[center][h2][color=limegreen]Unknown Day[/color][/h2]
[/center][center][color=limegreen]Unknown Date
Unknown Time[/color][/center]
	Complete and utter silence was what filled the woman's ears and she couldn't see anything but a blurred image. Something spun above her, hardly visible in the darkness of the room and through the fog of her vision. Even then, she couldn't even be sure if she was looking up, her body felt heavy, despite a rather horrifying feeling of every fluid in her body pumping like an electrical current, slowly waking her inside. Her mind a blank, she couldn't think of anything more than a few words at a time; words that sounded so different from one another in her mind's ear and she didn't even understand their meaning. Slowly, her vision cleared and she could make out the shape of a ceiling fan. She was surprised she knew what it was. She couldn't feel a thing on the outside, but for some reason, the spinning thing above her made her heart pump twice as fast and her eyes eventually closed again, drifting back into sleep.

[center][h2][color=AA2A37]Day Minus-One-Hundred-Ninety-Seven (Approximate)[/color][/h2]
[/center][center][color=AA2A37]July 18th, 2109
Late Afternoon
[i]A memory...[/i][/color][/center]
	[i]Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk...[/i]
	Through the sound dampening of the cockpit of the AH-64M Super Apache, even the sound of the powerful shots from the M230 chain gun mounted on the helicopter was reduced to nothing more than intense vibrations and sounds similar to that of punching a mattress. Over the last week, with thousands upon thousands of shells fired from the cannon, the sound had become routine, as had the action of tracking anyone marked with a red square. That's all the people had become to her, even if at first, some looked like regular people and others like savages. In order to keep herself from going insane, Zornitsa had days ago changed the default view through her HUD to infrared sighting with IFF marking. Friendlies were marked with green circles, non-targets with blue triangles (which were becoming increasingly rare as the days went by) and enemies with red squares, a shape that was rapidly becoming the most common. In the end, no matter what she was shooting at, it had all become shapes and colors to her, human forms were hardly distinquishable anymore, especially as the infrared view became increasingly blurred from new fires in the streets. As usual, her and her pilot's mission ended when either the streets she had been assigned to were empty of red squares, when the ground troops deemed their efforts good enough, or when they ran out of ammunition. The only pause to the constant fire erupting from the muzzle of the gun was when they had to pause to let the barrel cool. They had to fly low in order to minimize risk of hitting any friendlies with their gunfire and Zornitsa remarked that every time she let go of the trigger, more red squares flowed in as if the streets were the inside of a flooding ship and the red squares were water, in the few minutes she ceased fire. 
	
	Today, though, something seemed different. With about three hundred shells left, she received the warning from "Bitching Betty" to cease fire to allow the barrel to cool. Zornitsa pulled her hand off the stick and pulled her face away from the targeting view. Closing her eyes for a moment to relax and cracking her knuckles, she immediately a very bad feeling creep through her. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes to find the streets empty. She felt her mouth go a bit agape and she leaned in to look through the HUD, finding not a single shape in the view except for a few remaining red squares. Even the handful of blue triangles were gone. The pilot of their helicopter looked as surprised as she was.

	"Ground team, this is Venom One-Two, we've lost visual on most of the targets. Any of you see where they went, over?" She hailed the ground team for the first time since arriving for the day's work, with a worried voice. Looking through the camera, it seemed the troops on the ground had stopped firing as well and were instead looking around at the sides of the streets. 

	"'ffirmative, Venom, we saw the targets get outta the streets and haul ass into the alleys. Looks like they're runnin' scared!" A man with a southern accent that Zornitsa had become all too familiar with responded and she felt her gut tighten. "Why don't you head on home and we'll clean up the rest, over?" Even though she had a very firm gut feeling telling her not to, Zornitsa agreed shortly after her pilot insisted. Obviously, the guy was tired, after all, he was the one who had to look at the streets without anything to hide the scene. She flipped the safety on the gun on and felt the helicopter begin to turn around...

