[i]Abel O'Connell
11:08 AM[/i]

Abel awoke slowly, the feeling of his aching back immediately hitting him. He groaned, stretching his arms above his head and his legs out as he yawned heavily and for a minute entertained the idea of going back to sleep. His stomach rumbled loudly and he was hit with sudden pangs of hunger, his body's way of telling him going back to sleep was not a smart move. He only had two tins of food left. One, after he ate the pork and beans in a few minutes. He had to go back out there, today was the last day he would have a choice in the matter and it was always a bad idea to wait until you were out of choices.

With that thought in his mind he sat up, groaning once again and massaging the back of his neck, trying to rub some of the stiffness out of it. He wasn't sure what time it was but there was some light coming in through the dirty warehouse windows. He looked around like he did every morning and once again wondered what this place had been used for in the past. It seemed abandoned, disused. The various shelves were all bare. He had used a few empty cardboard boxes around the place to make himself a bed, though it had been pretty damn uncomfortable. It reminded him of prison, spend a couple of weeks sleeping on it and you felt like you'd aged ten years.

He looked down towards the side of his makeshift bed. There lay his bag, his handgun and his blade, out of it's sheathe. He was paranoid one of the Gob's would find their way in without him  hearing and try to tear into him. It was sheer paranoia, the vehicle entrance into the warehouse was padlocked when he got there and he had locked the only other entrance with a decent quality one he had stolen himself. He reached over and pulled his bag towards him, going inside it and taking out the tin of pork and beans. Picking up his blade he slid it under the tab and lifted it slightly before pulling the top off using his fingers and placing the knife back into it's sheathe. He 'ate' from the tin as if he were trying to down a drink that was being difficult about it, frustrated with himself for not thinking to grab a damn spoon whilst he was out there but still unwilling to go into the mess with his fingers. It had been a while since he'd had the chance to wash his hands.

A frustrating amount of time later the tin was empty. He made a mental note to beat his own ass if he didn't remember to get a damn spoon from somewhere today, and maybe some washing up liquid. The last thing he needed was to get sick. He searched what he assumed used to be the warehouse's office for a few minutes looking for a pencil and paper, hoping to write a list, or even just a pen so he could write on his skin, but the place was empty. He was surprised they left a damn desk. He tried to make a mental note instead, in the order of importance.

Food
Water
Sleeping Bag
Ammo
Spoon, or preferably a Spork

He'd never had the greatest memory, but hoped his current situation would give him the motivation to remember. With his preparation over and done with he went back to his corner of the warehouse and retrieved his weapons. Putting his belt on first with his blade's sheathe attached and tucking his handgun into the belt near his midsection. He slid his leather jacket on, grabbed his courier bag and picked up his knife. He was ready. He hoped he'd live to get back to this shithole.

Unlocking the padlock on the warehouse's front entrance he pulled the door open and stepped outside, using his hand to block the light whilst his eyes adjusted. Luckily for him it seemed rather cloudy so his eyes didn't need to adjust too much, although staying in the relative darkness of the warehouse for the last... He didn't know had certainly done a bit of a number on him. He looked up and down the street. Deserted. He guessed when the shit hit the fan very few people thought to run towards the warehouse district. Luckily for him, he imagined. Where he had to head towards now however was where there were likely to be people, both the living and Gob's. He wasn't too excited about seeing either. History repeated itself because human behavior repeated itself, and history told him people became monsters when put into situations with this much fear and desperation. He hoped the change hadn't already happened in most people. 

With his mind full of thoughts he walked down the street with his knife in his hand, trying to be as observant as he could and push the intruding thoughts to the side. He entered the first alley heading the way he wanted to go, hoping there was less chance of running into anything down them than on the main streets. Right or wrong, he still ran into one of the fucking things. Blood all around it, mostly dry. It was eating... He didn't want to know what, he saw enough to see it was a gory mess of flesh and exposed bone and that's all he wanted to see. The thing, sensed, or probably heard him breathing, it turned slowly, rising to it's feel and letting out a noise that Abel had never heard from any human being. He gripped his knife tighter, unable to look away from the mess that used to be a man's face. It was gaunt and rotted, the flesh around it's left eye socket had rotted away and the eye had gone with it.

The Gob shuffled forward, making that horrible noise all the while. Abel tried to steady his breathing and get into something of a fighting stance, putting some weight on his back foot so he wouldn't be knocked down by any small amount of force. As it came within arms-reach Abel set his eyes once again on it's disgusting left eye socket, intending that as his target he thrust his blade forward, the knife going straight through like butter but exiting out of the thing's temple. He yanked the blade out, causing the wound to become even more gaping and hideous, if that were at all possible. The thing was close enough to attack now and seemed to lunge at him. He moved quickly, but the thing still barreled into his left shoulder as he sidestepped to the right, leaving a gross sheen of something on his jacket. As the thing went past him, he spun with it and let out a grunt of effort as he once again shot his blade towards the things face, the steel entering  in the middle of where it's eyebrows used to be. At first it didn't even seem to notice, but as Abel twisted and pulled his blade in a panic the thing suddenly went limp and fell to the ground motionless. 

He took a couple of steps back from the corpse, afraid that it would start making that horrific noise and stand again. After about a minute he was confident it was dead, and the how seemed pretty obvious. Brain injury. Maiming, even it's eye socket and temple didn't seem to do anything and Abel had already seen one not react to multiple rounds put into it's chest during the riots. He would need to become better with his blade, if there had been two of them he had no doubt he'd be dead if he wasn't smart enough to choose to run. Leaning down and wiping his gore covered blade on the things shirt he examined his body. It was rotten, with mortal wounds on it's stomach, chest and head. There was no denying it, the thing had been a moving dead person. It was crazy, but it was. His breathing still heavy he continued his walk through the back alleys, eventually remembering the horrible sheen the thing had left on his jacket. He stopped, looking down at it. Don't ask him why but he chose to sniff. He gagged, barely containing the urge to vomit before breaking out into a coughing fit.