His sore feet moved silently over the dusty, dry road like he was a cat hunting for its prey. The warm air was silent and tense, even though he was in the middle of a quite big city. He didn't like being here, he didn't like it at all, but his lips were dry like paper and his stomach growling, sending shots of pain through his body now and then. A dry leaf blew over the road, riding on a rare summer wind which he enjoyed to the fullest, cooling down his sweaty skin for a moment.

It was so silent you could almost hear a fly land on the ground, making him an easy target if he made too much noise. Therefore, he had a bow and a quiver with arrows over his back, a silent weapon with re-usable ammo, but he also had – just in case – a kukri in his belt, which he was resting his hand on, ready to use it if necessary.

With a low sigh, he took of his hat and wiped his forehead with an arm which was normally covered with a red sleeve, but it was now as good as bare, sleeves folded up as much as possible. He walked past a couple of old, broken cars while putting his hat back on. They were mostly empty, some may have contained some old, most likely rotten food; not worth the effort. Broken cars were like traps, if you got in one, you could easily get surrounded, and it would be difficult to get out. Very difficult.

He was searching for a house without broken windows. It wasn't an easy task – most of the windows got broken in the beginning of all this, but he'd spotted one with all intact. Not broken windows usually meant that nobody had been there for a long time, which could also mean there was some canned food somewhere in there. It could also mean someone lived there; it was very rarely – usually people understood that the town was a dangerous place these days – but sometimes people just couldn't stand moving away from the place they'd been living their entire life, or maybe they just felt some sort of safety in not moving.

Approaching the house, he sharpened his senses even more, ready to either run or fight, depending on whom or what he saw. The door was locked, same was the back door. That was a bit unusual, but he had experienced that some people who had evacuated their homes actually had locked all their doors, even though they knew they'd never return. He took a step backwards, readied his right leg and kicked it right under the doorknob. The door made a complaining sound, but except that nothing really happened. There was no way he was giving up, though, so he tried again, this time he standing sideways. It flung open, slamming into the wall on the inside, making much more noise than he appreciated, but at least it was open.

Once inside, he walked through the dusty living room to the kitchen, which he could see through an open door. The lights in the refrigerator didn't work due to the lack of electricity, but it was enough light in the room to see that it was empty, except two water bottles in the bottom. He quickly picked up one, opened it and started drinking the warm water, planning on only drinking half of it.

"Put down that bottle."

The threatening voice was familiar; he instantly knew who it was. He started to turn around, but got stopped by a threat.

"If ya turn around, I'll shoot your brains out."

Sighing, he sat the bottle on the kitchen bench, knowing the person behind him was able to shoot and kill, and he'd most likely kill him without doubt, taking in consideration they'd been enemies for a long time. He could feel the hard muzzle of the gun push against the back of his head, right under his hat.

"If ya shoot me," he said lowly, "they'll hear the shot and come here."

"They didn't come here when they heard ya slammed open that door," the young man with the gun said with a voice oozing of confidence. "Why would they come when they hear a gunshot?"

"It's much louder, ya bloody idiot."

"Heh, you're just tryin' to scare me." It sounded like he tried to seem like he had everything under control, but a tone of insecurity was recognizable. He was afraid of them. But then again, who wasn't?

"Am I?" He laughed lowly. "Have fun fighting them off alone, Scout."

"Okay, just leave, and I won't shoot ya."

"I'm plannin' on it. Jus' put down the gun, and I'll leave."

"Ohhoho, yeah, that's a freakin' brilliant idea, ain't it? I can just put it down, so ya can kill me without havin' to worry 'bout me killin' ya first!"

"Trust me. Put down the gun, let me go, and we'll both live." He was going to add 'happily', but it wasn't much happiness left in the world at this point.

"Trust ya." Scout repeated. "How many times have ya killed me? I don't trust any REDs, and especially not you, Sniper."

That was understandable. Sniper had killed Scout many times, just like the other had killed him many times. They'd been hired as mercenaries on two different teams in the past, RED and BLU, fighting each other for some land. Thanks to a complicated technology, they had been able to "respawn" as long as they had been in the range of the system. It didn't work now, though, and a bullet to the head would mean a permanent death.

"I have no reason to trust ya either," he said lowly, a plan forming in his head. If he could just turn quickly enough around, he would be able to grab the other's hand and twist it, making him drop the gun.

That was exactly what he did. It would have worked perfectly, if it wasn't for Scout getting so surprised. A second after Sniper had grabbed his hand, he pulled the trigger. It fired with a sound louder than they both had expected, causing both of them to jump from the shock. The bullet had missed Sniper; instead it hit the lamp in the roof, showering them both with tiny glass shards. There was no way they hadn't heard the shot, soon the place would be full of creatures with only one goal: a fresh meal.

"Great job," he hissed angrily, picking up the young man's gun from the floor. "Soon the place will be crawlin' with 'em. I'm outta here."

