast. I have never seen them be so fast and ruthless. I am a good runner, even for a smoker, but shit...
So I kept running with the bastard on my tail. Hoping I could find a spot to fool him at. Nope.
I just heard a shot ring through the air and the creep was down. Of course I took it for a chance and hid behind the remnants of once a good car, with so sweet, dear French numbers. That's where I saw my saviour. Fuck, he is weird.
I'm following him now, he said he's going to Berlin. I asked if I could tag along. He didn't reply. So I just followed. Man is armed to teeth, I swear. Even though he wears what appears to be Russian uniform, he is not one himself.
Johan is his name. I can't for shit pronounce it the same way he does it. Sounds something of northern parts. Didn't prod that, he doesn't look like a type for a talk and I rather have a good silent companion, that another moronic talker, like me. Never good.
Wonder of his story. For the past five thousand records I collected quite a few of those, some are less or more interesting. Anyways.
I feel like a cripple. Didn't have a smoke for a few days now and this fella is big. I mean. I'm not a shortie, but he's taller, heavier. Yeah, well, I am a walking skeleton with some muscle on the bones. Always been like that. At least I can fit through a chimney, my dear mother used to say, it might save my life one day. Frankly, it already did, but whatever.
I think he finally noticed, that I am talking non-stop..."
Sound of a shot.
" Mutant."
Distant, low voice, with heavy dark aftertaste to it.
" Yeah, guess record got that. That's how my new friend sounds. Creepy, no? Well, hopefully noone will fuck around with us then. Infected are not as bad, as actual humankind. Not saying, I'm better, I killed a man for a pack of cigarettes, but he was a dick anyways, flailing a knife around at me.
No way I'm going anywhere away from this man. Not until I can at least repay, you know. I owe him my sorry life.
Record out."

Hungover, limping, and fatigued - those three described the survivor well when he finally came upon the first tracks of rail, when the highway turned into a six-laned once and he could see straight into the centre of Berlin a few miles away. With a tired smile, he sat down on the hood of a burned-out car, the rusted metal creaking lightly under his weight.
It was also now that he could see the extent of the war in Berlin.

"Not as bad", he grunted, and cocked open a bottle of beer, sipping it a little and then he wrapped tinfoil around the top of it and tied it close with an elastic band. It wasn't foolproof, but it served well as a recyclable lid.
After that, he just sat there and watched the noon turn into afternoon, swaying slightly from side to side.
It was suprising that he didn't get bored, spending an hour seated and recovering from the walk, and when the late-summer sun had become a tiny bit dimmer, he finally seemed to notice something.
The light at the top of the Fernsehturm.
"Civilisation? Oh thank... That's... Phew."
He sighed tiredly, and heaved himself up. Can't wait forever, after all.

Of course, now he was given a choice. Should he follow the railroad tracks or the highway? Both seemed to lead directly into the Fernsehturm.

He chose the highway, as that had more obstacles and potential covers should he come under attack, as opposed to the bare railroads.

He chose rightly so, it seemed, as after fifteen minutes he noticed a large crater eating away a chuck of the railroad stretch, and he heard something gurgle within it.
Due to his health though, he decided to leave it be and just sneak past. The sooner he could get to sleep, the better. Fighting wouldn't help at all.

Joan was walking in the same silence, looking down to her feet, as usually smoking on the way - at first, she bumped into his arm and only then stopped, looking up, blinking few times.
" Wh- "
Johan looked through the scope and she instantly dismissed the question, tensing up - ready to hide, run, shoot, anything. But what followed his movement, was unexpected.
"A survivor, wounded, better if you try to talk to him, de Arc. I will stay, Any threat from him, I'll take him out."
" Wh- Really?"
Redhead sighed, wrinkling her nose a little, but complied. She didn't mind him branding her with a nickname, afterall, it wasn't unpleasant one and probably sounded much better than her attempts to pronounce his name with the right accent to it.
Joan de Arc, indeed, was a good nickname. Especially given from a man, who barely talks.
" Alright."
Woman sighed again and sped up, walking ahead, catching up with the stranger quite quickly.

