The Wastes (IC)

Skye simply rolled his eyes as they trekked towards the college. It wasn't much of a walk, but the falcon couldn't help but notice the panda's struggled breathing. It made him question how far and how fat the fat guy could run, should the need arise. If the undead found them again, would they take Paxon first? His gaze shifted to Georoge. She looked like she'd be easier to trip, or at least to fly with if she managed to catch his foot on the initial upstroke. Then there was always Adam, who seemed to be more of a wild card. Skye wouldn't doubt if the fox would actually pull out his gun and shoot the falcon out of the sky, if he tried anything funny.


It was only at this thought that Skye noticed he was more or less keeping pace with Paxon. To be more precise, it was the shot that rang out that took Skye's mind back to the real world. He looked around, as if trying to pinpoint the source of the sound, before a force pulled his arm, causing the dazed and confused falcon to stumble behind who he managed to recognize as Paxon. Started by the sudden movement, Skye had dropped his pistol on the ground halfway to the cover. A 'what the hell, man?'  was halfway up his throat, before another shot rang in the chassis of the car. Adam's remark, or rather his bark of 'sniper' finally made Skye realize what was going on. They were getting fired at. By another survivor. The thought alone made Skye quiver slightly. It brought back too many flashbacks of gang wars in the slums, block shootouts that went sour, all because someone could acquire and operate a sniper rifle with decent aim. 


Skye would admit - it was never his group that brought the sniper. It was always whoever they were fighting that month over the small five square block span his gang owned. It was big territory, for a gang barely in the double didgits of members. It seemed like all too often, they'd loose someone, be it to the ambulance, the police, or the mortician. His right hand pressed into his abdomen, a stab wound to the gut, just five months prior to the apocalypse. That was the day they lost Julio. A nick on his beak, when they lost Antony to a situation just like this. He winced, glimpsing George move about towards the bell tower, where he now knew the sniper to be perched. Antony had tired something similar, and got two bullets - one in his foot and the other in his skull. Skye looked away when George was safe in cover. This was going to make him sick. 
 
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Paxon was all too familiar with this situation. Just like Skye he had been in gang fights before over meaningless things like territory. Although he never tread on others' turf, there were times that the people he sold to expected him to fight for them and on some occasions, he did. Merely for the fact that if he didn't he would have someone on his ass with a gun threatening him and his lover Rudy... and he couldn't have that. Now was a different situation however, it wasn't about drugs or money, it was about survival. Whether the person wanted them dead for their supplies or wanted them dead for other reasons, it didn't matter. It was the sniper or them and Paxon would rather have the latter. 


The panda dropped on his fat ass behind the cover right before George did her little stunt and instead of watching in eager anticipation he slipped his bag from his shoulders and began rummaging inside of it. Was it to grab his gun? Perhaps to snag something to distract the sniper for a brief moment so he could move closer? Nope. It was so he could retrieve another bag of chips which he promptly popped it open and began munching down rather quickly taking handfuls at a time. By the time George was behind cover again Paxon finished his second bag of chips and he was digging around in his bag again only to pull out a blunt he had prepared beforehand. Was it really time for weed, Paxon? Well...if you asked him he would say yes. With a lighter procured from the pocket of his jacket, Paxon lit the end of the blunt and took a long hit ending in billowing smoke that rose above the car. "...there we go..." He breathed out and stuck the lit blunt between his lips. He needed to think clearly, panicking in this situation would result in someone's death whether it be his or someone else's. 


Oh so carefully, Paxon simply stood up from behind the car and began a brisk walk to the next bit of cover. Right before a shot would pierce the air, Paxon would sidestep and the bullet would miss. He seemed rather calm about the whole ordeal but in his mind he was panicking. The marijuana helped however, it kept him calm and collected even when his life was threatened. Paxon wasn't nearly as fast as George was but Paxon had more experience. There was always a timing to these things, perhaps most would consider him careless to eat in the middle of a firefight but that's not all he was doing. He took that time to listen to the sniper's fire, figure out what kind of gun it was, how quick the person was to pull the trigger and how long it took for them to aim. Knowing this could change the battle entirely and for Paxon, it had. One one thousand Sidestep. Crack! A bullet narrowly missed him by only a few inches. One one thousand, two one thousand Sidestep. Crack! Another flew and hit the ground a foot or two away from him. He repeated this, having realized the closer he got the faster the bastard would fire and he shortened his counting accordingly. Before too long, Paxon was crouched behind cover along with George and hopefully he had been a distraction enough for someone else to move up as well. 
 