	[i]SMASH[/i]

	Even through the armor of the cockpit, Zornitsa felt herself shaken slightly when a rock smashed against the side of the cockpit. The helicopter immediately stopped turning and the pilot yelled at his co-pilot to look for targets. Zornitsa shook off her surprise and leaned in to look through the HUD. Craning the camera around, she couldn't find any red squares- there, right to the side of the helicopter, on the roof of a building that had miraculously survived the shelling from the tanks and choppers, was a massive group of blue triangles. For the first time in days, she frantically turned off the infrared view and she was met with the angry faces of many dirtied, bloody men and women. While they all had a look of humanity left in them, their faces held furious expressions and their hands carried all sorts of makeshift projectiles; bricks, stones, rubble, bottles and molotov cocktails, passing around lighters and matches to ignite each one. "Fire, Laser, fire!" the pilot yelled. They couldn't escape, if they left now, the soldiers on the ground would be pelted with weapons that were, while primitive, lethal from such a height advantage. Flipping the safety off, Zornitsa pulled the trigger as soon as the M230 had spun around.

	Nothing. She pulled the trigger again. And again. "Barrel in cooldown, remaining time: thirty seconds." the computer voice said calmly. The helicopter wasn't armed with anything but the chain gun, all the hardpoints were empty. [i]Okay, just half a minute and we can take them out and get out of here...[/i] Zornitsa reasoned with herself, easing her shaking hand. The Apache had been known for over a hundred years as an extremely tough helicopter, right? She began to regain her calm... until she saw the first volley arrive from the "non-targets". The gun-camera was knocked out as it was hit by a brick and fuel bombs exploded on the side of the helicopter. "Remaining time: unknown." Betty told her coldly. And as the thumping continued, Zornitsa screamed in terror as a rock broke through the cockpit, knocking the wind out of the pilot. A large hole was now opened and even though the helicopter began to ascend, as if in slow motion, the disarmed gunner took in the view of flaming bottles flying in through the hole. Their Super Apache was out of control, Zornitsa was frozen and couldn't bring herself to do anything but grab the sides of her seat in terror, and terror she felt as she listened to the screams of agony from her comrade as he burned alive, wildly flailing, which brought the aircraft into a swerve towards the building, a split second became dozens while the charred bricks drew closer and closer, until the helicopter smashed into them.

[center][h2][color=limegreen]Later.
[/color][/h2][/center]
	This time, when she woke up, she could feel distinctly more. She seemed to be covered in a thin blanket, not much to keep her warm, but she felt a deep warmth from the inside. A drug, probably. The fact that she could guess this was already a sign of her mind becoming clearer. Between the first time she had gained consciousness and this time, there had to be a few times more she had awoken, but it was always blurry. Less and less with each time, but her mind was never in much state to make anything of it. Now, though, after a frighteningly real dream that she forgot most of upon its end, she felt more alive. The feeling of her insides working at overdrive was gone and now she felt significantly groggy, inside and out. Her right fingers itched, but she couldn't find the strength to touch them. Finally, she began to hear things, but there wasn't much to hear, other than the whirring of a machine. She did feel something quite disturbing in the form of some sorts of tubes entering her lower areas and combined with the tubes she eventually managed to see some thin tubes going towards her and some transparent liquid going into her. All this evidence would suggest she was in a hospital, but the room didn't seem right. It wasn't sterile enough, she could see dust in the air and when her sense of smell came back, she could definitely smell things that didn't at all have the right scent. The scent of perfume, for one thing, was not one someone would find in the typical hospital room.

	To begin with, she was alone. No nurses came for her, no doctor came to look down on her and take notes, the only activity she could feel that wasn't hers came from the whirring of the machine that pumped nutrients into her and pumped her excrement out. Even this whirring sounded weak and over the hours that the patient spent regaining her senses, it seemed to gradually fade. It wouldn't go out for a while, but it was evident that whatever was powering it was running low. Within the silence of the room, the only late coming through some gaps in a window above her bed, blocked by blinds, the woman remarked something frightening; she didn't know how she had gotten there. She had some ideas of where she might be, a clouded knowledge of who she was, as far as her first name and how old she probably was, though even this took time to recall. She knew she understood two languages, but she couldn't summon the energy to do anything but breathe. She knew more about the room she was in and its contents than about herself and that was a rather terrifying thing to know. One thing she did know, was that the machine had some nutrients left in it, so she had time to rest. Sleep came over her once again and she welcomed it, knowing that it would give her rest from the buzz of all the uncertainties in her mind.

