•×/ꜰʀᴀɢᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴘᴏᴄᴀʟʏᴘꜱᴇ\ו DNF

•/( 2 - Maniac )\•

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×DO NOT COPY×

°not my art°

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It was painful. That was the first thing I thought when I jolted awake the morning after my injury, and immediately I doubled over to a harsh blow on my abdomen.

Hissing through my teeth, I clawed at whatever was pinning me down as I opened my heterochromic eyes and focused on the humanoid figure above me. Looking at the details, I could see this hooded person had small wisps of semi-dark purple hair that slightly gave away their identity. Well, it didn't matter — whoever it was, I didn't know them anyway.

"Look what the cat dragged in." Their accent was thick — Irish, possibly — and I was certain they were female. I squirmed beneath their strong leather boot, and kept my neck down so she could not attempt to asphyxiate me, despite how much my weak, malnourished body may have wanted to give in.

I eventually gave up, and yanked my dagger from the sheath in my belt and plunged it hilt-deep into her calf. I heard her scream, expectedly, and instantly her grip on me was removed and I swiftly got myself back to my feet. How could I have let my guard down like this? I usually never woke up to danger, especially other people. It could have been a zombie, or worse: a gang.

I shook my head and recollected my thoughts. I shouldn't be thinking like this. Not when the enemy was standing, though very vulnerable, directly in front of me. I adjusted my posture so my body weight was shared onto my injured leg as well so I didn't wear out my right side.

"Drop the weapon." I spoke with a monotone, forceful voice that was slightly hoarse from lack of use. I'd barely seen anyone within the last month or so, and it had started to feel natural. So natural, in fact, that when I started to talk, I realised my accent was much thicker than it was before. Well, I guess that's what happens when you don't talk with people with different accents for a while. I cocked my head in thought.

I pulled my knife out of my boot sheath and put the tip directly under her chin, making her head go up a little to avoid being cut by the sharp end. I glanced at her hand that grasped a small hatchet that had an unusually symmetrical handle - instead of there being one sharp end, there were two.

I didn't bother pulling my mask down to show who I was, hoping she'd simply comply. Instead, I shoved her hood off of her head and glared into her eyes, my tired ones meeting energetic, though fearful, ones. This person must have somewhere nice to stay. Of course, I had already considered her being in a gang, but she didn't dress like any of the major ones I knew, and I definitely wasn't willing to step inside of their base just to check and, probably, die.

"Weapon." I spat. "Now." My voice rasped as I spoke aggressively toward her. If it had been any other situation, I may have called her pretty and thought about getting close to her, but it wasn't. She could have, and probably would have, killed me. I was a threat. Everyone was a threat. You can't trust anyone in Breace, in particular after the apocalypse began.

She let out a squeak at the knife being pushed against her neck, and her hands released the weapon and hovered up around her head, signalling she surrendered. Clearly it was a surprise for her, because the smug look was thrown off of her face and she was trembling, perhaps unused to being defeated.

"I won't kill you." I assured, though it probably didn't comfort her in any way whatsoever. I grimaced. "But I never said I'd let you go, either." I blinked at bed slowly, slightly sluggish and tired from lack of sleep.

"What are you gonna do with me?" She queried in an obviously shaky, terrified manner. It was risky asking, and she knew that — everyone knew that — but I hadn't expected her to then smile at me as I released her, though still holding the knife. What–

Snap!

I felt the purple pain pulse through my entire body, my leg immobilised on the ground. I, instinctively, shrieked and wailed, and, tears in my eyes, quickly bent down and used my knife to pry open the metal jaws clamped tightly around my muscle. A bear trap. I don't reckon it was her who set it, but she was smart to lure me into it without me noticing.

My feet were suddenly off the ground, and I felt the material wrap around my body and hold me strongly in the air. I squealed, though much to my dissatisfaction. She had caught me. With what, you ask?

A Hunter's net. A fucking Hunter's net.

They were big enough to hold at least 5 zombies in one net, but she had used it to capture me. I have to admit, she was smart.

"Pathetic," A different voice came from below me and I scrambled around, swiftly fixing my hood and mask on after it being jostled, and looked toward another hooded figure of a uniform I recognised. "weren't you ever taught to check your surroundings before fighting?"

"Duh." I sassily responded, changing my voice to an American accent, while straining to seem as though I wasn't in pain, to not give away my identity. Breace was in America, to be fair. "But you're the one that used a Hunter's net to catch me. Basic." I spat back another insult.

A snap of a twig happened and a taller figure came into view. I could see wisps of blonde-gingery hair that was slightly too long and wavy to stay inside of their hood.

"C'mon, Sap, Minx, we need to leave. It doesn't take this long to catch an outlaw." He, I presumed from the deep voice, ordered, taking authority of the patrol. It must've been.

Their uniform was familiar, and I could see small tags, now that I was focusing on it, clipped to the back of their clothes that said ‘Dream Gang’ and I gulped nervously. This was one of the biggest gangs in Breace — the strongest, too.

Of course, you had other gangs like the ‘Fundy Gangʼ, but there were only two big ones that everybody knew and all people, even so-called "dangerous" outlaws like me, avoided: the ‘Dream Gangʼ and the ‘Soot Gangʼ. They were lead by only one individual each, despite all members equally sharing responsibility for what happened in their gang. To be honest, I never really got the hang of gang hierarchy, but it doesn't matter. I'll never join one.

I kind of like my reputation of "silent and nimble as a black cat, but sharp like a dagger". Yeah, whatever, I know I said I hated that sort of thing, but it's nice. It's nice to know that a reputation has my back; that if I show my face, people will be sprinting away as fast as they can.

I guess it can get lonely.

Those were the last things before my mind went black from exhaustion and loss of blood.

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•×1208 wordsו

EYYYY SECOND CHAPTER COMPLETE. feeling good ab this book.

also pls comment any criticism (constructive, of course!) that you think might improve/help this story. don't be afraid to ask for any characters to be introduced or anything to do with the storyline either. I'll defo take it into consideration, as I'm basically writing chapters as I go along without a thought in mind.

yeah. fantastic author, ik.

anyway, have a good day/night (sleep u bitch or get off the toilet. I see you.)

~jak