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Adam looked to the side to see that George was able to make it to cover. He let out a sigh of relief before another shot tore through the air. He put his back to his cover and loaded another clip in. He looked to his side again and saw George bolting. "What the f---" Adam was saying before another shot rang out. "Welp, she got guts, I'll give her that." He said to himself. The shots began to pick up pace, and it began to worry Adam. He had a fair amount of experience when it came to taking out a sniper. The hardest times were dealing with semi automatic rifles. "Oh this is just great!" Adam yelled out. He looked over his cover again, not to be met by another bullet, but at the sight of Paxon grabbing a joint out of his bag. " What the hell?" He whispered. He saw many ways of people calming themselves down in the military, this was definitely new to see for him. But then Adam was met by another confusing sight. Paxon was now running out in the open. The sniper seemed to focus on Paxon but couldn't seem to hit him. "Oh well, might as well go for it." Adam said before getting ready for a dead sprint for more cover.
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His breathing escalated, getting heavier and heavier, and then he ran. He sprint to the cover Paxon just left and slid into it next to Skye. "What's up?" He said turning towards him. He began thinking of another run but stayed for a moment. "Water time." Adam said before grabbing a water bottle out of his bag. He took a sip of water before putting it back in his bag. "I thought I was done with this stuff." He said before firing another few rounds a the tower. 
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George


By the time George found herself behind the dorm complex for cover, she'd collapsed against it and pressed a hand over her chest. Her heart was, of course, thumping hard. She felt as though she'd have a heart attack if she kept this up for too much longer. Myocardial infarction. That was the medical term for it - why it was passing her mind now was a mystery. Still, she rose to her feet at the surprise of Paxon joining her. She gave him a half smile, as it were painfully obvious she was a panicked wreck. 


"What's up, my man?" She managed to say in a breathless passing. She rested her hands on her knees and breathed deeply, before raising her fist to him assuming he'd bump it. Regardless if he did or not, George straightened up, and reached for her hat. She held it by the bill, and have a quiet sigh. "Y'know," she said as he glanced at Paxon. She was envious of his calm exterior. She was forcing a smile and ran a hand across her forehead. "I really, really don't like this guy," George said between ragged, deep breaths. "It's a wonder no one's been shot yet, huh? Maybe he's firing blanks!" She almost laughed at the thought before raising her hat out from their cover.


Unsurprisingly, a shot tore through it, nearly tearing it out of George's grasp. A smoking hole had been made in her cap, to which George brought back to Paxon and her own's gaze. She shook her head. It was another needlessly reckless act on her part, and this one cost her a hat. Better that, than her head.

Sniper


The marksman in the tower was hunting the survivors. They were animals. He was a man of flesh and skin without fur. His kind, humans, deserved this planet. They deserved to own the beautiful rolling hills and rivers. The animals that had passed him in this time were vermin, waiting to be hunted, skinned, and mounted like trophies. He had taken a special interest in the fox of the survivor's group, however. In the week that had passed during the apocalypse, he'd killed two foxes already. They made great fur cloaks in the sniper's opinion. Even now, the sniper's nest was decorated with various trophies of his killings. Heads, pelts, and even skulls of some dearly departed survivors, maybe even some before the undead plague struck the world. Whatever the case might've been, he drew his fire on the falcon and the fox.

His aim, however, was not directly at them. The streetlights above them still remained powered some time after the grid had gone off... So, he shot them, raining sparks and glass down on Skye and Adam. If not to hurt them, then to cause them to panic. They were animals in his eyes, he hoped they would panic. Then he could take them down and properly sharpen his marksmanship. He felt his prior display of accuracy was... Poor, to say the least. He'd attribute it to the damn animals being slippery. Perhaps even a little smarter than he would've guessed at first.
 
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Skye closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on something, anything other than the sounds of shots ringing out. Get it together, man, he mentally berated himself. He bit his lip, or whatever the equivalent of that would be, given how falcons don't actually have lips. Now wasn't the time for PTSD flashbacks... Was Skye honestly that weak? The question rang through his head like the bell above the sniper. The veteran seemed to be fine in this situation, but he was a veteran... Paxon had supposedly seen his fair share, but he seemed fine as well. Heck, even George was doing better than Skye! This train of thought, coupled with the previous, brought Skye to the conclusion - he was the weakest link, he was the one getting tripped when it came down to a dead run... he had to be the one to draw the fire, as he was the disposable one of the group now. His heart wrenched, trying to tell his mind that it wasn't true. Skye remembered Doug, how he would always look out for the group, had their best interest in mind, how he gave his life for the four of them. There was no way Skye was going to let his sacrifice be in vain... but if he didn't do this, would any of them survive? Wasn't it in their best interest to remove the weakness? It would kill two birds with one stone (hah) if Skye did this, as it would not only provide a good enough distraction for the rest of the group to move forwards, but it would also get rid of him... he felt a lump rising in his throat at the thought. 