" Hey! Hey, you! Speak English? Yeah, you, tacoman!"
Shit. Best convo starter ever. Well done, Double-Jay.
" I mean, yeah... You alright? Need help maybe?"
Lifting her hands lightly and showing those empty, she stopped in a distance, out of melee reach for the Terror, when he finally turned his attention to her. Joan surely didn't look like any threat, apart from being obviously fast and agile kind, and only weapon he could see, was seemingly a handgun in a holster on her belt, halfway covered with the brown, dusty and unlocked leather jacket, worn over a worn out sweater.

Man, he lost buttload of blood, look at that...
When she was asked to keep distance, Joan did so, still keeping her hands up and exposed. However, unaware of the stranger's note on the reflection of the scope, he did take her by surprise, of course. Not like she was any good in close combat anyways and feel of the cold, bloodied metal by her skin didn't make anything any better either.
Son of a bitch.
Was the thought directed to the stranger or her companion, who knows - probably for both.
" Listen, ass, I just fucking asked if you needed help, the fuck is wrong with you. You think I'd come out here without cover in case of this bullshit? So fucking much for trying to help, gee. Will keep that in mind for next times, just shoot you assholes."
Her voice was low, angry, yet she didn't twitch, remaining still.

Her attitude changed a lot, when two shots ripped the air apart. She felt his grip become loose after first one, after second one stinging pain struck her arm and she just blurred out so many different curses on different languages, that one probably would envy her knowledge of these for any situation. Catching a moment of distraction, though, she slammed the back of her head against Terror's face, elbowed him in the stomach (ouch, next to the wound) and tried to make it for escape away from the man. Still cursing loudly, of course.

The moment stranger fell unconscious, Joan turned to her companion and snarled angrily, glaring at him with hatred - if she could burn with just eyes, he'd be a pile of ashes now.
" Tu es completement débile! Imbécile baiseur! Vouz avez plein de merde!"
First time, probably not the last, he heard her swearing in French. Her English was good, so it was near impossible to imagine her speaking her native language - so when she did, he actually had to turn his head and look at her, pondering the hell was she on about. Swearing for sure, judging by the red face and burning glare.
" Merde."
Joan stated spitefully and only then clutched her arm in pain, shock finally wearing off. Taking a deep breath, she switched to English, only now noticing, that until then she spoke French.
" Motherfucking asshole, you said you will fucking cover me up! Why the fuck didn't you shoot him the moment he moved?!"
"You were in the way, would have hit your head."
For a moment she just stared at him in disbelief, catching some breath and trying to ignore the pain.
" Fuck my fucking life. Shot me anyways, moron, and now you want me to help this ass? Fuck no," low hiss followed her words, as she pressed hand deeper to the wound.
"Are you telling me I will have to shoot you again just to get the bandages?"
Joan opened her mouth to say something else, but then noticed that serious angle his head was under - by this time she learned his every move, every gesture, enough to be able to say, when he's dead serious, without having to see face or hear any change of tone in the voice. Since those were lacking, when it came to Johan.

" Va te faire mettre."
Throwing annoyingly, she moved away and sat down on a tire nearby, pulling off her jacket, glancing around and pulling off the sweater too, just to get to the wound. Chilling wind was not pleasant on the skin, since underneath her attire she wore just a thin black top. Checking through the meds, that she got from the previous building, she found two vials of antiseptic - used one on her wound, after burning in the edges with her lighter. Of course it was followed with painful groan and more curses under her breath, and for a few moments she just sat there, rocking back and forth, trying to overcome the pain. Seems like she was a lucky one, never been shot before.
" Help him yourself, fuck. Can't feel my fucking arm."
Passing over a roll of bandages and second vial, she tried to avoid even looking at the two, instead returning to her own problems. Heating up the small pocketknife, that she found not so long ago, redhead kept herself from any more sounds - probably had much more to say on the matter. With another hiss, she pressed the blade into the wound, both sides, and only then covered it with a layer of bandages.
" What now, mister merciful asshole, going to carry the fucker? Seen that over there? Probably people."
Pointing with her unharmed hand to the red lights of the tower, she spat to the side and carefully pulled her clothing back on, trying not to move her arm alot.