"This is your fault!" Scout was yelling in frustration, apparently forgetting about their situation. "If ya didn't do it so damn sudden, I wouldn't have pulled the trigger, ya retarded dipshit!"

Cursing and swearing, he didn't notice the woman slowly approaching him from behind, but Sniper did. She might have been beautiful once, but now her skin was rotten with a grey-green tone, her lips gone and her blonde hair was just some chunks here and there. The dead woman moaned lowly, pulling one leg after her. Without a word, Sniper took a grip on his bow, laid an arrow on it and got ready to shoot.

"Hey, there ain't no reason to fucking shoot me, I ain't even holdin' the freakin' gun. If ya wanna go, just go!"

A moment later, the arrow was stuck in the woman's head, directly in between her eyes. She fell to the ground, groaning for a moment before shutting up. Scout shut up as well, turning quickly around to look at the dead. For once, he didn't have any clever comments; he just carefully kicked the woman's head as to check if she still was alive, or at least moving. It'd been quite a while since she'd been alive.

"Holy shit, dude!" Scout looked up at Sniper with a terrified look. "Ya almost shot me!"

Sniper didn't answer; he just pulled out the arrow from the dead's skull and started walking towards the door. It was open; he'd forgotten to close it when he went in, a big mistake. The air outside was filled with a heavy, rotten smell, and there were rotten people as far as he could see. He stepped backwards in shock, not having expected that many. They limped towards the door, one of them almost inside. Sniper drew his kukri, and with a quick slash, he separated the dead man's head from his body. It landed on the floor with a thump, right in front of a horrified Scout, who kept cursing and babbling about God knew what.

A massive wave of moaning and groaning came from the dead outside, loud enough to be heard even when he closed the door. Still calm, Sniper went to the kitchen and got the water bottles. He threw one of them to Scout, telling him to go get what he couldn't stand to leave behind. The boy was back a couple moments later, with a bag over his blue-shirted shoulders, looking up at the older man, waiting for the plan.

As there were fewer on this side of the house, Sniper silently opened the slide door out to the terrace and waved for the other, but he didn't follow him.

"Why the hell would I follow you?"

Sniper sighed irritated. "If ya stay here, ya'll get eaten alive. If ya follow me, maybe ya'll survive. Yer choice." Without another word, he readied his bow, hoping to not have to use it too much; it would be difficult to get the arrows back. He went out, seeing the other following him in the corner of his eye. There were seven – eight of them out here, two which was limping slowly towards Sniper, groaning lowly. The bow squeaked a bit when he pulled it, aiming the arrow at the closest.

Three bullets hit its head, spraying him with rotten blood and other materials that should stay in a cranium. The others turned quickly around, all of them starting to close up. After being paralyzed from the surprise of suddenly being covered with goo for a moment, he suddenly realised the situation he was in. Furious at the other for having shot without it being necessary, he started running away from the house with the bow ready, knowing the blue-shirted would follow him.

"Hey, wait up!" The shout was barely audible through the sound of the mass of living dead moving from the back of the house, almost surrounding them at this point. Sniper didn't do it; he knew the Scout was much faster than him, making him perfectly able to catch up.

The car made an ugly noise when he got on it with two big leaps before jumping over the two dead reaching for him. He lost his balance for a moment, almost falling at one reaching out for him, but he kept running, hearing the car complain again as Scout followed what he did. They weren't surrounded anymore, but the dead kept appearing, slowly approaching from the other streets.

He could hear Scout running beside him, most likely holding his speed since he didn't know where they were going. His lungs were starting to hurt as he wheezed for air, running as fast as he could. The camper was parked right on the outside of the town; there was no way he could keep this pace the entire way, he wasn't a runner unlike the other. But he had to try, within minutes this place would be filled with rotten people. One of them ducked up from behind a car, growling lowly as it limped towards him. He readied his bow, aimed, and…

Once more, he got covered with rotten intestines and blood. It was apparently impossible for Scout to let his pistol rest for ten seconds; he probably didn't realize how difficult it was to get more ammo nowadays. Sniper put away his bow; it wasn't necessary when he was with someone this trigger-happy, and it was easier to run without having to worry about it.

It was a way too warm day for this. His shirt was sticking to his chest, wet with sweat, and his feet hurt. He could see his camper parked about a hundred metres away, soon they would be safe. Stomach stinging, he was forced to slow down, almost collapsing on the ground. Finally, he was next to the camper. Just as he was going to open it, he heard a desperate yell from Scout.

"Sniper!"

He whirled around, just to see the other being surrounded by dead. The boy shot some of them, but they were way too many; there was no way for him to get alive from it by himself. If Sniper left him behind, it would be much easier to escape; they would be busy devouring a fresh meal. But then again, even though he hated the other, there was no way he wanted anyone to die that way.

"I'm goin' to regret this," he mumbled when he ran towards the groaning group of living dead.