AN: Hehehe...I'll write until Zenliths' fingers bleed and his keyboard breaks.

Mwhahahaha!

Blackmail? This is bribery!

Drinking the sweet nectar that is another authors work, and devouring their life force through their words? Hah!

You are either a fool, or confident. And I cannot imagine you are a fool.

Still...a challenge is made to be accepted.

Now that Zeny can directly post into my threads, these things become easier. No longer do you have to scroll down so far for chapters!

Don't pay attention to these threads. What you should be looking for is #5.5 -HG-1-Chapter 3.

It will be up whenever Zenlith feels like. So don't bother im'.

Hm...I should probably fill up this space with something...whatever.

*Sniffs crack*

OOOOOOHH YEEEEEEAAAAAH, LET'S GET IT STARTED!

----------------------------------------

I survived.

In a manner of speaking.

When I hit the ground, my left leg snapped immediately. Though, looking on the bright side, that dulled the shock from breaking my right arm. I avoided looking at the angle of my arm. It made me kinda dizzy.

I grunted. My shoulder was already soaked, and the stain was spreading. Before I die from blood-loss, I'd better patch that up.

I ripped a long strip from my skirt, and tied an awkward noose with my one-hand and teeth. Every movement was torture. My vision cycled between a narrow ball of light surrounded by pitch black and a light so blinding I cried.

I managed to get the noose in the right place. Next comes the bad part. Just the movement made from the cloth rubbing my wound had made me want to black out.

I very much doubt I'll stay awake long enough to admire my third-class knotting skill. I held it with my left hand, and bit down on the cloth in my mouth. At least I won't bite my tongue.

I was sweating. Adrenaline had long since left me tired and clammy. If I wasn't in shock, I was definitely experiencing anemia. Will I even wake up?

I'm...very afraid. But why should I?

If I can't wake up from simple blood-loss induced sleep, how the hell am I supposed to escape this nightmare?

I yanked the cloth tight.

---

I opened my eyes, spears of light making me immediately close them. No idea how long I've been passed out, but it's dusk. If I don't get off this track soon, I'll get the chance to inspect the bottom of a train first hand.

I was on my back. Not very advantageous for crawling. I tried to lever myself up with an elbow.

Bright spots burst into view, and my head cracked against the wood in between the steel tracks. Well, there go brain cells I probably needed. Looks like I broke, or at least cracked, a couple of my ribs too.

Why the hell would anyone become a daredevil if they get hurt like this...?

I carefully felt at my chest with my left hand. The two bottom left hurt when I so much as go near them, the bottom right was definitely broken, and my sternum was tender, putting it nicely.

What kind of idiot would jump out of a train moving 60 miles an hour...

Oh. Me. I'm the kind of idiot that'd do that.

I grunted and tilted my head to look at my leg. "Serves me right. But all they ever said was to check both sides of the street before crossing, no one ever said anything about trains and exiting strategies..."

At first I thought I must have gotten some PBC pipe impaled in my leg. After I noticed it was jagged, I made a wild guess that my shin had just become much more kickable. Damn, the bitches back home would love that.

Well, can't do anything right now. I'll have to...oh Confucius...I'll have to put my arm back in its' socket. Then, since the elbow is broken, I'll have to put it in a sling.

...damn it all. Why'd Einstein have to invent gravity? Couldn't he have been more like Tesla and invented the wheel? Damn inventors making useless stuff.

Well, I'm just wasting time. And I've already had my whole self-motivation monologue, so doing another would just be redundant.

"Damn it all. Damn it all to hell. HAH!

I'm a fucking comedian."

I grabbed my right arm, and pulled.

---

The moon was well up by now. I would have liked it, since I didn't have to look at all the blood and rips in my clothing. But, moonlight has the annoying habit of reflecting off of bone. Shin bone, to be exact.

"Damn leg...damn ribs...now even crawling will be painful."

After somehow tying a sling in the dark, I started dragging myself along the train tracks. I want to get off as soon as possible. Luckily, having my leg in the same position for several hours had left it completely numb. Pins and needles may make me cringe, but at least I can't feel my knee grinding against the back of my shin.

Not as good as anesthesia, but it'll have to do.

I was on the outskirts of Philadelphia. Since it's a city, that's not saying much. 'Outskirt' just refers to the suburbs at the edge of town. I just hope I don't run into anymore creatures...

After ten minutes of awkwardly propelling myself with one arm, my leg woke up. The good thing was that I could now use my right leg to help propel me, the bad news was that I had to grit my teeth the whole time as I could hear, feel, and imagine the groove my thigh-bone was carving in the back of my shin.