Skye startled lightly when Adam slid in next to him, his breathing catching and he let out a light yelp as his thoughts scattered like roaches when you turned the kitchen lights on in the middle of the night. Collecting his thoughts, he opened his beak to speak before a loud cracking sounded over them, like a light bulb blowing out in a thunderstorm. Skye instinctively raised his wings, the feathers shielding him and some of Adam from the shower of glass shards raining down on them. Great, so the sniper's attention was on them, now... 


"I'm gonna make a dash for the bell tower," Skye stated plainly. "If I could get in the air, I could dive bomb the sniper. That should buy everyone a little more time..." trailing off, Skye paused what he was doing to listen closely. His head tilted oddly, trying to catch the sound at the right angle, and when he did, his eyes widened. "The undead are near. I'm gonna guess five minutes till they swarm the place." The sound of a hoard nearby, perhaps two or so blocks away. The sound of fighting, weapons firing, and screams randomly punctuated the air - the hoard must have found another encampment. Skye shook his head sadly but tried not to remorse too much. There were things he needed to do right now. "Ready?" the falcon asked, and without waiting for a response, sprung out from behind cover. He attempted to move in an unpredictable pattern, but that was a bit hard to do when on was attempting to take off at the same time. While flying wasn't exactly the best idea, it was the fastest way up the bell tower, and perhaps if he could only disrupt the sniper slightly from above, perhaps that'd give the others a chance...


(( @GoldenHeartedGhoul I'll leave the fate of Skye up to you, since I decided to go ahead with the zombies))
 
Paxon shrugged when George asked the question but didn't hesitate to give her a fist bump. His eyes were half lidded, his shoulders down and back, and his breathing was more or less tame which gave him that calm exterior. But that's all that it was, an exterior. In his mind, Paxon was trying not to panic. He put his fingers to the blunt still between his lips and took another long drag with another large billowing cloud of smoke blown from his lips. Paxon took a few deep breaths, he had to think. From here to the tower wasn't that long of a distance but it was too close to the tower to be safe without some sort of distraction. "...how much ammo does this bastard have..." He almost laughed, if this son if a bitch was so intent on killing them then he was going to use up all his ammo by the time this was over. Everyone was playing it safe, no one had been shot and no one was doing anything stupi-


"SKYE! THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" Paxon shouted out from his position. "Get back behind cover before you get shot!" He wanted to grab him and pull him behind cover himself but he was too high for that now. He wasn't sure if Skye was being ambitious or plain stupid. "So much for no one getting shot..." He muttered to George, the scene having already played out in his mind of the falcon taking a well placed bullet to the chest and falling to the ground with a hard thud. But that didn't happen just yet. Since the fire was most certainly going to be drawn to Skye, Paxon gave George a hard grab on the shoulder. "C'mon, if Skye dies let's not let him die in vain." Paxon joked morbidly as he shouldered his way past George and led the way from the dorm complex straight to the bell tower with George in tow. The two made a mad dash for the tower, if they stopped now they would be sitting ducks but Paxon wouldn't let them be vulnerable for long. He expected the door at the base to be locked and sure enough it had been. But hardly any door could withstand a 300 pound panda shouldering his way past it. The door splintered and broke off the hinges and left both Paxon and George inside the base of the tower with cascading stairs above them both. "You go on ahead, I...I need a breather..." Paxon huffed and wheezed between words and hunched down, resting his palms on his knees as he caught his breath. "...give 'em hell..." Was the last thing he said before he flopped down on his ass and leaned his head back against a wall to rest.
 

