This is a private RP thread.

Please do not post in our thread.

If you have a question, PM one of us.

Thank you so much.

<3

Dr. Brown hadn't been an employee of the C.E.D.A. lab for more than 3 months before the epidemic began. A group that was not much associated with her own, animal behavior research, they'd been formulating a new drug to fight AIDS. Well, they'd only been originally researching HIV, but they'd stumbled upon something that had effected the lab mice differently, had revived them. That was all that Taylor knew about the "immortality drug" that they were optimistically researching just a few sections away.

That is until one of the dead rats was thrown away, only to inexplicable revive after being disposed of and begin to bite people and animals alike. Following this, Taylor saw the world around her crumble. The lab, then the surrounding area, and shortly following, the entire world, became infected. No people, no government could do anything. So, Taylor Brown did the only thing that she could think to do.

She hid. Taylor had made her way with a few other scientists to the bunker below C.E.D.A. headquarter labs. The other scientists has slowly left the shelter out of concern for family or friends. Taylor wasn't so selfless. It was now, however, three weeks after the initial infection date, and Taylor had had no contact with the outside world for two of those weeks. It was time to come to the surface and see what there was to find.

Outside, it was a complete mess. Swarms of semi-mindless Infected wandered the streets, their minds set on finding food...and on territorial matters. They would often turn tail on each other and start to fight until one died...and some would even just drop over dead after vomiting profusely.

As soon as Doctor Brown stepped foot outside, a low, beastial growling came from the building in front of the compound's door. There was a tall-looking Hunter perched on top of the building, his jaw stained with dried and fresh blood, in equal amounts. It was almost as if he'd been waiting for her, there.

He began to tense and lean forward, pressing his hands and feet flush down onto the building. He was preparing to pounce.

Taylor made one courageous step outside the bounds of the C.E.D.A. bunker and stopped dead. The world around her was not what she had expected at all. The numbers of the infected had grown if anything, not diminished as she had expected. She saw the masses of former humans stumbling around, lacking all typical human interaction. They were rotting corpses, walking around in the day, feeding off of flesh with a constant stream of bile spewing from their mouths.

The sight of all of these infected brought vomit rising to the back of her own throat, and Taylor leaned over against a wall, gagging in her throat. When she looked back up mere moments later there were infected making their way toward her. Her retching had drawn their attention.

She ran.

The Hunter did not rapidly pounce and chase after her, as was their usual fashion. Instead, he began to limp after her on all fours, at what would be considered a hurried trot to humans. Upon closer inspection, his right leg seemed injured, for he didn't put too much weight on it and cringed when he accidentally did. There was most likely some sort of fracture, or two. He could still pounce, though it severely hurt.

A pounce from this height and distance would be enough to cripple him, and he was well aware of that, able to gauge the distance from where he was. He was trying to lower himself down, closer to the ground, so that he could try and pounce. He seemed to have had a feeling she would get away before he even got close, though.

He'd been steadily picking off the humans that wandered out of this place, this...C...E...D...A structure. There had been less and less of them as time went by. The last one that came by managed to escape, and had twisted his leg to all hell. If he ever found that particular human again, he would make sure to snap its neck.

She felt like she'd been running for a long while, but she knew it had only been moments. Her life as a scientist, and then a self contained detainee in a bunker hadn't exactly left her in utmost fighting condition. As such after only a few moments of running Taylor began to suck in air heavily - knowing that she'd have to stop soon. With that knowledge in mind she glanced in a window as she passed, trying to get a glimpse of her pursers. The infected were close behind and weren't suffering from the fatigue that she was feeling.

She saw an open door to a nearby building and used her last burst of strength to reach it, get inside and slam the door behind her. In the dark she found the bolt and used it to secure the door against the searching hands that she could feel on the other side.

When she heard the rustling of clothing and limbs on the far side of the room, and the constant drip of bile on the floor, she realized what she had done.

Dr. Taylor Snow had just locked herself in a room with a zombie.

