Stepping forward, he smashed the aluminum bat down, mashing the remains of what used to be a person to a pulp. He blinked, scanning both directions of the hallway, and once he concluded there was nothing alive, nor dead, nor halfway in-between around he knelt down, and reached forward to collect the tag. Picking it up, he scanned it quickly, and then stuffed it into his pocket, the sound of it hitting others of the same kind echoing through the hallway. Mark Halkaw stood up slowly, being careful of the collapsed ceiling above. It seemed the fourth floor gave out after the gas explosion in beginning. The supporting beams had collapsed, making it an uncomfortable journey for Mark, tall as he was. He continued to move through the hallway taking careful note of the damage and destruction.

He passed a room filled with useless machines, once so important in his life, now just shattered screens and broken hardware. The lights were hanging down from the ceiling, dangling cords with electricity sparking at their tips. Turns out his programming knowledge wouldn’t be as useful as the college advisors told him. Ducking under the next doorway, Mark recognized his old refuge, the woodwork room. He would just spend hours upon hours there, carving and sanding at his new creations.

Relying upon his memory, Mark slowly made his way through the dark room. He could barely see general outlines, and those were blurry at best, which is why it was not unexpected when he snagged his shoe on a fallen cabinet, and consequently ground his face into the hard, stone floor. As he fell, his shirt fluttered, allowing a chain holding his tags to come out. Mark glanced at it as he recovered.

Markus Halkaw

Titles: Heartless, That guy in the corner

Kills: 12

Position: Watched by Kraskar

Reputation: None

Bounty: 1 Emergency Ration, 2 First Aid Kits, 1 Pocket Knife

“No change,” he muttered at he regained his footing. “And heartless too, wonder when that appeared.” He opened the cabinet, and squinted inside. A coping saw, a wad of sandpaper, and a long circular file. Mark snatched the file, stashing it away inside his backpack, and leaving the other tools behind. He had figured out on the fourth day that things you can’t use just get you killed. The others who attacked him had brought their laptops, their books, making them slow prey, easily caught. They thought they were clever, setting a trap with large numbers to pray of those who have scavenged up food and weapons. He saw the light from their screens, and used the vent to sneak around, them being almost blind in the dark. They wouldn't be bothering others again.

Mark moved back into the hallway, where some light was let through by the windows not boarded up or covered with tape and cardboard. He pulled out the tags from his pocket. Laying them down in the light he examined them again. Hmm, five tags with seven kills total. Not a bad haul, see what Kraskar will give me for them. Mark gathered his belongings, stood up, and ventured back the way he came, heading towards the Altar of Kraskar, in what used to be the Seminar room.

********************

As Mark drew closer to the converted room, he pulled up his hood, carefully scanning the shadows and doorways around him. Some were always desperate enough to try for the bounty posted by Partol’s group. Wonder if he gives better rewards. Maybe choosing Kraskar from the start was too hasty.

“You Halkaw?” A voice floated down the hallway towards Mark, filled with a mixture of disgust, greed, and perhaps a hint of madness. Everyone had done things these days, things that followed them and made their sleep restless and unfulfilling.

Mark continued forward, straining his eyes to see the talker.

“Why? Which one you follow?” He attempted to bait the speaker into revealing his purpose, barely making out a short bulky teen with what looked to be a metal pipe held in his right hand. Mark grabbed the file, sliding it up his long baggy sleeve. His footsteps rang out clearly, no longer trying to hide his presence from other survivors and the creatures lurking around the school.

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“Hmm… I guess you could say that. I follow Partol, lord and deity over slaves and treachery” And I thought Kraskar was twisted. Seems like battle and revenge aren’t the worst attributes. The teen glanced behind him at the sound of a chain scrapping across the floor. He apparently was not alarmed by what he found, quite the opposite. A grin filled his face, while his eyes gained an odd glint, and he laughed at something around the corner.

Mark began to speed up, and now certain that the teen was intent on trying to catch the bounty, and whipped both his bat and the file free into his hands. He slid over a fallen desk, landing close to the teen with a smack. The teen whipped his head around and wildly swung his pipe horizontally towards Marks head. Ducking, Mark kicked out towards his attacker’s chest, sending him stumbling back into the wall. The teen charged forward with a ringing scream, bring down the pipe with all his might towards Mark’s head, only to be blocked by the bat, and making use of the opening, Mark thrust the file deep into the teen’s stomach.

Spiting blood the boy dropped his pipe and attempted to tackle Mark. They fell together around the corner, coming up right next to a girl chained to the railings of the staircase. The boy pummeled Mark, hitting him hard and coming close to breaking his nose. The girl watched silently, making no move to help nor hinder each of them. Mark blindly felt along the floor until he felt his bat, and gripping it tightly began to bash the teen’s head in. When the boys grip lessened, and he fell to the floor Mark did not stop, nor did he slow. Like a man possessed he pounded the skull into bits, spreading gore all over the wall. When Mark finally tired, there were no recognizable body parts left, and his black hoodie was splattered with blood.

Pulling out his tag, he checked for the change he knew must have taken place.

Markus Halkaw

Titles: Heartless, That guy in the corner, He who bathes in blood

Kills: 13

Position: Interest of Kraskar

Reputation: Violent

Bounty: 1 Emergency Ration, 2 First Aid Kits, 1 Pocket Knife

Looking towards the girl he pondered the un-expected change. He had currently not found any reference to the use of reputation, but it seemed like there might be a civilization out there forming, which probably placed a great value upon it.

“What now?” The girl spoke, her voice tearing through his thoughts. She shifted, emphasizing he chains, and the fact her clothes had obviously been ripped and torn, most likely by his attacker. Her striking blue eyes shone with determination, but also fear. She had after all witnessed the fight, and his brutal tactics.

“Nothing.” Mark broke away from her stare and began to search through the remains for useful items, pocketing both the pipe and the boy’s tags. A quick check showed one kill, but unfortunately no bounty. Turning back to the girl, he approached and pulled her toward a sliver of light. She struggled, but to no avail. Glancing at her tags, he made a snap decision and once again took out his file. Seeing it she backed away.

“What are you doing? Are you going to stab me as well maniac?” The girl shouted at him, attempting to scratch and bite him.

Mark lunged towards her, and with a quick knock to the back of her head, forced her into unconsciousness. He dragged her into the altar room and began the tedious job of sawing through the chains. While he did so he took a closer look at her tag.

Florida Moltak

Title: Slem’s Slave, Softball Club President

Kills: 0

Reputation: None

Position: Slave

Bounty: None

Note: I have trouble sticking with a story. This might be a unfinished story siting in limbo.