After listening to what Skye was planning to do all Adam responded with was, "Sounds like a plan". When Skye gave an estimate for how long it would take for the zed's to show up Adam had heard it. The horde was indeed drawing near, which meant that the bastard in the tower had to go and fast. He ready himself for a charge at he tower and when Skye asked him he bolted. As he was running for the tower he yelled up to Skye "You're one crazy bastard Skye! But that's what I'm gonna enjoy seeing!". He looked down to what was in front of him. He saw Paxon and George doing the same thing as himself. The feeling he felt when he was running was something he hadn't felt in a while. He felt like the did in the military. Running to the objective with his team. He arrived in the tower shortly after Paxon and George did. Looking to the side he saw Paxon against the wall catching his breath. Adam heard the last words he said. They repeated themselves in his mind "give 'em hell.. give 'em hell... give 'em hell". "I intend to" Adam said before rushing up the stairs. He was gonna give this guy more than hell. He was gonna beat the living shit out of that guy for what he for what he did.
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George


George had ran with Paxon and stopped only briefly when he plopped down to rest. She didn't need to hear the rest of what he was going to say to know what needed to be done. She didn't want to hurt anyone, but her hands had been dirtied once already. Shooting a man rested heavily on her shoulders, but knowing the sniper would kill her in an instant given the chance, she would have to push on. The least she could do was sucker punch him. Maybe knock a tooth or two out! Yeah!


She breached through the doorway, shoving the now broken door aside, ready to stampeded up the stairs with Adam. She had backup. She wouldn't have to take the sniper on with only her wits and a machete. That much, she was thankful for. 


Only she didn't run up the stairs in a dead sprint. She was stopped at the stairs by the gore-effigy that had been made of a now desecrated rabbit woman. She'd been mostly skinned and flayed open. Much of the viscera still remained around her body, but had blackened and left a scar on the belltower's staircase. The frozen look of horror left on the woman's eyeless face held George in place for all but a moment.


She felt the urge to puke, but stifled it. Her thoughts drew to the cop-zombie she killed on day one and how she shot him through the bottom of his jaw... Then to Douglas and the bits of brain he left painted on the wall. Really, George felt like she was going to have a panic attack. Her breathing started getting uneven, and in her panic... She continued forward. Tears had begun streaming down her face, and her breathing was now audible over her pounding footsteps against the stairs. With two flights above them... They were going to need that speed.

Sniper
Perhaps some time before the end of the world, this man was a great marksman. Maybe a hunter of less walking-upright prey, even. Maybe he had a pleasant family before the fall. Doesn't matter now, does it?

His prey was strong, and certainly had the will to fight. He made an example of the last one who made it this close to his nest. When the feathered beast had taken flight, his attention and aim had taken to Skye. He intended to take a shot and pierce his heart. Perhaps salvage his feathers for a nice cap. In his mind, he was a hero and he thought he should be dressed as one. It wasn't a surprise he wore his trophies with pride.


When Skye had drawn near, the commotion below him of a door breaking had taken his focus just long enough for him to look down. In that brief moment, he drew a gasp to see how Skye had taken to the air above. The thrill of the kill had taken the man's sense. The hunt had a firm grip on his mind as he brought the butt of his rifle to his shoulder. His aim fell on the falcon... And the crack of his rifle pierced the silence once more. He'd shot Skye in his maddened bloodlust. 
 
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Pain. 


Pain like Skye had never experienced. But it was also a familiar lull. His mind flashed back to that night where he had gotten that wound on his shoulder from the bullet. His present attention had focused on where the sniper's bullet had pierced his wing. Not the feather, not the fingers hiding within, but the bone itself. Skye didn't know the name of the bone that had been hit, but a doctor could probably tell him that his ulna was fractured. All Skye knew was that moving his right arm sent fire up the limb and made spots dance on the edges of his vision. It was all he could do to maintain a glide at the altitude he was at right now. The air pressure on the bone, along with the movement of the feathers in the wind made his arm move ever so slightly, so that flying was painful. There was no way he would be able to flap, or probably even use his arm. 


That bastard. That bastard! How dare he attempt to ground a falcon?! Overcome with a sudden rage, Skye angled himself with his left wing and tail feathers so that he would line up with the sniper on top of the bell tower. Grimacing, Skye tucked in his wings, even the one that had been shot, angling himself downwards in a dive bomb. The sniper steadily got larger in his vision, and at the last moment, Skye swung his feet forwards, talons extended. He could feel the sharpened nails dig into the soft flesh of the sniper, a dampness catching under his toes. Blood. The momentum of the dive sent them both careening to the floor. Skye obviously hadn't thought this one all the way through. Reflex caused his arms to extend and catch his fall, sending pure white hot pain up his injured arm. Releasing the sniper from his grip, Skye rolled to his left, tucking his flight feathers back against his arms so as to not damage them too badly. Well, not like it mattered now. There was no way Skye was going to get off the ground again. It wasn't like he could simply visit a doctor now, nor was it like landing at that velocity worsened the fracture. Probably caused it to splinter or something else horrible... 