When the Hunter finally managed to lower himself down onto the ground--with much difficulty, mind you-- he sniffed at the ground, following the fleeing human's scent quite easily. He kept pace with the small horde of Infected that had decided to pursue her, though he was at the rear.

When he heard the door slam, he instinctively reared up on both legs, though he favored his injury. He scanned the building--it was an old, run-down apartment complex. There was a window on the left side of the room she'd entered, which he quickly located upon doing some sniffing around.

He dropped to all fours again, and then quietly peered up into the room through the window, sharp eyes scanning the expanse of the room for his prey.

It wasn't close to her, should could hear the slow trickle of bile nearly five feet away, but the stench of it's rotting flesh assaulted her nose. She stopped breathing, stopped moving. She could hear it dragging it's broken limbs toward her - and all she felt was fear.

She needed to run again - she had to make it back to the C.E.D.A. bunker. Life had fallen too far, there was no way that she would make it out her, alone and unarmed as she was.

The Hunter sniffed at the window, silently. After a few moments of slow thinking, he realized he would be better off catching her inside the small room, while she was panicking.

He steadied himself, knowing and expecting the sting of pain that would course through his body, aimed, and pounced. He flew clear through the window, scattering glass around everywhere. His aim was precise--he collided with the other Infected trying to steal his meal. Both fell to the ground in the barely-lit room, now much better lit since the window was broken.

The Hunter began to tear at the screaming zombie as it kicked and punched at him. He moved quickly, and once it was immobile, he turned around quickly, to face his prey.

Some Hunters had eyes, and some did not--it was assumed that some clawed their eyes out in pain during the transformation a few days into the Infection. Some passed out during this change, and didn't feel this pain at all. This one had eyes. Pale, milky, bloodshot violet eyes. A low, feral growl rattled out of his throat, and his upper lip stretched up over his bloodstained teeth.

Taylor was relieved when light flooded the room from the broken window. But that relief was short lived when she realized that another zombie, seemingly more dangerous than the other, had entered the room. The new infected quickly killed the other lesser zombie within moments and then rounded on her. She was stymied as to what to do. She might have a chance of running from the other zombie, but there was something feral about this infected - there would be no getting passed him.

That meant she would have to fight, the light that was now shining in the room revealed thick iron pipes laying abandoned not a foot from where she stood - there were probably intended for a project. You know, before, the world ended. Picking up one of the pipes without breaking eye contact with the monster, she hefted the heavy object at him. It was too heavy for her and the corroded surface bit into her hands painfully. She would drop it any second.

Using her last bit of strength Dr. Snow threw the pipe desperately at the zombie, and began scrambling towards the window that he'd jumped through - still unwilling to open the door and face the crowd of zombies waiting for her there.

The Hunter, injured, could not move quickly enough. His upper body sprang out of the way, but his leg was slow, and the pipe landed on top of it, crushing it. His eyes widened, revealing how truly bloodshot they were, and his head snapped back. He let loose a loud, bellowing roar of pain and collapsed to the ground. The pipe was crushing his bad leg.

He tried uselessly to pull his leg out from underneath the pipe, as he bawled and yelped, much like a large dog in pain, completely disregarding his prey for once. It was semi-pathetic, if you didn't count the still-fresh blood dripping from his chin onto the floor and the past large red stains on his shirt from all the people he had picked off in the past few weeks.

Finally, he laid still, trapped leg shaking terribly. He had tired himself out--he had little energy left to try and escape, let alone chase after his prey.

Taylor scrambled up to the window that the beast had burst through. She could barely reach it by standing on the crates at on the floor, but she barely reached it, and once her hand reached into the frame to pull herself up she was met with ragged shards of glass. The glass bit into her palm before she could pull herself away and now she was bleeding from the hand. It wasn't a bad cut, but there were a few shards of glass embedded in her hand now, and it added even more reason that she needed to get out of here. Peeking up even further to get a look at the window she saw that the entirety of the window was intermittently lined with broken shards of glass, with no clear spot to get around it. Without sacrificing her hands completely there was no way for her to go out that way.

