Mao gave a heavy sigh as he looked away from his half eaten jar of peach preserves onto the grit and blood caked streets below the apartment complex that he'd taken refuge in for the night. How long had it been since he'd been trapped in the quarantine zone? The hell if he knew. However long it had been, it was long enough for him to know when the helicopters started flying by overhead to drop off groups of armed men and women that something big was going down. Perhaps they government was finally taking back the island that they'd lost so long ago, or maybe there was some sort of cure to the virus that ravaged the island's inhabitants somewhere in the city. Whatever the case, Mao was determined to stay out of whatever was going on for as long as he could, unless of course, a chance to escape presented itself. 

A snuffling sound at the door sent a cold chill up Mao's spine. The man stood stone still and clasped his hands over his nose and mouth to mask any noises he may have produced while breathing. The smell of vinegar still wafted heavily in the air from when he'd poured it around the front doorway to mask his scent. The creatures, the invalids, he'd learned pretty early on that they couldn't see worth shit, but that didn't mean that that their other senses weren't working just fine. Keeping under their radar was tricky -especially during nights like these, when the beasts were especially riled up- but thus far his methods had been effective in keeping him from ending up as a meal. Only when the snuffling subsided did Mao dare to lower his hands. "[color=004b80]This fucking sucks.[/color]" He whispered bitterly to himself as he took up his meal and scooped out another chunk of peach with grimy fingers. 

Mao quickly and quietly finished his meal before wiping his hands off on his pants and taking the opportunity to see what resources he had left. The fullmoon was a pretty piss poor light source, but it  did the job. Five pounds of food remained, he would have to go out and scrounge for more soon, his canteen contained about half a liter of water -another issue to be dealt with, however the filtration straw seemed to be in working order, he was still full on bandages, and the flint and knives where a tad chipped but still in working order, as was his dao. Mao brought out his hand gun and examined the weapon for any signs that it might've been rusting or broken, then checked the magazine to ensure that the fourteen rounds he had left where indeed fourteen before quietly sliding the mag back into the weapon. Everything seemed to check out, all he had to do now was wait. Night hunts were risky, but they yielded a higher chance for reward since other survivors usually chose to hide at night. All Mao needed was a bit of patience, and he'd have his chance to move.