Letting out a pained wail, Skye held his right arm close to his body as he lay on the back. Please, let the others be in the tower and on their way up already... faced in an immediate life and death situation, Skye realized how much he didn't want to die. Blood from the wound in his arm soaked his jacket, and blood from the sniper stained his shoes. Now Skye was really glad he had these shoes... he would go down kicking and screaming if the sniper attempted an approach.
 
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Paxon took another hit from his blunt just trying to calm his heart rate down, things might have seemed to be getting better but Paxon knew better. He was waiting for it as the others stormed up the steps. He took another long...slow drag just counting the seconds until he heard it. CRACK! "...goodbye Skye..." He whispered under his breath as a loud gunshot echoed from further up the tower and he heard the falcon cry out in pain. Paxon took the last hit of his blunt and watched the smoke blow out of the open door to the bell tower. Paxon figured he was already dead. Spiraling out of control through the air until he hit the ground. Skye would be lucky if he died on impact because if not then a hoard of undead would be on him in an instant, covering him in that viscous terrible bile or worse, tearing him limb from limb for his flesh. Paxon dropped the roach on the ground and stomped it out as he stood from where he rested. Paxon shut the door and headed up the steps himself, taking two each step but much slower than the others running up the steps. He took a moment a ways up the stairs to stop, not because he was tired, not because he was feeling weak in the knees but because he was disgusted. The flayed open corpse, hung up like a trophy to display what the terrible person does to anthros like himself. Paxon took a deep breath and closed his eyes, thanking the stars that this wasn't what had become of his Rudy and instead of feeling sad for the poor rabbit to end up as such, he became angry. Paxon let his repressed anger boil up inside of him, how dare this man kill his kind and put them up like trophies! How dare this man hunt the living just for sport! He. Will. Pay. Before too long, Paxon was right alongside his comrades heading up the stairs, the anger giving him renewed energy and endurance allowing him to skip three steps at a time and catch up to the others in no time. He grabbed his handgun held by the waist of his sweatpants on his behind and held it pointed towards the ground. Vengeance was at hand.
 

Adam was running up the steps 2 every stride. His father told him never to do so because it isn't enough exercise but he didn't care now. All around him was just a blur to him. He was focused on one thing and that was taking this guy out. On the outside side he showed anger, but on the inside he was scared shitless. He had watch to many men die to bullets and he wasn't about to watch one more. "Think Skye is gonna be-" Adam was cut off by the crack of the rifle firing again and an all to familiar sound, the cry of pain. His fears were realized when he heard Skye cry after that crack. Adam paused for a few seconds before another emotion came along, rage. He swung around and slammed his fist against the wall then yelled out " I thought I was done with this shit!". Adam turned around and looked along the staircase. All the blood and other shit that littered the streets didn't come close to hitting him as hard as what was behind him. "Oh my God" he whispered as he looked at what was left of this man's other victims. He paused, then turned to George and said "This guy is gonna die. For Skye, for all of these people, for Doug. I don't know about you but I'm fighting for what he believed in and that was keeping us alive. Now let's go!". He started back up the stairs and motioned George to follow. "This son of a bitch is gonna die".
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George


The last shot that echoed painfully down the belltower staircase was the final straw to push George through the threshold of noise exposure. She thought it was the adrenaline - why she couldn't hear anything more than faint murmurs of speech and her own heartbeat, not to mention her panicked breathing. "What?" She called aloud to Adam as she pressed on by him. The world was an eerie silence with the barest hint of dialogue to her. The other's voices were like gentle tapping on a glass window. It occurred to her that they might've just been talking very quietly, but it didn't matter to her anymore. She'd lost interest when she came to realize how quickly they'd ascended the stairs.


She'd been the one to reach the top without thinking. She'd nearly collided with the door that would take them to the clearing in the tower, just under the massive brass bell. She had stopped for a brief moment, and before anyone could've told her to get a move on, she reared back, and kicked the door open. It was a needless effort, as the thin metal door screeched in reply and dented inwards before giving way. It wasn't even locked.


As the bottom of her shoe connected, she became aware of how afraid she was again. Tears had stained her face. She hadn't rushed up the tower in anger, or revenge for the possible death of Skye. She'd done it because she was afraid to die. She herself, she realized, was selfish. She hadn't even considered Skye's well being and only wanted to end the man's life to preserve her own. When the door had been kicked in, she'd been clutching her machete so tightly her knuckles had begun to go numb.