Considering that he only route of escape had just been crossed off of her list she looked back at the room below. The beast that she had attacked earlier hadn't moved much, it looked like he'd been injured even before she hit him. She didn't know what it was, other than his still very human eyes and body, but she took one shaky step toward the infected. The first thing that Taylor was, was a doctor and she couldn't leave anything so badly injured just lying there to die.

The Hunter had laid still while Taylor moved, save for his still-quivering leg. Low, soft keens were spilling from his lips. The pain of his leg nearly snapping in two seemed to have clouded all of his other senses. His arms were limp, and his eyes were closed.

He did notice, however, when she cut her hand, for he lifted his head slightly and began to sniff the air, salivating slightly. He hadn't had anything fresh to eat in nearly a week. He started picking off lesser Infected when prey became scarce, and although their flesh was foul, it provided him with food. He had thinned out considerably. The mere smell of fresh human blood was enough to incite a haze in his mind.

He shook his head a few times, to clear his infection-impaired mind once more, when he saw his prey begin to approach him. Instinct kicked in. First, he tried to move, the fact that he was immobile momentarily slipping his mind. Then, he arched his shoulders and back upwards slightly, much like an arched-up, defensive cat. He let loose another rattling, canine growl, baring his teeth at her. He thought she was going to attack him.

Taylor stopped herself when the infected reared up. He was injured, but that didn't mean that his instincts were dulled. She now realized how stupid it had been of her to think that she could approach an infected without harm to herself. Looking at the beast closer she saw that he was very injured, too injured to harm her from a distance, she conjectured. Maybe if she could trap him in some way, she'd be able to stay in this room until the zombies outside the door dispersed.

She began looking for a way to trap the infected beast.

The Hunter's head and eyes followed her every movement. The low growls continued to pour out from his throat, as if he was still telling her to keep her distance, or lose a hand trying to harm him. He had to stop after a moment to lick his lips, still the smell of blood was still causing drool to ooze out of the corners of his mouth.

It was funny to watch his growling abruptly stop because he had to shake his head and lick up some stray drool. He almost resembled a dog with peanut butter on the roof of its mouth.

She found a crate that was mostly in tact - and decided to try and use it to cage the monster in. If it was injured enough it might just work. Regardless she had to try. Her first instinct, that he was still human enough that she as a doctor would need to help him had been foolhardy and stupid. But she'd been out of her bunker for about an hour now, and she sure was learning quickly. Once the bottom of the crate was kicked out she hefted it, and saw that she could in fact lift it. She had to get that infected in the cage, because she needed to stay in here until the zombies were gone. And it was clear by the continuous pounding and groaning at the door that they were only growing in number.

Taylor picked up the cage and tossed it over the infected. She could only hope that it landed in a way that wouldn't hurt him further.

The instant feeling of being caged in incited more growling from the Hunter, muffled now due to his being covered. He punched at the crate, and scratched at it. He made little openings near the bottom of the crate, where it was weak, but could do no further damaged in his weakened, hungered state.

He struggled with the crate, still immobile, for a good ten to fifteen minutes before finally, the sounds of feverish smacks and clawing began to die down. The pain from his hurt leg was starting to get to him. With quiet whines rumbling in his chest, the Hunter laid down, resting his head on the floor.

Taylor's conscience screamed against the actions she had just taken, but her more powerful survival instincts applauded her. This had to to be done. The beast was caged now, and she had more time to prepare for what to do next. She spent the next hour scouring the place for something that she could make into a serviceable.

Instead, she found a gun.

Every time she moved or shuffled loudly, the Hunter growled from inside of his makeshift cage. It was more of a warning now than anything else--a tired, worn-out, wounded warning. He didn't feel like attacking her, unless she directly attacked him...and then the bloodlust would kick in, and he'd tear her to shreds. Oftentimes, when he attacked, he didn't mean to so terribly mutilate his victims. The bloodlust and the cacophony of instinctual voices in his brain drove him to such horrors.