[center][h2][color=AA2A37]Day Unknown[/color][/h2]
[/center][center][color=AA2A37]Date Unknown
Time Unknown
[i]A dream?[/i][/color][/center]
	This time, Zornitsa was sure she was in a medical facility, though it seemed she had lost even more of her senses. She could see, but it was too blurry to make much of anything out, so most observations had to be made through interpretation. There were people around her, all in lab coats, as white as the rest of the room. Between the bright lights, the coats and whitewashed walls and ceiling, Zornitsa was blinded. Her entire body felt numb, except for occasional sharp pains on her arms and legs. The men and women around her were talking, but none of it was comprehensible to her, except for a few words she could read off their lips; "genome", "termination" and "observation" stood out. She didn't like this dream at all, she felt like a weak child within someone else's body as they were tortured. The ones in the lab coats didn't seem to care and at the end of it, they nonchalantly walked out and the person that Zornitsa either was or was inside of was left there. She stared at the ceiling for what felt like a day and still no one came, until she was finally able to fall asleep, as if something that had been keeping her from doing so had disappeared...

[center][h2][color=limegreen]Later.
[/color][/h2][/center]	
	[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r90zLIQclDo]It had been days since Zornitsa had first woken up[/url], at least, she thought so, and finally, with her vision relatively clear, her hearing as good as ever and the numbness beginning to fade away, she decided that today would be the day she'd try to sit up. It took some effort, but she was eventually able to move her legs. First, she started by moving them left and right, warming up the bed over time with the friction, and then she moved onto trying to move her knees up. At the same time, she began moving her arms to ready them to prop herself up and she remarked some things. First, while she had been able to feel the warmth throughout her legs, her left didn't really feel anything. No matter, it was probably just some remaining numbness, but it began to worry her when she felt the same in her right arm. Still, she felt that she could support herself and she put her arms in position and raised her knees. With a deep breath and a push, she began to raise and began grinning, weakly, but she was proud of herself. At last, she could move! She did it and it meant that she could survive, that she could leave this room and finally see the sunlight again, not die in this hole. This deserved celebration, it did, and once she was well seated, Zornitsa began to raise her right arm to pump her fist!

	And then, her smile vanished. Her forearm was gone, in its place, there was nothing more than a mechanical analog resembling her true arm only in shape. Her mouth fell open and she tried to scream, but nothing more than a gasp came out, tears welled in her eyes but try as she might to make them fall by closing her eyes, nothing came. All she could do was collapse back into her initial positon, to look up at the arm, wanting it to be just a hallucination, but no matter how many times she blinked, it remained. Her revulsion became morbid curiosity after long and she turned the arm around. The fingers moved when she willed it, and when she compared it to her remaining left hand, it moved in the same way with no troubles, but nothing could shake the feeling of it not being hers. How did it get there? Where did her arm go? Why her?

	The worst part was the itching. She could feel it in her fingertips, but the arm was unfeeling and cold when she tried to feel it with her left hand. Nothing but the phantom feeling of her old arm remained, though she couldn't remember much, she knew deep within her that this had not always been there. It wasn't natural, it wasn't supposed to be there. It was nothing more than an impostor that had usurped the place of her true arm. Painted grey and black, with a golden strip that she found she could lift to access a small hole, it was inscribed on the arm with the text "PROPERTY OF THE US ARMY", there was no way it could be any less natural. The inside of the hand was cushioned, probably made with foam, covered by a tough synthetic material, but Zornitsa couldn't touch it for more than a few moments before she felt a deep disgust, pulling her only remaining arm away. Suddenly, the idea rose within her that it was the same for her left leg. She wanted out, she couldn't take this. She had no idea how she had gotten there, but if given the chance, she'd have reset the game right there and then. It wasn't a game, though, it was painfully real and only becoming more so by the minute, as the numbness of the rest of her body faded. Sooner or later, she'd have to accept what it all and after calming down some, Zornitsa decided she'd do it sooner rather than later.
	
