EVERY START HAS AN ENDING -- [EVIAN]

[reagan "tyler" taylor]

Glass cracked underfoot as Reagan approached the derelict hospital – it was certainly a sight for sore eyes; the windows were all smashed and jagged and the front double doors hung off their hinges like the gaping mouth of a great beast. The floor surrounding the hospital was littered with scraps of once-useful equipment, such as tatters of bandages, smashed syringes and snapped stethoscopes. Come to think of it, this was possibly one of the most dangerous places in the entire damned city (snagging your skin on the sharp edge of a broken glass or impaling yourself on the tip of a needle was not hard, and the things were all over the place), but also one of the most useful. It was fair to say that there was a great deal of unrecovered equipment that was useful as hell in that building. And Reagan wasn't scared. At all. She just needed to exert caution. The shards crunched as she rotated slowly so that her back was to the door, scoping out her surroundings and making sure she wasn't being followed before turning on her heels again and ducking under one of the unhinged doors.

She made her way slowly down the corridor, a gun stretched out before her (as always) – just in case. Because one couldn't be too cautious in this day and age. The only sound was the muffled scuffling of her converse on the linoleum tiles and the faint creaking as the rifle slung around her torso bumped against her back with each step. Every door she passed, she nosed her gun inside, looked around slowly and then backed out - onto the next room. It wasn't like she was in a rush. And she was smart enough to know that rushing killed (except when being chased by something, at least). The gun of choice in her outstretched hand today was a simple single-shot handgun. It was old and battered and the first gun she’d actually ever gotten. It used to be her father’s. A matching gun hung loosely in her left arm – the arm hanging by her side with which she was using to push open doors. She only needed one gun right now, but it was a habit of hers to keep a second at the ready.

And by ‘at the ready’, she means already in hand. Because she carried a lot of guns around with her. And by a lot, she means a lot. Take into account the two pistols being held and the rifle strapped to her back – that’s already a lot, right? Wrong. Reagan was quite proud of her mobile artillery of weapons; strapped to her outer thighs were two pistols, and secured on her belt were three identical revolvers and a small uzi. Around her right ankle was a sheathed knife, and her left ankle was a glock (a small revolver). In the gun holster (which she had stolen from the corpse of a police officer, along with her gun belt – more specifically, the police officer who had dragged her father to prison) around her shoulder was a raptor pistol. And that was the extent of her family of shiny guns. Bullets were of course a necessity, and she had a long chain of them also slung around her chest, and various different bullets in the compartments of her belt. Heavy? Not really. Handguns and pistols and revolvers were small. Admittedly the rifle was totally against the zombie survival guide quite heavy but not to an extent where it greatly affected her speed. She had planned this all out. She’d been around guns for a long freakin’ time now.

After being kicked out by the Nyx (which she had welcomed, by the way), she had been revelling in the fact that she was alone again. Not that she didn't enjoy the company of others sometimes, but constantly it was a chore. And she had fucking hated the rules. Now she lived by what she wanted, went where she pleased. Fuck – she had hated listening to other people. The sliding of glass over a plastic surface made Reagan stop in her steps. She froze and listened intently – it had come from the last room on the left. Slowly, she made her way down the corridor, guns creaking in their holsters, and pushed the door open with the nose of her handgun. There was a sudden flurry of movement and a body flung themselves at her. She managed to get in one bullet, the chest, 50 points, before the screeching zombie slammed into her chest and sent her flying backwards, gun sent travelling through the air in a different direction. The other gun which had been prepared in her left hand rose and shot three bullets neatly through neck of the creature but the thing was fast[ – faster than most of the ones she had encountered so far, and it swiped at her hand and sent that one flying and skidding across the floor too. Reagan ducked, narrowly missing being grabbed at with jagged nails, and lurched sideways, turning to face the undead once more. It was gurgling and leaking and staggering towards her. It paused. She paused too. They stared at each other.

The zombie lunged. Reagan yanked on the leather strap around her chest and the rifle, caught in the momentum, swung around with it, over her shoulder and into her waiting hands. She fired and the zombie’s head was blasted cleanly

[/i] off. Headshot – 100 points. Indifferent, Reagan swung the rifle back around onto her back and picked up her fallen handguns, stepping carefully over the gushing zombie corpse (not forgetting to spit on it as she went past). She shoved one into the left side of her belt and entered the last room from which the zombie had emerged. The building should be empty now – no need to carry more in her hands than needed. The room was a storage room – full of medication and stock and prescriptions. It had obviously been raided before – it looked like someone had grabbed armfuls of containers off the shelves and then ran. She pulled the door almost shut behind her. Bottles and pills were spilled all over the floor and half-empty shelves. Placing her gun down on one of the shelves, she began sifting through boxes until she found what she was looking for – painkillers and packets of clean bandages and band-aids. She grabbed a few handfuls and began shoving them into her pockets – and then she heard a noise in the corridor outside.