Sniper


Wet pain struck the sniper as he collapsed against the ground of his nest. It had only struck him now that his prey was within breathing distance now. He'd climbed to his feet with the dim light of the now-rising sun casting a shadow over his visage. He was a large man. He'd slung his rifle over his back, deciding that Skye was no longer worthy of a swift death at the mercy of a rifle. He reached for his belt, and drew a long knife. It hissed only the way a blade could against a leather sheath as it was drawn. 


The growing light reflected off his blade and more of the man's terrible appearance came into the glow. He was adorned in hides and furs, but they were much too large to belong to the small quadrupedal animals that lived in the wilderness. No, it became painfully clear that this man wore the hides of the anthros he'd killed for sport. It was a crudely stitched cloak consisting of hides, tails, scales, and even horns that would've made any Human-Anthro Unitist sick.  


What grew more concerning was the man's face. At first glance, once would assume he was some furry abomination with the face of a mangled dog. The problem was, his face was covered in a mask that was a mangled dog. His eyes behind the mask were red with anger, and his teeth, which were visible behind the dog-masks' open maw, were grit.


He pounced on Skye regardless of what fight he put up. He might've caught him a few good times with his talons, and left rather nasty gnashes, but it made no difference in the end. What he landed against the Sniper, he returned in kind. It was a rolling wrestle as a knife slashed and knicked feathers. Eventually, he found himself atop Skye, attempting to drive the knife into his chest. He wanted to rip his heart out and eat it. Maddened with bloodlust and the thrill of the hunt... He wasn't a human, let alone a person.


He was a monster.


As the knife came closer to Skye's chest, the door segregating the sniper from the stairwell had been kicked open. 


The ruining scream and cry of zombies finally reached the belltower, too. A duo of corpses had found the open door and started up the stairs in a confused, clumsy climb.
 
Adrenaline rushed through Skye's body, left stuck in a fight of flight situation with what was clearly a deranged murderer. With no means of retreating, Skye realized he had been forced to fight. Raising his talons as the man with the knife, the two rolled over and over, giving Skye a good look at the pelts of skinned anthros the sniper had adorned himself with. He felt sick, not only because he once again had to put pressure on his broken arm, but because he came to the conclusion that soon he could wind up being one of this monster's trophies. A feather crown, perhaps, like the natives used to wear. He shook the thoughts from his head when the sniper got on top of him, and Skye had to put all his concentration on digging his talons into the man's flesh, all but lifting the attacker up via his feet on the other's chest.  The blade slicing his skin didn't hurt nearly as much as his arm did at this moment, though their pain did register. "Help!" he cried, hearing the door being kicked down, but Skye didn't dare look over in that direction, fearful that one glance away from this man above him would cause Skye's life to end.
 
Paxon's eyes widened, he heard it. He heard Skye cry out for help, by some sort of miracle Skye was still alive! Paxon wouldn't let the opportunity go to waste. He trudged ahead, barreling up the steps two, no three at a time until he was at the top with George. He saw the horrendous display but he didn't falter. "Outta the way..." Paxon was out of breath but that didn't keep him from moving, normally had he ran this hard he'd be out for a couple of hours but the adrenaline kept him going. He picked up George by the collar of her shirt and moved her to the side as he stomped towards the sniper and Skye wrestling on the ground. Each footstep sounded an earthquake through the top of the tower and down the corridor where undead had broken through the door Paxon closed and were rushing up the stairs. All Paxon could hear was his own footsteps and the struggling of the two wrestling. He stomped up to them and immediately brought his knee up to meet the sniper's jaw in a sickening crack or at least he had attempted to. He did manage to land the hit but he stumbled backwards after, an extreme pain throbbing up and down his back while his stomach flipped. Paxon heaved, he felt like vomiting. Finally his body had a moment of respite but it wasn't any good for him, The stress of running all over the place, nearly being killed by the sniper and sprinting up the stairs was too much for him. All he could manage was the knee to the sniper's head before his body gave out on him. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell on his aching back, chest rising and falling with visible strain and a non-rhythmic wheezing coming from the struggled breathing. His gun fell to the floor with a clatter and he stared up at the massive bell of the tower and the walls decorated with the sniper's kills with his vision blurring and fading. He wasn't sure if he was going to pass out or not, he wasn't sure if he was ever going to wake up if he did or if he'd become another trophy on the wall. He could hardly hear it but it was there. Undead. They were approaching and approaching fast up the stairs of the tower. He meagerly pointed towards the broken down door, hoping that someone would notice, otherwise Paxon was stuck there on the ground, agonizing pain keeping him pinned to the floor with his body too exhausted to do anything about the immediate danger. 
 

