Writer’s note: Sorry for being late, very sorry. Was depressed for a few weeks and then unmotivated for another few… but after I read some crappy apocalypse fanfic my confidence leapt high... so here I am. (Damn I’m so evil haha.)

Anyway, I decided not to reveal chosen applicants. You will have to read and look out for yourself. ^^ I’ll be including everyone though, but not all as main characters. :)

“Put down the gun.”

“Like hell I will.”

“You want food, girlie? I’ve got food. I’ll fetch it. Put down the gun.”

She smirked. “You’ve got food?”

“Oh yeah, lots of em. Bread. You know, bread? Carbo. Carbo that can last for days and days. I’ve got it in my room.” The man jerked his head towards the door behind him.

The rifle’s nozzle raised itself to his head, and he instantly froze. A click like that of her tongue sliding off the roof of crackled from it, quiet, calm, and threatening all at the same time. The man gulped, beads of sweat now visible against his smooth bald head.

“No moving,” reminded the girl grimly. The man moistened his lips, his eyes focused on the gun. The girl tossed her shoulder-length hair behind her shoulder, and the rifle wavered dangerously, causing the man to shrink up even more against the plaster walls.

“Where’s the food?” demanded the girl.

“I’ll-I’ll-I’ll get it for you, miss.”

“I said, you b*stard,” she hissed. “Where’s the food?”

He hesitated for a second, before whimpering his answer. “Under the table… in the grayish satchel.”

“Get down,” ordered the girl. “Get down and cup your ears or I’ll blow your brains out of them.”

The man did as he was told, and the girl moved towards the door, keeping her back away from the man all the time. With a kick of her baggy army pants, the dilapidated door gave way and she entered hurriedly.

It was a study, and the man had obviously been stocking all his supplies in there. Wires dangled from a hole in the ceiling where a lamp might have been, and there was grime in the corners of the room, but otherwise it was clean and free of dust. Broken televisions, printers and washing machines held stacks of clothes, and another half-demolished crate held thick books – Bibles, guessed the girl.

Standing lopsidedly in a corner of the room was an office desk. She darted towards it and let her hand carelessly rummage through the bags under it, while she kept her back against the wall.

Just as her fingers brushed against ratty, grey cloth, there came the click of a gun, and she looked up to see the man standing in the doorway, his burly body casting huge shadows over herself. He was gripping something in his hands, and the girl quickly recognized it as an AK-47 pistol, well-loaded, and pointing straight at her. The man growled and bared his teeth.

“You’re not the only one with a gun, b*tch,” snarled the man.

She snatched the satchel, held it close to her chest and smoothly dropped to her knees as a ring penetrated the room. The bullet smashed into the wall behind her, ricocheted and buried itself into the floor, missing the girl’s ankle by inches as she rolled away from danger. She hurriedly slung her precious cargo over her shoulder, only to jump as a bullet bored through it, again barely missing her flesh.

Now she was agitated. She backed away as bullets started driving her towards the wall before pushing herself back up onto her feet. The man cocked his gun, determination glowing like fire in his eyes, and the girl hurriedly imitated him.

She fired first, and her bullet smashed through the door frame, splintering it. Another bullet followed its path, and then, quite suddenly, one flew into the man’s shoulder.

He cried in agony and staggered back from the impact. The girl leapt in front of him, took aim and fired repeatedly, the sparks from her weapon illuminating her youthful, resolute face. The bullets took him in his abdomen, and he reeled, his widened eyes watering and his legs losing strength. With a choke, a splutter and a cry of disbelief, he tumbled to the floor, and his gun slipped out of his feeble hands.

The girl stepped up to his twitching body, her rifle still loaded, and her face as expressionless as ever.

“I may not be the only one with a gun… but neither are you, Sir.” With these parting words, she pulled her trigger.

It was a nervy experience, but she was growing used to them. Her heart soon ceased its frantic pumping, and the adrenaline withdrew from her bloodstream as she took in a deep breath, enjoying the stale smell of temporary safety, and of lingering gunpowder.

She pulled off the satchel and peered inside. The man had not lied. It was packed with loaves of bread, probably salvaged from some bakery. They were hard, not exactly freshly-made, but still edible. He must have had them ready in case he had to make a quick escape.

Well, it would definitely serve her well. She went back into the room to check if there was anything else worth taking with her.

Not too much, though. Nothing ever lasts long enough nowadays.

When she left the abandoned bungalow half an hour later, she was smiling. With a huff, she plopped down on a smooth part of the pavement and studied the pair of sneakers in her hands. After dragging off her tattered shoes, she pulled on her new sneakers and laced them up, a satisfied smile reaching up to her auburn eyes.

“Hah! They fit.”

He must have had a daughter.

She scuffed her heels against the road before standing up with her arms stretched out for balance. Her shoes kicked up dust as she walked along the edge of the pavement, and the fine particles swirled curiously about her ankles before clinging on. As she came nearer to a flickering streetlight, something dangling from her hips shone dully. It was a blade as long as her forearm, an arrow-shaped, sleek black kunai, much like its skinny owner with her layered short hair. Two guns hung from the other side of her angular hips; one was a bulky, polished black rifle, and the other was the AK-47. About seven miniature kunais hung from loops of rope around her neck like the skulls of a warrior’s victims. They reached down to her hips, decorating her tan neck and complementing her baggy, gangster shirt.

The streetlight spluttered hard, struggling to stay alive, before dying out with a final buzz. But Jin had not noticed, for the afternoon sun was bright. Besides, she was much more interested in her new sneakers, and in her own survival.

It is exactly three months and thirteen days after the apocalypse, though Jin would never know. Day was always melting into night and the nights were always chasing day, such that Jin had lost all track of time.

The distant sound of shattering glass startled Jin, and she turned just in time to see something leathery black crawling out from the bungalow she had just burgled. Straightaway, she twisted back to the front and begun to run, her hands cutting through the air as she sprinted, and the soles of her sneakers pushing noiselessly off the ground. She leapt skillfully over the gaping cracks in the pavements, and for an instant, the image of red hot hell erupting from it flashed through her mind.

She dashed into a nearby alley, pinned herself against the wall and panted. When she looked back, the black creature could be seen bending over something. Food, probably. New-found food.

Remembering that they would never be satisfied with already dead food, Jin faced the wall, unwound her necklace and unhooked it. With a toss, the free end of the rope sailed into the air. An arrow-shaped kunai latched itself onto a window pane, and Jin tugged the rope to ensure that it would hold her weight. As she began her ascent up the building, she couldn’t help but recall the earlier event. Would that man had survived if she hadn’t shot him? Or would he have faced a worse death in between the teeth of the devil?

It doesn’t matter now. She shook the thoughts from her head and focused on climbing. It doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters now except your own soul.

Writer’s note: Introducing Yoshida Jin, daughter and brainchild of Hitomi246123! (What a mouthful lol)
Will be updating… soon. Maybe. Sometime in the near future. Haha. ^-^