Grabbing up her gun again, she approached the door and slowed her breath so that she could hear better. The footsteps sounded calculated – that of a human, not the scuffling of a brainless zombie. At least, so she thought. Reagan peered through the gap of the door, keeping absolutely still as to not give her location away. She knew that outcasts were not welcome around here. She also knew that there were certain people she wanted to kill. She needed the upper hand right now. Restricted vision from the door (at least, without moving it), only allowed her to see the shadow of the new arrival. She held her breath and counted in her head as the figure got closer –

Three. Two. One..

Reagan shoved the door open with her free hand and stepped sideways out of the room, holding her gun outstretched before her and instantly zoning it in on the new person.

“Hold it the fuck there.”



- - - -
notes: bam. this turned out longer than i meant. lawl.
tagged: EVIAN PLZ.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/justify]

[evian lee marks]

Evian itched down the empty, cluttered, and absolutely dangerous hallways of the old apparently 'abandoned' hospital, his ears perked up, waiting for any type of noise to disturb the silence. It had been fairly quiet thus far, but that wasn't exactly going well with Evian. Damn it, he wanted chaos! Why the hell else had he sneaked down here and away from headquarters anyways. The peacefulness of the Koios got to him every once in a while (more like everyday) and he just had to get away and cause a little trouble. Nothing too insane, just enough to keep him entertained.

He eventually stopped creeping and did what he could to make noise without seeming like too much of a fucking dumbass (that may or may not be possible but, oh well.) He bluntly kicked doors open, letting them slam against the walls and bounce before ducking his head in, giving a quick whistle and ducking back out. Door ten, empty. Door fifteen, empty. Door twenty, empty. Door seven-thousand twenty, empty. Fuck! It was as if the adventure was purposely avoiding Evian today. That wasn't too bad though. After all the only thing Evian was armed with was a random big-ass syringe he had found laying around with some mysterious liquid in it, and a gun with two bullets hanging from a holster on his right side. Evian's un-wishful thinking that morning had landed him in that particular position. Oops? Oh well. Evian would get past it, if he ever had to anyways. God damn it, still no life in this retched hell hole.

He busted into room eight-thousand fifty super-spy style, tuck rolling into the room. Evian pushed himself up quickly, his hand flying to his side and pulling out the gun. He took an instinctive step backwards the sound of glass crunching under his feet. The creature was in front of him, finally. Evian let the gun fire, loudly of course, and grinned--

before he realized that it was a fucking mirror.

The creature?

His fucking reflection.

Evian let out a frustrated yell, before coming to the realization that yes, he was now bleeding from tuck rolling into an empty hospital room with glass shards all over the floor.

'Fuck... I probably have AIDs now...', he thought to himself, examining his bloody left arm. 'Shittt...', he winced at the thought of an angry as fuck Ebony.

Head bowed down in defeat, Evian bent down and picked up the syringe he had managed to drop during his epic entrance. Souvenirs are fun, even if they will always remind you of the total dip-shit moments of life. He keeps his left arm pinned to his side as he walks back down the halls of the hospital, retracing his steps, no longer bothering to watch out for zombies, people, etc. Evian's spirits are dampened, how sad. He walked past the storage room of the hospital, not even bothering to realize that 'Hey, the door wasn't that way before.'

Suddenly-- what the fuck???

Instantly instinct takes over and when the "Hold it the fuck there." is spat out at him, he whirls around throwing the syringe out and watching it zoom past the girl's face, brushing a strand of her hair even, and to the ground. He winces as it crashes into the ground, rolling away, slowly but surely. Evian wastes no time though and pulls the gun back out, aiming it at this random ass chick. In the back of his mind he realizes that, yes, he does only have one bullet left, but damn it--

No need to seem like a total dipshit in this moment. Evian's life seemed to be on the line.

WORD COUNT-- I do not know because my lazyness won't let me find out, but it's enough.
NOTES-- LAWL. FLYING SYRINGES!
TAGGED-- REAGEN, AKA-- DANNY BOY. C:
CREDIT-- heather@caution. He's supposed to have black hair but I liked that picture.. >.>;;
STATUS-- Finished!

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