Three hours, or something like that later, I had finally gotten into someones' back yard. I was sweating like a motherfucker, and every heartbeat pulsed pain from every part of me and multiplied, concentrated, and circulated it through every fucking inch of me.

I gasped and pulled/flopped the revolver out of the old guys' bag. Inside was a bunch of cloth, a bottle of liquid, and luckily some rounds. The revolver itself was banged-up, but that won't affect it...right?

Well, if it jams, I probably won't have to deal with a broken leg anymore.

For several minutes I fumbled the rounds while trying to get them into the chambers. Eventually, I held the grip with my mouth, and trail-and-error ed it.

I picked it up with my left hand, and did a quick spin with the chambers. They seem to be fine. Well, I'll at least get one shot. Doubt that'll help for long, though. For these creatures, a bullet is a thirty-second delay.

Otherwise, shooting them is useless.

I ran into another problem. If I held the gun in my hand, I had to press it against the ground each time, and I kept thinking that would set off one of the rounds inside. I solved the problem by tucking it barrel-first into my sling.

I crawled around to the front door. It was open, claw marks on the inside. I couldn't fathom if that was good or bad news, but for now...

If I don't disinfect my leg, I'm going to catch some serious stuff. Not to mention I should definitely splint it. And my arm too. And my shoulder.

Damn it...there's so much to do. I'd better get started.

I went in as stealthily as a one-armed one-legged heavily-injured and exhausted ninja.

When I came in, I threw up.

On the dining room table a twenty-something man had been literally ripped open.

His rib cage was splayed like the legs of a spider. His entrails were hanging off the edges like bloody ropes. Thankfully, the blood was dry, so I didn't have to hear it drip-drip-dripping off the table. And the wall. And even the chandelier. Jesus Christ, how do you kill someone so hard their blood starts falling from the ceiling?

I crawled/shambled through the room until I got to the kitchen. After a couple tries, a bench, and a very precharious perch on the counter, I found the medicine counter. I didn't bother taking what I needed. I doubt there was much I couldn't use.

After somehow getting down without killing myself, I made my way to the bedroom. A large king-size bed. Since I didn't want to get blood on it, I settled myself down in the least painful position. (In comparison)

A lot of tangled bandages, blackouts, improvised splints, and inventive profanity later, I rolled myself onto the bed. Never before have I cursed the person who invented beds that were literally off the ground so profusely.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Damn Washington...never did anything right...at least learn from the Russians and use futons you imbecile..."

'Falling asleep' would be too gentle a term.

I passed out.

---

I woke up to growling. Or, you could say I returned to my nightmare.

Honestly, who keeps track of fiction and reality anymore? I'm a fucking circus freak for fucks' sake!

I opened my eyes. It wasn't close to me, but it sound like it was in this house. And in pain.

Strange...no matter how I shot or punched the creatures in the train, they didn't seem to flinch. And yet, that guy was screaming for all his worth that his ribs were hurting like hell.

It's okay buddy...we've all been there.

The growling grew in pitch and volume, until I couldn't hear anything beyond a vague buzzing in my ears. I think that means that the audio just went out of the spectrum that I could hear. Or, I just went deaf.

To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised, after all the shit I've gone through.

A thump like the creature fell off of something. Then the sound of sniffing.

Damn, these guys are straight up dogs, huh?

I guess you could say he was following his instincts as a man. Lol.

...

But, seriously though, I think I'm about to die.

I did a spin of the chambers in my revolver. Six round. Thirty-seconds each. Three minutes.

Three minutes of life.

...Would I be satisfied with that, though? And what if I missed?

...hah, I wish I was the main character of a bad authors novel. I could really use some plot armor right now, or at the very least some kind of power.

...As you wish...

My phone beeped. I started. I would have though service would be down by now. Though, I guess these creatures aren't really that interested in that, so maybe I can still use it?

Hm...should I make my fingers go numb clenching this gun, or check my email?

Meh, my history teacher was scarier when she caught us texting each other. These creatures don't have shit on Mrs. Williams.

I put the gun down beside me, and pulled my phone out of my pocket.

'Indestructable' my ass. The screen is basically gone. What's left of the glass is a couple cracked shards in the upper-right corner. Then again, I should probably be praising the engineering. After all, it did survive a fall from a train moving 60m/h. Which of us came out better, I can't say.

Huh, another text from 'anon.'

