[center][h2][color=8dc73f]Dawn Cohen[/color][/h2][/center]
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At the sound of the voice, Dawn knew she had been spotted. Being well-practiced at escaping blood-hungry murderers, she wasn't scared of the thousandth person she'd heard asking for food. But one never could know here. Hand habitually gripping the knife on her belt, she peered out of the rubble. A young man with dark spiky hair and a dirty blue T-shirt was looking at her. He didn't seem like an immediate threat. He didn't seem like he had anything good to steal either. She hardly registered the handguns on his belt; if she had wanted guns, she would have stolen them a long time ago. She concluded that a brawl wouldn't be worth anything here.

She held the man's gaze and spoke in her monotonous, medium-pitched voice. [color=8dc73f]"I don't have food. Let's not fight."[/color]

She started to search through the wreckage for food or items, keeping an eye on the man. With her knife hidden and her behaviour passive, along with her size and her youth, she knew she looked utterly nonthreatening. If he started to attack her, she had already plotted multiple ways out of the roofless, two-story high wreckage.

She was in the middle of taking apart a couch covered in so much dust she couldn't tell what colour it should have been, finding nothing salvageable, when the heavy footsteps came. The ground vibrated just enough for the top chunks of the already-broken back wall to come crashing down. She dove out of the way as large pieces fell, adding to the rubble already on the ground. 

The light from the front entrance was suddenly blocked out. Belly-down on the ground, she looked up.... and kept looking up, higher and higher, eyes skimming over every muscle on a bare chest and neck until she got to a snarling face on a tiny bald head. It was the killer from before, the man who she had seen punch someone's head flat. She wondered recklessly if he had food on him, and took a split second to play with the idea of killing and eating him, before deciding it would be best to escape. She scrambled upright and started towards the back door. There was no back door. It was blocked by broken pieces of wall. She looked up through the partially collapsed second floor to the sky above. She looked at the spiky-haired man. She looked at the snarling killer.

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