Attack. Kill. Feed

Over, and over, and over again. He didn't really have many thoughts circulating through his brain--the infection kept him challenged to everything but animalistic instinct and short, sweet little thoughts. If he really sat down and thought until his skull felt ready to burst, he could think somewhat like a small human child...but he rarely had time for that, constantly seeking out food and new victims to tear to shreds.

Taylor looked down at the handgun that she had found in a far corner of the warehouse. Of course there were guns in here, it made perfect sense, it was a fortified building - she was sure that survivors had taken refuge here before her. She'd been looking for a weapon, and she'd certainly found one. Dr. Snow, however, didn't know how to use a gun, there'd never been any reason for her to learn. One can't exactly predict that they'll find themselves alone in a zombie apocalypse and desirous of a means of defense. So now she looked down at the gun, stuck in place, armed but unable to use it.

Thinking back to everything that she had ever learned by guns, she found herself coming up short. Bare knowledge gleaned from late night police programs and general knowledge. She felt the weight of the gun and assumed that it was loaded by how heavy it was. But, then. Maybe guns were always that heavy? She was at a loss for what to do.

The Hunter listened to her shuffle around, disorientated by the crate around him. It wasn't too difficult for him to see, since he had the senses of a canine in many ways. But the crate was blocking his sight. The only thing visible, outside of the crate, was the foot of his injured leg.

He fell silent for a moment, and then began to grumble out some incomprehensible things, almost like he was attempting to figure out where he was, and what was going on.

Hearing the struggles of the trapped infected drew Taylor back into reality. She realized that the animal like human was very injured, and that she had accidentally trapped one of his legs on the outside of the crate. She didn't wish to cause it any more harm than was necessary, but she didn't see how she could get the leg back in without causing him harm. If this was her lab she would sedate the beast and fix its injuries, but that just wasn't an option here.

Taylor sat and thought for a few moments, letting the pained hissing and growling of the infected become a backdrop for her thoughts. Inspiration struck her when she heard the vague shuffling of uncoordinated bodies at the door. She could test the gun by aiming it at the infected outside. The one that was in here with her was injured, and still seemed humanoid in comparison to the hordes of undead outside. The part of herself that couldn't do anything but trap the special infected, could allow herself to attack the decaying flesh bags trying to break into the building.

Taylor scrambled up to the window that the beast had broken through, though she couldn't climb through it it was a large enough hole to aim through. She hefted the gun and leveled it at the crowd of zombies surrounding the door to the warehouse. She pulled the trigger, closing her eyes in fear.

Nothing happened.

sorry posted from my mule~!

The sound of her shuffling up towards the window seemed to bring about a second wind in the Hunter. He inhaled, deeply, and then cocked his arms down and back. They shot forward, and he was able to heft the crate off of himself in one fell motion. The slight pain that the crate had been causing dwindled.

He began to struggle and shake again, attempting to force the pipe off of his leg. He kept this up for a few minutes, before he finally gained some leverage. He grabbed one end of the big pipe, and shoved with all of his might. It took him six heated, powerful shoves, and the pipe finally slid off of his mangled leg.

A shriek of success burst forth from his chapped lips, and he tripped over himself several times on the way to the corner of the room farthest away from her. He was arched up like a furious cat, frozen in place. He took note of the weapon in her hands, the same sort of weapon many of his old prey had tried to use against him, and lowered his head slightly, his growls softening to slow grumbles.

He was in too much pain to flee.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The beast tore the cage off of himself in a few powerful motions and Taylor was left aiming a useless gun at it. There's was no longer any way for the girl to defend herself. She scrambled back desperately, trying to create distance between herself and the infected. As she struggled to move away from the creature her hand slid across the gun and she felt metal slide against metal. The doctor's limited knowledge provided some insight. The safety.

This gun had a safety, as many modern guns did. By sliding back on the gun she had turned the safety off. The gun that hadn't worked before would work now. Rather than take on the special infected that had already proven resourceful, Taylor took her gun off of him and ran towards the door where the other zombies were crowded. They're dull eyes and slack mouths were less human than the beasts anyway, and therefore easier for her to shoot at.