21st of May, year XXXX Time: 19:45-20:52

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The breeze of the irradiated world thicken in its way, movements of chaotic perversion. Its smell was a mix of napalm and dust filled with radioactive particles. Peculiarity rises as the two see the mess of the Legionaries... It was more crucifixion than anything else. Added with modern chemicals too.


Getting through his package, he grabbed about nine pieces of shirt. "This oughta be useful."


"What in the hell are you doing?" Diane was concerned, her boss being obviously weird. "It's for my survival, you have somewhat of an armour and I don't."


"Right..." She shrugged it off after, still felt bizarre for her own liking though.


The familiarity of both present and past churns he who leads the group. As they hear groaning, both of them grabbed their weapons. "I'd be better with running..." he complained, tilting his neck. "But experience does wonders for me than shit like that."


"Still have your senses?" she asks, doing the same with a different stance rather than one handed. Michael laughed, "Of course. We'd be dead if I was not eating well."


"Not what I meant, but we'll go with that." Diana looked at him, still focusing on her aim. After for what seems to be eternity for them, they went up and saw what they expected. "Christ, be faster will you!? We don't have time!" he screamed, running to one and kicking them.


"Yeah! Beat 'em fuckers up!"


"Don't." Kick. "Worry." Another stronger kick. "I." The undead's neck was starting to tear apart. "Fucking." The temple and the foot met once more. "WILL!" And at last, that one kick made him scream 'GOAAAAAAL' as he hit another one with the head.


A wailing scream pierced their ears. "Stay dead, you son of a bitch!" he ran and stomped on the head and shot the other one next to it. Rounds upon rounds, the choir of death come upon them with no such quarter of breath.


"Whew... Five down, two for each of us and the one that was in crossfire..." he panted, brushing dirt away from his baggy, 10th piece shirt. "You think we should go before they'll be more?"


"Haah... Yep." The militia-filled one of them replied, putting another new magazine. "Run and shoot if they're gaining on us." She took in a breath of air as some more woke up from their slumber.


"Then I'm going to do that too!" He started counting on how many are there, and by the amount of bullets he can use. "How many mags you got left?" he asked, fixing his own equipment.


"6, 9 rounds in each of them." she answered, packing them back into her pockets on the lower side of her own baggy pantaloons. "About 54 rounds, and additional to that is 5 more, since I didn't change or waste them."


"We're not waiting for those two, are we?" he referenced the other two... They're running to them, which was new. "I thought they'd reconsider. Eh, it's their choice." He looked at them from afar with his eyesight. Their figure was blurry though.


"Guuaaghh..." A newcomer arrived from the wastelands, looking for prey to munch. "There's a new addition, so... About 19 of them, minus two... 17 left, but they die within FUCKING DAMMIT, OUCH!" Looking to his shoulder, he saw that there was something biting him.

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