the grass swayed, bloodshed & matted. something chirped in the distance—maybe a demon? the faint hum of a forgotten soul, lying astray in a distant patch of grass or a shrub? the church of the untouched, clean from all blood & weapons, lay looming in the left-hand side of the small, squarish patch of concrete & pavement that served as a safe spot for humans to reside from bloodthirsty lunatics & divines from. in the midst of the minuscule patch of grass that took the pride of place in the middle of this small safe area, protected by rusty gates & barbed wires woven across the tops of the bordering walls alike, lay a small yellow figure. asleep, so it seemed. his eyes were shut, visor askew on his head. he wasn’t from around here. he didn’t look as traumatised nor as masked as the maniacs that commonly stalked the area in the search of blood. he didn’t look anything of the sort; he looked almost innocent. like how people used to look before the whole demon-takeover escapade thing took place & rocked the world on its axis for a second time.

elliot…didn’t know where he was. for once, he had no clue of his surroundings, of his vicinity, of the general area of where he was. after all, he had only just been beside his best friend—chance—& had been helping the latter patch up his wounds that had occurred when chance’s gun had blown up in his face for the third time that week. elliot didn’t mind, though. what he did mind, though, was this; this sudden ..teleportation, as one would call it, into a foreign place. he was supposed to be back at the cabin with his mates, helping them tend to their wounds that they’d gained from brawling the killers, not in some place that was probably miles off from where he needed to be. well, there wasn’t anything elliot could do about it.

he sat up, groaning. he must have hit his head on something hard to have it throbbing like this, like he was experiencing the severest migraine known to man…but it faded as soon as it had arrived, after which elliot allowed a sigh to pass through his nose. he slowly got back up onto his feet, stumbling a bit. he used the support he got from the hood of an old, rusted rundown car that was partially driven out over the curb & onto the patch of decaying & bloodshed grass to help heave himself back up onto his feet, as his legs had seemed to have grown ever the tired after arriving at this place…for some reason. after walking around this place for a while, going up & down desolate streets—suspiciously eyeing the small, teal orbs that floated inches above the ground that seemed to be scattered around in the most random of places, elliot came across a guy. with the current time being night, probably 1 or 2 in the morning, elliot couldn’t see the guy’s face—nor his face, as the person had his back turned to elliot. well, elliot himself didn’t mind. he was only blinded with the joy of finally finding someone human in this apocalypse of a setting, & hadn’t even managed to catch sight of the bloodied corpse that lay a few meters off from the figure & the machete that was grasped in the guy’s hand.

“hey— hey, guy!! are you from around here? i could really use the help of—“ elliot hadn’t even managed to get the chance to finish his sentence before the figure turned their face to him—& elliot froze. he only now noticed the machete, the crude hockey mask that was stained with the telltale sign of crimson blood & the corpse that lay way too near the guy he’d just been trying to approach. elliot stumbled backwards, attempting to take a few steps back in order to put some distance between him & the crazed fella he’d reduced the distance between way too much for a first meeting, but one slash from the masked man’s machete sent elliot flying to the hard, paved ground—with a sharp pain now making itself present in his leg. shit.

elliot tried to scoot backwards—whatever god left in this world knows he did—but the masked person was way too fast just for some feeble scooting coming from a guy that was already injured & still bleeding…quite profusely, at that.