	Sat up once again, she decided to look around. Her neck made a painful crack as she decided to do so and she looked around her captivity for a while. It was a clean room, if a little dusty, with a dresser, a closet and a coffee table in front of a small couch. A large screen adorned the wall, though not a single indication LED showed it as having any power. The coffee table was covered in various papers and there was a sizable box of food on it, which tempted the hungry Zornitsa, though she knew she didn't have the energy to get there. There was also an ajar door leading to what she guessed was the bathroom and beside it, there was another door, though this one was closed shut and the electronic lock panel next to it had been smashed. Instead, it looked like the only exit from the two rooms was a large vent that had the cover removed, plus, it was implied to be the way out since a paper had been taped above it with an arrow on it in permanent marker.

	Only now did Zornitsa notice a table next to the bed. She wanted to hit herself for not noticing, but she relented when she realized it would probably literally knock her out. Shaking her head weakly instead, sending long hair onto her face, which she used her left hand to bat away, she looked upon the table and found a few things, some useless, like miscellaneous syringes, gloves, hand sanitizers and other things she presumed had been used to take care of her while she was sleeping, but some things seemed much more important. She first attempted to grab a small blue booklet with her prosthetic, but then decided to lean over and use her left arm, fearing dropping the item. The writing on the booklet instantly gave away its nature; a passport for the United States of America, and by the looks of it, there were a few things enclosed in it. Zornitsa gingerly opened it, finding it awkward to do with the mechanical arm, so she switched hands to carry it in the right and flip through the pages with her left, and she began reading...

[center]-[/center]

	An hour or so later, she had finished reading through the passport and the enclosed notes. Most were illegible, but two were particularly important. Also of note, the passport seemed to belong to her and it gave her some valuable insight on who exactly she was; her name was Zornitsa Lavarov, she was American, was born the 7th of July, 2088, in Sofia, Bulgaria, making her twenty-two years old. As for the other notes, the first gave much more knowledge as to who she was, brief as it was, being [url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/87063-deadland-wasteland-the-beginning/char#post-3088201]a short report written by a doctor[/url] on an official looking paper with all the bits indicating its origin scribbled out in pen, and the second was a much less neat document on some printer paper, telling her that she had been in a coma after an accident that took her left leg and right arm. That much she managed to guess on her own, but the rest of the information was much more useful; what to do until the nutrient injection ran out, then what she should do afterwards, all without even a signature at the end and no telling for what reason she was alone. To start with, she had a small stack of newspaper clippings kept together by single staple, with the events of the last few months, since July, when her accident had taken place:
[hider=Headlines and dates]
[quote]
[color=f7941d]July 21st, 2109:[/color] Rioting dissipates, leaving thousands dead and twice that wounded.
[color=f7941d]July 25th, 2109:[/color] Over half the wounded moved to unknown locations.
[color=f7941d]August 17th, 2109:[/color] "Shrieking Monster" reported by local news, Fallon, Nevada. 
[color=f7941d]September 24th, 2109:[/color] Military briefly seen in Fallon, NV. Local report gunfire throughout the night, and inhuman screaming.
[color=f7941d]October 31st, 2109:[/color] A series of brutal murders occur of the course of the night in Sacremento, California.
[color=f7941d]November 1st, 2109:[/color] Military combs areas of attack. Murder continue through the night.
[color=f7941d]November 5th, 2109:[/color] A team of murderers convicted, or killed. Murderers reported to be activists from Tucson, AZ.
[color=f7941d]December 8th, 2109:[/color] Local Biology teacher adopts "Miracle Monkey" from animal shelter, Phoenix, AZ. 
[color=f7941d]December 25th, 2109:[/color] "Miracle Monkey" reported missing, Biology teacher claims the monkey (A chimpanzee) tore the front door down to get away. Fears for public safety. 
[color=f7941d]January 1st, 2110:[/color] "Blackwater" announced at scientific conference as "Miracle Gene".[/quote][/hider]

