Post by arun on Oct 11, 2009 5:15:16 GMT
ooc- Terminator!
bic- The bullet had gone cleanly through Cody's ribcage, splattering blood on the oily ground. Jordan crouched at his side, biting her lip. She had barly known the dead man, but he'd just died for her. She stared at his face, looking hopelessly for a clue as to why he'd pushed her out of the way of the machine's attack. She'd been shot, grazed along her upper arm and the wound was bleeding freely, but she didn't notice. After a moment, she reached out with a gloved hand and closed Cody's glazed eyes. "Thanks, friend." She whispered, standing up slowly. The fresh blood staining her trench coat would soon be the only remnant of the man.
Jordan's thick gloves had seen better days, but so had she. The 17 year old glanced around, looking for movement in the semi-darkness, but the machine's seemed to have gone. She started running, zig-zaging automatically through the rubble, coat flying out behind her. The gun shoved in her waistband was loaded, she'd always had a gift for finding ammo, but it was getting harder. Things were getting worse.
Supposedly 'the resistance' was working on making things better. But the only times Jordan heard about anything that they did, things got worse for her. Why couldn't they just leave it alone? Jordan's oil streaked red hair shone dully in the dim light as she streaked across a clear spot and ducked into a ruined appartment building. She glanced up the stairs, then decided that it wasn't worth risking them. She caught her boot on a stray chunk of cement and tripped, unable to catch herself, she twisted and landed on her side. Pain shot up her arm where she'd been shot and she rolled away from where she'd landed. Laying flat on her back, Jordan stared up at the ruined ceiling and tried not to cry.
bic- The bullet had gone cleanly through Cody's ribcage, splattering blood on the oily ground. Jordan crouched at his side, biting her lip. She had barly known the dead man, but he'd just died for her. She stared at his face, looking hopelessly for a clue as to why he'd pushed her out of the way of the machine's attack. She'd been shot, grazed along her upper arm and the wound was bleeding freely, but she didn't notice. After a moment, she reached out with a gloved hand and closed Cody's glazed eyes. "Thanks, friend." She whispered, standing up slowly. The fresh blood staining her trench coat would soon be the only remnant of the man.
Jordan's thick gloves had seen better days, but so had she. The 17 year old glanced around, looking for movement in the semi-darkness, but the machine's seemed to have gone. She started running, zig-zaging automatically through the rubble, coat flying out behind her. The gun shoved in her waistband was loaded, she'd always had a gift for finding ammo, but it was getting harder. Things were getting worse.
Supposedly 'the resistance' was working on making things better. But the only times Jordan heard about anything that they did, things got worse for her. Why couldn't they just leave it alone? Jordan's oil streaked red hair shone dully in the dim light as she streaked across a clear spot and ducked into a ruined appartment building. She glanced up the stairs, then decided that it wasn't worth risking them. She caught her boot on a stray chunk of cement and tripped, unable to catch herself, she twisted and landed on her side. Pain shot up her arm where she'd been shot and she rolled away from where she'd landed. Laying flat on her back, Jordan stared up at the ruined ceiling and tried not to cry.