Adam rushed in after George. He was quickly apauled by what the room had in store. The pelts and heads of anthros who fell victim to this sniper. Adam was not gonna call this thing a sniper any more. Adam was a sniper. This thing was a monster, murderer, a true animal. He looked down to see Skye and the monster wrestling on the ground. It wasn't so much wrestling now. It was more Skye keeping a knife from plunging into his heart. Before Adam could take action Paxon had put his knee to the monster's face. He was too busy watching all this happen to see what was behind him. He was kneeling down to help Skye when he felt and heard a loud thud. He turned to Paxon to see that he had collapsed. He moved to him as fast as he could but before he could do anything Paxon pointed to the staircase. Now was when Adam saw what was coming up the stairs. A horde of undead were making their way up the stairs quick. "Fuck!" he shouted as he slammed the door shut and put all his weight against it. He felt the slamming of the undead into the door, pushing him away and back again. "We need to deal with him quick. Then get the fuck out of here." he said. With two people on the ground and Adam holding the door, the only person ready was George.
​
 
How fitting, George thought. That she would be the one left to dirty her hands with the filthy blood this man would soon be losing. She being the one with so little practice hurting people. How fitting that she would be deadlocked in the monster's gaze as she took a step forward. Of course, she was deaf to the spurring-ons her allies gave. Even Skye's cry for help was a muffled whisper. 


She trembled but didn't hesitate. George had moved forward as to back Paxon up. When he fell, she stood alone against the murderer. He himself had been holding his jaw as the bones his face had fractured and ground themselves together in agonizing pain. He would've sworn the group's death and made trophies or of them all. 


He stirred and saw the softness in George's face. The almost-innocence in her eyes as she held machete against his hunting knife. It may well have been a fork, she thought. 


Still she didn't cower or beg for forgiveness like the Sniper would've expected. He lunged at her regardless knowing she'd either move or die.


Only, George didn't move. She slashed at the murderer, catching his knife and his middle finger in a panicked riposte. Steel on steel clanged in the tower as she splint his finger in half as his knife was knocked away and clattered to the floor. Or landed harmlessly next to Skye.


The sniper had yowled in pain again, holding his steadily bloodying hand. He had glanced at his knife briefly, his hope of slaughtering the animals dying with its clatter. He threw his eyes back to George, aiming to insult her. He hadn't finished damning her to hell before her machete was given another slash in the opposite direction. He'd raised his hand to stop the blade, or perhaps ask for mercy. It did him little good as the tendons in his fingers were cut through; spare his thumb, which fell to the floor with a tail of blood chasing it. Much of his hand was destroyed, leaving his fingers limp and flopping as he bled. 


The sniper looked at his hand almost curiously, falling to his knees while he made a poor attempt to hold his bloody hands together. He looked up at George, and met her eyes. They were still wide, watery and terrified. 


An animal with its back against the wall, he suddenly thought. 


She brought her machete up one more, envisioning herself at the infamous Jason Vorhees. She watched as the man soundlessly wailed in pain. She was a spectator of her own actions as hey blade fell in an arc towards him. His head would surely roll on the floor after she was was done! Only she didn't decapitate the man in one swing. Things like that only happened in the movies. The machete had sunk into his shoulder with a sickening crack as it tore through his cloak and met his clavicle.


Yet bloodied and disarmed, he fought and struggled. Once George's machete had dug itself into his shoulder, took her hesitation to finish him and hit her with his bloody, split-finger hand. It was a desperate punch, George was only so strong. His blood spattered her cheek as she took a step back, now disarmed herself. She alone couldn't kill this monster.
 
Adam at the door, keeping the zombies at bay, Paxon on the verge of consciousness, George disarmed. She had mutilated the sniper pretty good, he'd give her that. A finger missing and a hand out of comission. On top of the broken jaw Paxon had given the monster, Skye found it incredible how he could keep getting up, keep fighting. Of course, the two of them were backed into a corner, but Skye couldn't just let George do this to herself. Pushing himself to his feet with his free hand, Skye picked up the hunting knife that clattered to the floor near him. Simply holding the weapon that he presumed had been responsible for all the skinned anthros, which he was coming to realize there were a lot of them here... it almost felt taboo in his hands. How fitting the knife that caused so much pain was going to end it all. 


