Kill or Be Killed [Krystal]

[Vladimir Stanton]

The sound of footsteps pounded down the empty alleyway. A man raced along the dark street, dressed in colors so dark he could have been a shadow himself. It was part of his strategy. Camouflage. Blend in. Not so the zombies couldn’t see him, they were nearly blind. But so other humans couldn’t locate him. He knew that there were scavengers lurking on the streets, just waiting for some helpless passerby to walk past them so they could steal their supplies, maybe even kill them. He wasn’t going to be one of those unlucky people. He was going to be the one to survive.

That’s why he was traveling alone. He wanted to survive. He knew that being in groups with others would only slow him down, put him in more danger than he was already in. So, really, why should he bother? It was much easier this way. It wasn’t hard to take care of one person, but when you had to watch the backs of others things got complicated. It meant you had to help, risk your life to save someone else’s. Vladimir wasn’t going to die that way. If he died, it would be in a solo fight, a fight to the death. He would leave this world alone. Besides, most of the people left seemed to be idiots, running around the streets every bit as crazed as the zombies. Were they completely stupid? Didn’t they know it was safer to stay inside, lock up in a house? That way the zombies wouldn’t get you. Not as easily anyway.

Breathing heavily, Vladimir turned a corner, skidding slightly as he made a speedy dash into the nearest house. He ran up the porch, kicking the front door open, and barged inside. He held his katana in front of him, eyes darting around the dark room. All was silent except for his ragged breaths. He shut the door behind him, staggering deeper into the house. He made his way through the front entrance and down a hallway. He tried not to look at the pictures that lined the walls inside. It was always depressing to enter a house and see the faces of the people who had previously occupied it, knowing that they were dead, or worse. Vladimir glanced to the side, eyes resting on a picture of a young girl, probably only around five, and then he quickly looked away, shutting his eyes tightly.

Sword held before him, Vladimir made his way down the hallway. It seemed like much too long of a hallway, and the walls felt as if they were collapsing around him, slowly closing in. A minute later, he burst into the kitchen, breaths still coming heavily. He felt his land along the wall, trying to find a light switch. His fingers brushed against an outlet, but unfortunately, when he attempted pushing the switch, nothing happened. He stumbled around in the dark for a few moments and then pulled a lighter out of his pocket. He flicked it open, and the small flame cast a dim light around the room. Vladimir looked around, eyes scanning the room for any signs of life. He walked around the room, stepping over trash that littered the floor, checking the cabinets for food. Of course, there was nothing left. There was never anything left. Someone else had always gotten to it first. It was always gone.

Cursing, Vladimir walked across the room and over to the dusty table that sat in the corner. He slowly lowered himself into one of the wooden chairs, wincing slightly as he did so. He had just come from a brawl with other survivors. The scavengers he was always worried about. The zombies were easy to fight off. The blind bastards moved at the speed of a snail. The humans on the other hand, they had their sight, and they were fast. They also had skill, tactic. They could think for themselves, their brains still functioning properly, senses enhanced by their fear, their will to survive.

Vladimir reached a hand down to his side, pressing it against his wound, trying to stop the bleeding. One of the assholes had wounded him with a knife. He’d known that it would be a bad idea to venture outside of his shelter, his safe zone, but he had run out of food, and he had already gone nearly a week without it. If he waited too long, he would grow weak, he would die. And he wasn’t going to let something like starvation take him out so easily. Then again, if not treated, this wound might. If cuts got infected, you were pretty much screwed, as there was little medical care that would help them. Everyone was dead. There was no help. It was every man for himself. It was kill or be killed, live or die.

