Hunted

[Gruj]

Its finally here. So give it a good read and feedback is greatly appreciated : )

December 2019, 9:30 AM.

Awakening in a very heavy daze, barely being able to make out his surroundings, he is definitely in the northeast. The man could feel he was being dragged, but could barely lift his head to look around, to his left he saw one of the two men dragging him through the streets, in his arms was a modified XM8, even though he was hard to make out, he was wearing a black trench coat with a Xm8 strapped to his back, and a Dusk Razor to his side. Then spotting the black bandana, symbolizing these two were a part of the rogue Northeast survivors, though most of them were wiped out by DRLP a few survived and went into hiding. The other wearing a blue furr coat carrying a bloody machete by his side and a K-50M on his back, also wearing a black bandana around his neck but was bald and was the older one of the two. "Some reaper". The man to the right exclaimed with a sigh. "yeah i was looking for more of a fight from this one, still cant believe we were able to beat one of those DUSK rea-". the left man spoke
but was interrupted. "The only reason we were able to get him was because he was intoxicated, i can still smell his breath under that **** mask of his" The DUSK Reaper still didn't know what was going on, still dazed and somewhat intoxicated from the night before. "Ok lets do this" the two men threw the drunk into the middle intersection of Lerwillbury where the huge part of it was swallowed by the earth. Hitting the pavement with a sickening thud, the reaper went into a little shock as the two men searched him. "Hey well look at this... Vengeance.. i always wanted this legendary killing machine" The bald man chuckled and threw it aside on the ground. " First Blood?? "The younger man was puzzled by the engraving
carved on the Amputator that he pulled from the man. "So this is the legendary DyC3 the First Blood Prophet... i've heard stories, he was the one who sleign a big red with a single bullet." "Thats a load of bullshit" The older man interrupted "There is no way you can kill one of those things with one **** bullet, its a myth!" Finally focused, DyC3 takes note to the argument and looks up only to get a boot to the face. "Well we will see how he can fend off without his toys, if he really is what they say" The bald man grinned taking the K-50M off DyC3's back and throwing it aside. Picking him up by the arms, dragging him towards the hole "Have fun" the younger rogue laughed as they threw DyC3 into the darkness below.

December 2019, 9:30 AM

In the dark atmosphere of a small secret labratory under a Secronom Appartment complex, a man walks slowly down the hallway carrying a Chicago Typewriter.
Noticing there are several rooms down the catwalk, lighting a cigarrette, chuckled silently and blew smoke. Sporting a Chicago Typewriter, a gun back from World War II. a Sabre in a sheath to his side and a vicious looking battle axe on his back. Entering a pitch black room, the man entered slowly, noticing a body lying face down on the floor wearing a white lab coat with several bullet holes in the back.
"At least do it right ****" he chuckled as he put a single round into the head. kneeling back up his reflection in the mirror identifies him as Crazy Hobo.
A strong figure in DUSK as a Fenrir known as the "Drillmaster" training the rookies that come to DUSK looking to be the elite of the elite.
Hobo is of Russian descent, same with Dice, the only two known Russians in Fairview as far as they knew, also being the founder of LGM (Last Grenade Mercenaries) recruited Dice for his unremarkable skills in the field of battle under many categories.
After checking the room for any supplies or what he was looking for he left onto the catwalk which suspended an unknown distance from the ground below. Looking to his left he notices a longarm infected kneeling over a dead body several yards down the catwalk feasting its horrid maw into the corpse.
"thats a long way down.." Crazy grinned "lets find out how long".
Holstering his Chicago Typewriter, he runs at the Long armed zombie, his hand on his sabre ready to draw it. The infected hearing the clings of hobo's boots clanking against the metal catwalk, turn its head to see crazy charging toward it.
As the infected tried to spring to its feet, but very slowly due to its longer arm and leg bone structure which increased difficulty to do such movements. upon reaching the longarm, crazy dealing one good swift kick to the head, like a football. Causing the infected to stumble over to the railing and tripping over the railing, causing it to fall into the abyss below.
Resting his arms on the railings of the catwalk, enjoying the last few puffs of his cigarette, he waits to hear the thud. 20 seconds later a low-pitched echoing thud is heard.
"Well" Hobo smiled while taking the last puff of his smoke. "That is a long way down.. ive always wanted to do that" chuckling as he flicked the butt into the abyss below, he continued down the catwalk blowing smoke into the next room.