Anon: Through the strength of will, many individuals of history have given themselves an inner fire within their soul. Perhaps through your will something more will come to be?

...

I deleted the text. Fuck this anon guy. And fuck history. Mrs. Williams admitted, publicly, that I was a lost cause. And something about having more flaws in my memory than the catholic church has contradictions in its' doctrine.

(She was Jewish.)

The bedroom door slid fully open, and a figure blocked the door. I set my phone down, and gave my best, I'm-about-to-die smile.

I picked up the gun, and cocked the hammer. It felt a little weird.

The monster slowly walked toward me. Not running like the others. Huh, it's not wearing a shirt.

I did a couple spins of the gun, smiling and relaxing. It's strange.

Whenever I think about death, or pain, I always feel so scared. But now that it's here...

I'm sort of looking forward to it.

The monster came to my side, and lifted a claw.

I shot it in the throat.

Stumbling back, it choked blood and hit the wall. I blew the smoke from the barrel, and did a couple spins of the chamber, whistling a tuneless song.

I was just getting to the good part when the monster woke up. I shot it in the throat again. It stumbled back a step.

I did a spin of the chamber, and placed the barrel up against my temple. It would be so much faster, and less painful.

Do I really want to end up like that guy on the dining table?

Ha, I already did half the job. Still, I don't want to end up like that.

Just a contraction of the muscles in my finger, and everything would be okay. The monster stopped choking and stepped back toward me.

I shot it in the throat again.

Hah, do I really want to go out like this? Scared and alone, torn to pieces, an empty revolver in hand?

Or should I be wearing a sarcastic smile and bearing a hole in the side of my head?

Either way ends in death. Damn, this is really not enough time. The monster healed again. Is it just me, or is he getting up faster each time?

I shot it in the throat again. I took a good look at the guy for the first time. Hm, his face looks familiar.

Well, fuck me! He is the guy on the table. And it took six seconds for the hole in his throat to heal.

He takes a step forward. I have two shots in my gun. And all I can think is...

"Really?"

The monster hesitates for a second.

I gesture around the room. "I mean, seriously. I make it all this way, and now you don't even give me the three minutes I was promised? What the fuck is up with that!"

The monster lurches forward again, and puts its' claw on my throat. I cock the hammer and pull.

It jams.

...

Ha...ha...haha, hahahaha, HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAhAhahAHAHAhHAhAhA!

AND I CALL MYSELF A COMEDIAN!

The monsters' grip is weak. But the claws are sharp enough to make up for it. the sides of my throat are already bleeding.

But what the fuck!? It's almost like god is laughing at me! Like I'm his own practical joke. As if all my effort, my sweat, my tears, my blood, was all meaningless. I should be angry. I should hate god right now. I should be feeling so many emotions right now.

But, for a reason I think I know, all I can do is laugh.

I cock the hammer. I pull the trigger. It does nothing.

HA HA HA HA

I have stopped laughing. Not for want of trying, but because the monsters' grip is strangling me. I choke.

And with what little breath I have...

"I don't think I believe in God anymore."

And even if there was a god, if he's the sadistic bastard he's shown himself to be, I don't want to believe he created me.

I cock the hammer, push the gun into the guys' throat, and pull the trigger-

It jams.

I give myself a little chuckle, and close my eyes.

Then the gun fires. The grip on my throat disappears. The next second, I open my eyes. Half the guys' throat is gone, and his eyes are bulging. I cock the hammer, pull the trigger, and shoot the other half of his throat. His head does a little somersault into my lap, and his body falls over. I blink.

The monsters' head blinks as well. The body starts' getting up.

"...seriously? I just decapitated you. Kurgh..."

I gagged. Strangling isn't that fun. I feel kinda bad for that boy scout. Still, if the head is right here...

I put my left-hand in front of the creatures' face. It's opening and closing its' jaws, trying to bite me, but it can't get leverage. I flip it the bird. A hint of recognition flashes in its' eyes.

Then I use my pointer and middle finger to explore the back of its' skull. I hold it between my knees, and pull its' eyes out. Then I crush them. In my hand, they start coming back. So I crush them again.

For a while, I felt very strange. The eyes felt like squishy foam. The head had fallen backwards, and was mindlessly biting thin air. The body was flopping around like a beached fish. And I just kept crushing the eyes, over and over again.

Seems like they can't grow new appendages. Thank Confucius for that.

And, for two days, I continued crushing its' eyes, listening to its' teeth clack on empty air, and watching its' body flop around on the ground.

Then I got hungry.

...

Well, shit.