[brighteye]

[Vladimir Stanton]

Vladimir slowly lifted his hand, raised it up to his face. His dark eyes studied the blood on his fingers, traced over the red splotches on his hands. His expression darkened. This wasn't good. No, this definitely wasn't good. There was more blood than he had originally thought. When the kid had first driven the knife into his side, he'd hardly felt it. He had been so worked up over the fight that he had barely even noticed. However, now, probably about ten minutes later, as the adrenaline wore off, he was starting to feel it. And it hurt. He frowned deeply, not liking this. He had to suck it up though, since there was really nothing he could do about it now. It was just a little cut. He was used to pain. He could deal with it. He lowered his hand again, flinching as he pressed it to the wound, and began to press. If he could just stop the bleeding...

As he was thinking this, trying to figure out some way to stop the blood from flowing, a noise startled him from his thoughts. The peaceful silence was shattered by a loud thud, and Vladimir was on his feet in an isntant, sword drawn and held out in front of him. The lighter fell from his hand as he did this, clatting to the ground and plunging the room into darkness. "Damn it!" He quickly bent down, freehand searching the floor, feeling around the hard surface. A few seconds later his fingers closed around the lighter, and he flung it open again. In a world like this, light was your friend. Once the lights went out, you were usually as good as dead.

He rose to his feet once more and whirled around, expecting to see some bloodthirsty zombie or one of the scavengers that had followed him. He saw neither of these things though. In fact, what he saw caught him completely off guard. There, a few steps in front of him, sprawled out on the ground, was a small girl. Vladimir wasn't really sure what to make of this. He eyed her with suspicion, trying to figure out if she was human or not. He took a step closer, holding the lighter out. The flame it created was small though, and it was hard to make out exact details of the person in front of him.

Very slowly, the dark-haired man walked over to her, footsteps heavy against the floor. When he neared her, he very cautiously poked her with his foot, nudging her in the shoulder. As soon as he did this, he swiftly stepped back, shielding himself with his sword. Her next reaction would determine if she lived or died. If she said something, did something human, he would spare her. However, if she failed the test, he wouldn't waste a second cutting off her head. He was set on surviving, and if he had to kill to do it, the nso be it. He wasn't going to die. No way in hell.

Sometimes killing the zombies was hard. That is, if it could even be called killing, seeing as they were technically already dead. Most of the time, as long as he didn't look at their faces or think about it too much, he could hack off their heads without a second thought. However, there were other times, times that the corpse ended up being a small child, and that was a little more difficult. It made him think, remember that at one point in time they had been humans just like him. He had slaughtered so many of them... so many that his sword had started to become dull. Luckily, he was strong, and if he hit the rotting flesh with enough force he could still decapitate them. He was a murderer.

"You," he growled, staring down at the girl. "Get up or I'll fucking kill you." He glared at her, hard mask set in place, eyes cold and threatening. His gaze never left her, not for a second. He was dead serious about what he said too. If the girl didn't get back to her feet by the time he counted to three, he'd have no choice but to hack her to pieces. One...two...

[/blockquote]

[brighteye]

[/i] ruined the whole sneaky-stealthy thing she was trying to pull off. Not only was she completely in the open - having made plenty of noise, whoever was in there had to be completely deaf or dead (and not zombie dead. Dead-dead.) to not have noticed her - but she couldn't even see them without moving. And right now, she was content with staying still. She didn't want to be shot or something because she was making movement that the person she was sneaking up on didn't want her to do. Yeah. No thank you. She liked living a little more than she liked the though of being dead. Dead-dead, hopefully, and not zombie-dead.

"Damn it!" Krystal flinched slightly. She wasn't sure what those words meant in regards to her. He - and it was definitely a "he" who had spoken - could be swearing because she stumbled upon him and now he had to kill her, or there was a zombie standing over her fallen form, or... okay, she had to put a stop to her imagination, or she'd be scaring herself into oblivion, and that would do her no good for her current situation. She actually wanted to be aware of her surroundings - because maybe his swearing didn't mean anything for her. Hopefully. Probably not. After a moment of what sounded like soft scuffling, footsteps - heavy like the ones before - came towards her slowly. Her whole form tightened up, afraid he was going to shoot her or whatever it was scavengers did when they found someone they didn't like.

