Dahlia, before the outbreak, could say she was as much of a scavenger as afterward, playing to the weaknesses of man for profit. What was she before? A drug dealer, catering to a population that sounded more like cave-men - "Me caveman, me want" - was the chorus she heard every single day. Money, merchandize - and simply more. And now, with the outbreak, the market was simply new, not different.

She had been following survivors for some time now, trying to rid them of their worth. Her last group was a couple that happened to have a reinforced pick up and more guns than she could carry. Paranoid red neck types, preparing for the apocalypse since Y2K and easily in the night robbed by a yellow-eyed girl they had taken in, looking no more a robber than she did a a mass syndicate drug dealer.

Their loss.

Now, she had been watching the mental patients evacuate the hospital over the course of the last week, waiting for a perfect time to invade the place, sure that the bounties would be many and somewhat safe sleep was assured. Having to avoid some of the other squatters there, she managed to get in through a second story window and well planned out climbing scheme for the closest oak tree. She had been there two days, and already in the mental institute she was hearing voices below - and then above.

It sounded like a helicopter, rattling the ceilings and broken window panels, she was made alert upon her hospital bed camp site, currently polishing what looked to be a Winchester double barreled shotgun. A thump from above and the snowing of ceiling popcorn indicated a landing of something much smaller than a helicopter - but a person.

Dahlia frowned, standing up cautiously as she heard the helicopter fly farther away, and placed the curve of her back against the right wall of the entrance. Like clockwork the door to the third story roof opened. She really wasn't above the idea of surprise, and just as the man stepped in the room, she lifted her shot gun barrel to his right ear, inches away, and a smile touched her full lips. A handsome man with glasses and a ponytail. She was unimpressed.

"Why hello," she spoke with politeness, as though greeting one of her flower-shoppe customers. The illusion was then heralded by a loud pump of the Winchester in a dramatic fashion, taking aim. "Check in is the bottom floor, I'm afraid. Give me your weapons.." she eyeballed his watch and ear piece, reminded of her mafia thugs she used to get in her shop, she went on, ".. and electronics.. and I will send you on your way, Sir."

The sound of moans came from below, zombies inevitably. She grew uneasy, but it obviously didn't shake her much. Reinforced unrecoverable ward, bars on the doors and windows - this man was more of a threat now. Sending him below was reasonable, once she got his valuables and weapons from him of course.