"Here's what's going to happen," Skye stated, slowly making his way towards the sniper. "I'm gonna kill him. Someone wake up Paxon, George, of you wouldn't mind..." he point with the blade to the collapsed panda. "We're gonna toss his body at the zombies, to try and knock them over. Then we're getting the fuck out of here. Everyone understand?"


Upon everyone's consent, Skye made a lunge at the sniper, aiming for the heart. At that split moment, it was hard to tell who was the real monster. Skye's eyes had a dead look in them, pure murder his only intention. This was revenge for everyone this man had killed. This was justice in its purist form.


((I figured I'd jump ahead a bit. That last paragraph is to occur after everyone else makes a turn, supposedly agreeing to Skye's plan. This means we don't have to wait two full rotations to kill the sniper, instead we can do it on GHG's next turn, since what Skye would do is already written out.))
 
Paxon could only hear his own breath and his heart pounding in his ears, he felt hot, too hot. His hands began tearing at the protective clothing around his chest, the safety vest from his job as a sanitation worker, his thick jacket, and finally a smaller sweatshirt. He wasn't out of commission yet but blackness threatened consciousness at the edge of his eyes. He wheezed a few more times before he could finally sit up with his old white t-shirt exposed to the air and allowing a tremendous amount of heat irradiate from his chest. It cooled him off rather quickly and allowed him to take deeper breaths and finally slow his heart rate down. He peered over at the bloody horror which would make most people look away and vomit but Paxon stared with morbid interest. The fatass panda slammed his palms on the ground to push himself back to his feet, once there he cracked his back audibly before turning around to face the sniper. 


Paxon pulled his pistol from the waistband of his pants, not to shoot the sniper, no, it was to help Adam with the undead at the door. It didn't help that George had busted through it earlier, made it unstable and the hinges loose. He moved next to Adam and shifted all of his weight into the door. "Yeah...Adam's right..." He grunted. "...they're...strong..." He felt a massive push and stumbled back a bit before leaning forward and shoving the door shut again with a loud slam. "...fuck...me..." He mumbled, holding his pistol to the side with grit teeth, ready to pull the trigger on a second's notice. 
 
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Adam grinned when Paxon had risen. As they both pushed against the door a mighty forces pushed back once again. "Well then, now that you two have had your way with the bastard, we need to get a plan together quick" he said to George and Skye.  He gritted his teeth as he pushed harder against the door. "And we're not fighting these guys of 'cause I'm about out" he said holding up his pistol. Looking at the two, he saw blood. George's face was covered with a splash of the human's blood and Skye had it dripping down his wing. "Shit dude. We got to get you *grunt* patched up." Adam said looking at Skye. He had spent some time with the field medics in his service and wasn't much of a stranger to bullet wounds. He was no doctor but he knew the low key basics. Raising his knife, he sliced at a zed's arm as it poked out from the other side of the door. He didn't want to shoot anything, not wanting to attract more than there already was. So he readied his knife in case any more wanted to poke their heads through.
​
 
Once the sniper had struck George and she'd taken a step back... She threw herself back at him! She collided with him and tore her machete from his shoulder just as he had tried to. Fresh rivers of blood ran down his shoulder as she had taken up arms against him once again. She slashed at him once again and the cold pit in her stomach started to melt. She couldn't hear Skye, but in unison, they'd driven their respective knives into the man's chest. George broke a few ribs and collapsed a lung. Surely the knife through his heart would've been much more merciful of a death... But blood would only run so quickly. Nevertheless, Skye and George had overpowered the man, and in his weakened state he wouldn't stand a chance.


Even as he fell to the floor again with a knife in his chest, George had recovered and cut through the veil hiding his face. The mask was torn in two, showing the man's dying eyes and the rest of his face. Even as pooling crimson overtook his face, George had raised her machete to strike him again. She hadn't, though. She was breathing hard and felt the urge - the desire - to grab the sniper's ears and slam his head against the concrete until she was certain he wouldn't get back up.


George still felt as though she might puke, though. She held fast and resisted the growing need to empty her stomach. She had looked at Skye, and gave him a hopeful smile. It was obvious she was distressed, but seeing he'd been wounded she wasn't going to let him work alone. Of course, she hadn't heard a word when Skye explained what he'd do... But she helped grab the monster's corpse - how Skye would do it with a gunshot through his arm was beyond her.
 
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