What he did was completely not what she expected. Something pressed against her shoulder, shaking her lightly, before retreating again. He was one, maybe two, footsteps away from her. She had tensed up at the contact - but probably she should move now. If she didn't, he might think she was dead, or some sort of retarded zombie - because having mindless zombies weren't good enough; no, she'd get to be the retarded one in this scene - and she'd rather he didn't think she was the latter. That might end badly for her. As she was getting ready to move, the males' voice rang out in the quiet room. "You. Get up, or I'll fucking kill you." If that wasn't incentive enough to get up off her face, then she didn't know what was.

Her hands pushed her up off the ground and onto her knees, before reaching up to rub dust and dirt off her cheeks - probably just smearing it around more than cleaning it off, but whatever. That wasn't important. What was important was some big, scary black-haired guy with a sword was standing over her. She didn't doubt he wouldn't follow through with his words. With a quiet squeak - both of startlement (because really, who in the world carries a sword in this age?) and fear - she scooted backwards and away from the man with wide eyes.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry. Please don't stab me." That was the most important thing on her mind. She really would rather not be stabbed with that big, sharp-looking sword. That would hurt, and she'd probably die. Well, not if he didn't puncture anything important, but she was pretty sure he would and that would end up in her dying, because she seriously doubted her abilities to save her own life. Someone elses, definitely, but her own? Maybe not so much. Hopefully the youthful looks that she had - which made just about everyone she'd come across think she was anywhere from twelve to fifteen years old - would maybe make him not stab her, if the fact that she wasn't a zombie didn't.[/ul]

[Vladimir Stanton]

Three... He finished his count in his head. The girl still hadn't gotten up. He raised his sword as if to stab her, but then she squeaked and moved away from him. That wasn't exactly 'getting up' but at least it was a reaction. Vladimir didn’t think a zombie would do something like that. They didn't show fear. If he had just poked a zombie it probably would have growled stupidly and attacked him. Even though he was pretty sure she was a human, he didn’t relax just yet. He kept his sword pointed at her, watching her closely. He peered down at her through narrowed eyes, getting a better look at her. A girl, a small one… She didn’t look very threatening… but still…

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. Please don't stab me.”

Alright, well a zombie wouldn’t say that, would it? He kept his gaze on her for a moment longer, eyes full of suspicion, and then he slowly lowered his sword. He did not put it back in its sheath though. Not yet. The girl wasn’t a zombie, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous. Humans could be dangerous too, just as dangerous as the undead corpses. That’s why he was dripping blood all over the ground now. “That’s right, beg for your life,” he muttered, still watching her closely. She looked innocent enough, but he didn’t trust anyone. She seemed like a scared little child, but for all he knew she was just acting. Even as this thought crossed his mind he knew he was being ridiculous. With a sigh, Vladimir took a step back, giving her some space. “Now get up,” he ordered her, motioning for her to do so with his sword, swinging the blade forward in an upward movement. Hadn’t she heard him the first time?

As he waited, he gave a sigh, walking over to one of the dusty counters. He leaned against it, propping himself up with his elbow. His relaxed posture suggested he had dismissed the girl as a threat. He released his sword, setting it down on the counter behind him. He held the lighter in his hand, staring down at the flame, occasionally glancing back up at the girl to see what she was doing. Vladimir was trying to figure out if she could be of any use to him. She looked pretty weak though, and he doubted she would have anything useful.

As Vladimir watched the girl, he found himself wondering what the hell she was even doing out here, a girl of her size, of her age. How the hell had she survived all this time? That was pretty damn impressive. Most of the people he ran into these days were rough looking. You had to be if you wanted to survive out here. If you looked weak, you'd most likely be killed by the scavengers. They'd attack you, take your supplies, maybe even eat you if they were hungry enough. So how had some innocent looking child managed to stay alive? He studied her with his dark eyes, many questions bouncing around inside his head. “What are you doing here?” he growled.