	None of it failed to make her uneasy and as less sunlight began to come through the blinds, Zornitsa was suddenly quite worried about the kind of world she had awoken into. The only thing that eased her spirit was the last thing she found in the passport; [url=https://i.imgur.com/jJbIBqT.png]a photo of a smiling girl[/url]. If she assumed correctly, that was herself. Something about it brought a good feeling to her and as she selfishly thought of how pretty she was, Zornitsa felt a bit of fatigue coming on. Not a surprise, practically the entire day so far had been spent exerting herself, mentally and physically. There wasn't much left to do now but sleep, not putting much thought towards the day's events, instead preferring to let her mind rest...

[center][h2][color=limegreen]A few days later.[/color][/h2]
[/center]
	Another day began as the last few had since she started training herself. She hadn't yet left the bed, she didn't need to either, with at least a day or two left in the nutrient dispenser, though the real food on the coffee table practically beckoned her like a succubus, instead, she spent her time alternating between moving her body and stretching, slowly regaining general control of herself, trying to attempt regular things with her arm and training to speak again by repeating after the voices on an old cassette tape that was running off an equally ancient player, "Learning English Like a Pro (for Bulgarian Speakers): 1988 Edition". The technology, a hundred years her senior, was strange to use compared to the modern amenities that had appeared since, but she got used to it quickly and the ability to recharge it simply by replacing batteries without connecting it to the power grid (Zornitsa had eventually discovered that all power was gone) was quite convenient. She discovered she could easily speak both languages, but she kept with it due to it giving her something to do, as well as retraining her voice. It took her a day or two, but now she could actually make a noise. Thankfully, if there was anyone around, they couldn't hear her, the room was insulated against sound extremely well, but that meant she couldn't hear anything from outside either. 

	She had decided that she would get out of bed and attempt to walk once the nutrients ran out and today, it looked like she had about a day left, so she stepped up her exercises. She had long come to terms with the fact that her leg was in a similar situation to her right arm and hardly paid it much mind, except for it being very awkward to use. It was completely numb and moving it was strange. Still, she didn't look at it much and so long as it moved, she'd have to make use of it. Thus, she stretched it, flexed it, contracted it, and repeated, rinse and repeat for the next few hours as she repeated lines from the tape in Bulgarian and English. She didn't look for too long at her prosthetics, it still made her quite sick and she didn't want to have to deal with a mess, especially not in her room. Zornitsa had discovered that yesterday, when waking up, in a sudden return of memory. It wasn't much, but it was quite an important thing to know, she supposed. It certainly made her feel much more relaxed, which helped her recovery.

	And with that, she continued, even in the general discomfort of still feeling extremely stiff, weak and, as she once put it when thinking aloud "these damn tubes coming out of my ass". Based on the newspaper clippings, the world outside of her shelter not being in the best condition wasn't too much of a radical idea, so she had to be ready.

[center][h2][color=limegreen]Day Eleven[/color][/h2]
[/center][center][color=limegreen]February 10th, 2110
Monday 7:41 a.m[/color][/center]
	"First foot..." a rough voice muttered as Zornitsa placed her right foot on the ground. This is the day she was waiting for, what she had trained for, to motivate herself, she thought of the simple act of walking as something much more epic than it really was. Still, for her, it was a feat. The ground was cold and hard, even though it was carpeted, a large contrast with the bed and Zornitsa couldn't say she liked it. Not that it would be a problem for her other foot, she remarked grimly, as she put the other foot on the ground. Gritting her teeth, she now had to rip out all the tubing. She already had a blanket ready to stuff in the "ass-tube" (she knew its purpose and she [i]definitely[/i] knew it wouldn't be pleasant smelling), but the IV would be a pain to take out and she wasn't thrilled about the other tube that was firmly connected to her urethra. First, the IV. Wincing even before taking it out and wincing even more afterwards, she cautiously pulled the tape and the needle out, gritting her teeth as she did so. Next, ass-tube. This one was awkward to pull out and Zornitsa feared she'd vomit when the smell escaped. She assumed the nutrient injection had also included something make all her wastes liquid for easy disposable, but that only made the smell worse. Zornitsa wasted no time in stuffing the blanket in there and that was that. Finally, the greatest struggle. Let it be said that it probably was one of the worst experiences she had since waking up and she still found herself nauseous, between the pain, the smell and the cumbersomeness of it all.

