Afflicted

[UltraMechaStalin]

The wastes were always silent...Save for the occasional trundling of an armored merchant caravan traversing the desert of charred pavement and crumbling ruins. The twisted steel of abandoned skyscrapers sighed in the rattling wind, chanting a haunting dirge to all who dared wander outside of the safety of the walled keeps humanity had resigned itself to dwelling in. A gunshot sounded off on the horizon, and then the armored vehicle began to wobble, it's momentum throwing the craft into a series of violent rolls, until it ended up on it's roof in the middle of the highway.

Blood curdling screeches, too human to be howls but still lupine sounded from the scorched ruins of a low-income flat. Three deep, shoulder to shoulder they poured out from the dwelling, black furred bodies covered by clumsily repaired kevlar suits. Two massive clawed hands seized one of the doors of the craft, the metal screeching in protest as the doors were ripped open, tumblers shattering under stress.

And then they flowed in, like locusts over a verdant field, fighting tooth and nail to get at anything of value, or any exposed flesh. Snarling and dying screams formed a grizzly chorus of slaughter...Such were the dangers of the wastes.

 

[Razzmatazz]

As the sounds of the wastelands floated up, Jace's head looked up from where she sat in her firmly fortified apartment, part of an apartment building mostly abandoned. As she listened, it sounded as if a caravan was floating through town, and this piqued her interest. It wasn't all that often merchants came through anymore - this area was known for its danger. It was likely almost time for her to move on anyway...not many resourced left, and for every furred freak she managed to outrun or kill, three more appeared.

As she gazed around, pulling together her things to slip outside, she thought about where next was. She was too much of a wanderer to really settle into an establishment or a fortified city - plus there was no work for her to do there. But this darting-around existence was going to get her killed or Turned. And that was no life to lead either, far as she could tell.

As she prepared to open her door, the sudden sounds of screaming and crunching metal pierced the air. She slumped back against the door, waiting for the horrified sounds to end, the hunting knife slipping from her hands. Nothing she could do about them; they were goners. She'd wait until the Turned had left the site, just to see if there were any unaffected survivors...or any supplies. But chances were, there was nothing, and she knew it.

 

[UltraMechaStalin]

It seems as if retribution would come quickly for the ravenous lycan bandits. Rubber cried out fiercely as the motorcycle that'd been flying down the wastes highway came to a skidding halt. A man pounced from the cycle, not caring as it went clattering to the ground. It was built for combat, and had been allowed to go skidding to a stop god knows where many times in it's long life of service.

The dull thud of reinforced boots helped to announce his presence, heralding the onslaught that was to come. The gunshots earlier were but whispers compared to the roar of the shotgun that was held between two steady hands. Ten gauged death pumped into a hungry chamber by masterful fingers. Whether it was a single shot, or a volley it was nearly impossible to tell...The only measurement that could describe the attack was "Sufficient."


Bubbling flesh and the whining of dying mutts set the tone for the resolution of the bloody conflict. Bits of silver-cored bullets could be seen sticking from wounds that seemed to quite literally melt themselves wider. With a sigh and shake of the head the man began checking the bodies, searching for anything of value. The wind picked up, causing his waist length raven mane to swirl slowly around his body, the glaring sun above helping to illuminate the alabaster skin of his hands, the only part of his flesh not hidden beneath the thick weave of his long coat.