[/blockquote]

[brighteye]

[/i] She barely caught the words. Anyone else, and she might've gotten upset. Well, maybe not anyone else, but a lot of other people could've said that and she'd have been upset. This man was not one of those other people. He moved backwards a step saying, "Now get up." His sword made a movement that emphasized the point, and she carefully scrambled to her feet.

As she moved, he did as well, going further into the kitchen to lean against a counter. The sword was resting on the counter behind him, and she almost sighed in relief. She didn't like having that scary-long sword pointing at her. True, she might have a gun, but he looked like he was capable of using that sword, and the same couldn't be said for her ability to use a gun. She'd probably still be fumbling with the catch when he reached her, if she were to pull it out. No, that would be a foolish move. Better to leave it hidden behind the cute little penguin at her hip. Hopefully he wouldn't notice it - because he'd probably attack her at that point. Maybe if she threw it on the floor at that point, he'd leave her alone. Maybe.

"What are you doing here?" The man demanded finally, after staring at his lighter for a few moments. Why was she here? Sure, she had been hiding from a zombie, but once she heard the boot steps in the building, she could have left. She could have sat where she was and waited for him to leave - or to find her. But no. She had decided to venture out and find out who else was in the building, because that was the first thing that had come to mind. Curse her curiosity - it was going to get her into a lot of trouble one of these days. Maybe she was already in a lot of trouble. That would suck.

"I - uh - I was in the back room. I snuck in before a zombie saw me, because it was out on the street. I didn't want to get eaten or killed so I got away before it heard me and hid in here. And then you came inside and I was curious so I came out and walked down the hall, but I tripped over something and fell, and now I'm here." She replied quickly. It sounded kind of foolish actually, to her. She'd tripped over something, but she didn't know what, and she was hiding from zombies. Ten years ago, a person would have been called crazy for saying something like that. Now, you were lucky to survive after seeing a zombie.

The man before her looked kind of scary. Tall, dark, mean glare, a flashy sword - that spelled trouble to her. He didn't seem to have the nicest demeanor either. She'd have to be careful not to offend him or make him angry, or he might decide he didn't need to leave her alive. She dropped her eyes from the male before her to the ground, as the flickering light from the lighter made something glint slightly. There was a small pool of blood - along with some blood drops - on the ground. It was fresh, and that had been near where the man was standing. "Are you injured?" She asked carefully.[/ul]

[Vladimir Stanton]

“I - uh - I was in the back room. I snuck in before a zombie saw me, because it was out on the street…"

Vladimir listened as the girl spoke, sighing quietly to himself. He had asked one simple question, and he got a whole story in return. He looked at her as she spoke, but he wasn’t really listening to a word she said. It was just going in one ear and out the other. “Okay okay,” he muttered when she continued to ramble. “Forget I asked…” She was harmless. He could tell that much from her voice, the way she spoke. It wasn’t an act. This made him relax slightly, his muscles loosening up a little. He still kept his eyes on her though, never letting her leave his sight. While he didn’t see her as a threat, that didn’t mean he trusted her in any way shape or form. He was like that with everybody. That’s why he travelled alone.

Vladimir looked down at the lighter in his hand, wondering how long the little flame would keep burning. If it stopped, they would be plunged into complete darkness, as this house was well boarded up, the windows sealed off with wood. There might be a light somewhere, but he doubted the electricity was working. What they needed was a lantern. That would work better than this stupid lighter. It gave off light, yeah, but not much. He was just able to see the girl in the dim light of the fire. He studied her for a moment, wondering how long she was going to stay here. He considered leaving, and under any other set of circumstances he would have. It was just…he was injured, and he hurt, and moving around was something he would rather not do right now. Not to mention the zombies might catch a whiff of his blood.