	Once and for all, though, she could finally stand. Wrapping her arm around the pole of the nutrient injection machine, she pulled herself up as she put all the strength she could into her legs. It felt like climbing a mountain and with no rehab, it felt as unfamiliar as learning to fly, but, with an extreme effort (by her current standards), she made it. Now, an even harder part; walking. With one leg feeling like it wasn't there (technically true), it would be an interesting experience, to say the least. The note inside her passport told her to immediately go the bathroom and "clean herself up" and though the door was barely a few feet away, it felt like miles. She considered crawling there, but she simply couldn't, she had to walk, she couldn't let herself do anything less. Give up now and it'd mean her death, she told herself, which was, unknown to her, painfully true. First, she stumbled. As it turns out, even with the strength of the prosthetic, it was quite hard to keep footing, but she managed to stand back up and she continued. It took all her effort and she was breathless at the end, but she made it. The gaps in the blinds gave enough light once she was in the bathroom to see herself and when she did, the woman nearly lost all spirit. To begin with, somehow, she hadn't taken note of the fact that she was naked except for a pair of metal tags around her neck, and now she could see the full extent of her condition in the long mirror of the bathroom. She was frightfully pale, not unlike some sort of ghost and her black hair had grown without impediment since she had first entered the coma, months ago, now reaching the middle of her back. Unlike the photo in her passport, she had no makeup and her face not being washed made her look even more ghastly. Ribs were easily visible, and though her muscles were in decent shape, thanks to state of the art muscle massaging that protected her against muscle atrophy, they wouldn't be able to display much strength.

	Probably the most shocking, however, were her scars. Though she knew the appearance of her new arm and leg well by now, she hadn't ever really noticed the scarring around them; grotesque burn scars surrounded them and she cringed inwardly imagining the wounds that caused them. As well, her right thigh had a large cut across it, probably explaining the frailty she had felt over the last few days from that leg during exercises and now, walking. Finally, on her face, there were a few cuts on the right extremity, going towards her ear and pulling away the mess of hair, some stitches could be seen on the skin between the head and the ear. 

	[i]This, is me.[/i] She thought to herself, looking sorrowfully at the photo she was gripping. That was her, only two years ago, but it felt like ages. Where was she back then? She looked so happy and, frankly, she thought her old self gorgeous. The best she could do now was give herself a wash and clean her hair up, based on what her unknown benefactor had left her; scissors, a hair and body soap bar and a small tank of pressurized water with a hose. She'd have to be efficient, considering her resources and she got to work. At the end, trying to model herself on the photo, she had roughly cut her hair to the old length along with washing it with the soap, rinsed off her face and gave herself some semblance of a shower with the rest of the water. It was lukewarm, but it was still a semi-relaxing experience, it helped her calm down and it proved that her prosthetics could probably endure a good bit of water. At the end, she found herself smiling a good bit, she was satisfied with what she had been able to do and in all honesty, she didn't look too different from the photo now. Only one thing bothered her, the stitches on her ear. All examination pointed to it being healed and reattached, so she wondered if she could take them out. Only way to know was to try, leaning in close to the mirror to carefully cut the string with her scissors, then pulling it out with her left hand. An unnerving sensation could be felt, but the string came out with no problems in the end, just leaving a scar around her ear. It was a marvel she could still feel from it and that her hearing wasn't too affected.