The raven-haired man opened and closed his hand, balling it into a fist and then let it relax, repeating the process a few times. He couldn’t flex his fingers as well as he should be able to. He felt a little shaky. He felt…weak. This thought gave him some strength, and he tightened his hand into a fist again, this clenching his fingers up so tightly that his nails dug into his skin. Fuck. What was he going to do? This was such an annoyance. He wondered how much blood he had lost. It couldn’t be too much, right? He frowned, seeming lost in thought, forgetting the girl was standing there. His eyes travelled down to the ground, and that’s when he saw the blood. He cursed silently, eyebrows knitting together. Dammit.

“Are you injured?”

“No,” Vladimir snapped at her. A reflex reaction. He realized it was probably obvious, and that she had most likely seen the blood on the ground, but he would still try to hide it. He knew it was stupid, and he felt embarrassed, but he didn’t know how else to react. He couldn’t just admit that he was injured. Well, technically, he could… but that would take a huge chunk out of his pride, and he wasn’t sure if that was something he was willing to accept. Letting others know your weaknesses was never a good thing anyway. They would just take advantage for it.

Vladimir stood there frowning, a scowl etched deeply into his face. He moved his hand down, lowering it to his stomach so it hid the wound from the girl’s view. He didn’t need her help… Well, maybe he did, but it would take more than just a simple question to get him to admit it. “What the hell is it to you anyway?” he added in a growl. His eyes narrowed into suspicious slits as he studied the girl in front of him, wondering what she was playing at.

[/blockquote]

[brighteye]

[llist]"Okay, okay. Forget I asked." The man sounded a tad annoyed with her story. Well, he had asked her what she was doing here, so she'd told him, right? If he didn't want to know, then he shouldn't have asked her the question in the first place! Looking back, she realize she could have shortened the story to a sentence or two, but where was the fun in that? Besides, she'd been terrified that he might decide she was spying and just cut her through and through with that sharp looking blade and be done with it. The man looked dangerous and she... well she just wasn't, to put it mildly. "Dangerous" and "Krystal" would never be used in the same sentence without the word "not" between them. No, she was a healer, not a fighter.

"No." the man snapped at her as soon as she was finished speaking. Almost a bit too fast, but she'd already figured he was hurt. There was fresh blood on the floor, and since she wasn't injured (though that might change at any time if the man decided she was too much of a nuisance), the blood had to be from him. Her eyes caught the movement of his hand going to his stomach to press against it slightly, though she couldn't be sure about that last part with the dim flickering of the lighter flame. So, that was where the wound was, hmm? It wasn't the wisest move, to reveal where the wound was. That is, if she were actually trying to utilize his weakness and overpower him. But that would just be stupid. For her, at least.

"What the hell is it to you anyway? He demanded with a growl as his eyes narrowed suspiciously. She didn't blame him for being wary of her. It wasn't the first time she'd had to deal with such looks or attitudes, be it here in the City or in a medical facility of the Northern faction. No, no. She was too young to be a nurse, so could she please go fetch a real nurse or doctor? There was no way this fifteen-year-old-girl - who really was eighteen thank you very much - could be a certified nurse. So, instead of getting annoyed with the man, she sighed as she waved her hands in surrender - a peaceful gesture.

"I was asking because, you see, I'm a nurse. I can help you out." She told him, knowing that he'd scoff and probably laugh at her. That was another reaction that had been offered to her. She found the laughter so much more worse than the arguing. "Before you laugh, let me tell you I can prove it." So, as she waited for his response, she slowly slid her bag down off of her back and into her hands so she could pull out her I.D. It was at the very front, easy to get to. She didn't have to fight through the gauze, bottles of various liquids, thread, and who knows what else to get to it. Nope, it was right there, ready to be lifted by her.

She held it up and offered it to him, though they were quite a few feet away from each other at this point so one of them was going to move. She would, if she wasn't completely convinced that he could have that blade up and between them faster than she could blink, even if it were behind him. In the dim lighting, it was next to impossible to read from this distance, so he'd have to take it from her to look at it./list]