	She had one more step to go, before she could leave. Zornitsa, feeling like a new woman, walked over to the couch and sat down, wrapped in a soft towel that felt very familiar to her and she took no time in perusing the contents of the food box perched on the coffee table. Inside was a rather wealthy stash of supplies, from some basic bandaging, to food upon food. Energy bars, Easy-Open canned soup, sandwiches and salad. A wild urge took ahold of Zornitsa and she savagely began to eat the food, filling her empty stomach with the food that, while simple, tasted each like a gourmet delight. She simply could not stop herself as she tore through each package, until she nearly puked from all the food and finally stopped. At this point, all that was left was a mess on the couch and the energy bars and Zornitsa cursed herself for wasting so much of the precious sustenance. After all, if it was left here for her, that would indicate potential rarity outside and now, in the span of a few minutes, most of it was gone. Grumbling, she continued going through the large box, discovering a decently sized knapsack, filled with some clothes, which she wasted no time in putting on; a long-sleeve t-shirt, a brown sweater that felt a bit loose, some simple underwear that fit her disturbingly well, a pair of jeans and some brand-less sneakers and socks finished the "outfit". She still felt a bit cold, the sweater seemed rather light and considering the season, she'd probably have to buy or find a new jacket. Could she still buy things? Zornitsa briefly wondered about the city outside and her answer practically came when she reached the bottom of the box; her final "gift", a SIG Sauer handgun chambered in .45 ACP awaited, along with a hatchet in its case. 

	Full-sized and with two magazines, the ex-airman felt she knew everything about it, just by looking at it, as if she had used it before. Two magazines gave her twenty shots, ten per magazine. The gun had no manual safety, to promote instant-readiness, just a firing pin safety that kept it from going off when dropped, and used a striker-fired system as opposed to being hammer-fired. She tried holding it in the prosthetic's hand and though aiming it felt natural, she feared that not feeling it would create problems if she ever needed to react quickly. For the time being, she would have to make do with firing from her left hand, which felt bizarre for her. The holster was thankfully made for ambidextrous use and she fastened it on her right side, now, she was ready, but at the same time, she felt unsure. Mentally, of course, she had already started preparing herself for any difficulties she might face going outside, but physically, she still was extremely unsure. She could still hardly walk and she felt stiff overall, but at the same time, she simply couldn't remain here, she had made sure of that by going through all the food. The energy bars could potentially last her a day, though what difference would going today and going later make? Just to be certain, she tapped on the main door after packing her knapsack. Interestingly, it didn't sound hollow, so she hypothesized the other side had been blocked, to either keep her in, or, more likely, keep something out. The vent was her only option. Uncharacteristically large, it was just enough for her to crawl through.

	[i]Pompompompompompom....[/i]

	Zornitsa froze. The sound dampening of the room kept her from hearing the noise, but the vibrations made it to her ears, she knew this feeling well. A heavy, steady vibration, none other than the sound of the engine of a passing AH-64 type helicopter. She must have known it from her time as the co-pilot in one, but here, it was particularly ominous and she felt chills come down her spine. The situation outside couldn't be good.

	After a crawl through the ventilation shaft to a loose opening outside, her suspicions were proven. The typically calm streets of Madrona were as still as ever, but this time, the stillness scared her. The helicopter had long passed and in the distance, she could hear screams, sounds of gunfire. Something all too known to her, she realized, not recalling the exact memory, but remembering what had been written down on the report. "Have the riots... reached here?" She mumbled, limping out of the yard of the house. The first thing she considered was knocking on the door of one of the neighboring houses, but she backed off when she saw the darkness in each house and the signs of violence at many of the doors. From here, she was left not knowing what to do. A stand with a map of the city at a street corner told her where the landmarks were, but the smoke rising into the sky made her hesitate. If there was military in the city as she suspected, would they be able to keep her safe from whatever was out here? Where were they? Her gut pointed her in the direction of the ferry docks and she decided to begin heading north, to East Madison Street, which would take her right through downtown, where she could hopefully find someone who could tell her the situation.

	And maybe find a coat as well. Zornitsa shivered before beginning to walk down the road, the strange feeling of being watched causing her to pause every now and again...

[color=limegreen][center][sub]9:30 a.m[/sub][/center][/color]