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Description
The hooded figure, crouched high above everything around himself, noted his scenery. He was in a sugar mill, on top of a silo, and it was a very rainy day. The ground was covered in ankle-deep water. But that didn't matter to him. It was far below, and he was free to go almost anywhere he pleased. Crouching further still and placing his hands in front of him, he then leaped, going far, far into the air before landing with a heavy thud on top of a before-distant silo that was slightly higher than the last. From here, he could see even more of the mill.
But he wasn't just sightseeing, he was looking for something in particular; or rather, someone in particular. After a time of sitting there, he finally heard it; muffled sobs coming from a fair distance to the left. He leaped once again, traveling far into the air, the wind and rain on his face as he did so. He landed once again with an even heavier thud than before on a silo far to the left and only about half as tall as the previous.
From here, he could finally see her; Wearing no more than panties and a torn shirt, was who he was looking for. There she stood about, in a slight daze, silently sobbing to herself. Her fingers were exceedingly long and sharp, and her hands covered her face. She was the Witch.
He wondered why she always cried. She never exploited her freedom that she now possessed, she never did much anything; just sat there, crying and crying. What was her purpose? Why was she this way? She was different from the rest. The rest of their kind stood about, mindless, not doing much anything. Occasionally they would wander off or wander into the sugar mill, but very recently, many of them had all run off in the same direction at speeds that they looked incapable of achieving.
Because of this, the sugar mill was now more or less empty, except for a few. Among these were himself, and this girl, along with a few others who occasionally showed up, sitting idly by, but exploring nonetheless. Noting the small pole that went to ground level from the top of the silo, the hooded figure grabbed ahold of it with one hand, and, supporting himself with his feet, slowly slid down until he was a mere ten feet above her. She still continued to cry, not even noticing him. He almost wished she would, but wondered what would happen if she did. Would she attack him? Or would she stop crying? Despite the fact that he did not seem to have much mental thought, he did have a slight curiosity for the girl below him.
She finally walked a bit further, getting even closer to him. Still crying and apparently unaware of his existence, her sobs finally stifled for a moment, and she peeked through her long, sharp fingers to get a good glimpse at him. He was a monstrosity like her, with grey skin, long, sharp nails and teeth, wearing a grey hoodie and brown polyester pants that were both shredded and ripped. He had duck tape on many places on his limbs in order to stop air flow from hindering his ability to pounce. His hood covered his eyes. He was the Hunter.
For a moment, they just stood there, staring at each other. They were not capable of discussion, and it was quite incredible that either of them were experiencing some emotion, weak though it may have been. Finally, the Hunter dropped from the few feet above that he was at. He approached the Witch carefully and slowly; he had observed her in action before, and if she attacked, he had to be very quick about getting away. He was perhaps only a couple of feet away from the Witch now, and they still observed each other for a long time.
Finally, something completely unexpected happened. The Witch suddenly sprang into action, wrapping her arms around his, and the Hunter found himself unable to get away. She may have looked weak, but he discovered that she was incredibly strong. Soon, he stopped struggling. She wasn't attacking him. She was apparently embracing him. He felt something that moment. He didn't know what it was, but he suddenly found himself feeling awkward here and yet… proud at the same time. The Hunter suddenly felt a urge of what could be described as nothing other than compassion, and he returned the embrace. They hugged each other far tighter than necessary, to the point where they should have been in pain were it not for their mental condition.
It began to rain harder than before in the mill, and it was soon difficult to see further than thirty feet away. The Hunter released her slowly, and to his surprise, the Witch did as well. He was familiar with the area after lurking there for so long, and, keeping one arm around her shoulder, started walking very slowly over towards a small building. After a short time, she replied by going along with him, and eventually, they found themselves inside the small building. It was very plain wooden building, with the boards run down, and it only contained a toolbox and a wrench lying next to it. There was no door. He led her over to a wall in the interior, and they both sat down.
They both sat there a long time, and the rain showed no signs of giving up. They both did very little but sit there, looking at each other, but for once, the Witch was not crying. The Hunter wondered if her crying was due to loneliness in the first place, or due to her condition; perhaps she was more sensitive about her condition than the rest. He may have felt some remorse due to being infected, but he could only very rarely conjure any sort of rational thought.
The Hunter thought. He wondered why this had happened to all of the world as far as he knew. He felt remorse, longing for his old life. He had freedom as he was now, but all he knew was pain and blind rage. Suddenly, the Hunter felt something on his right cheek. He felt something. It had been so long since he had physically felt anything, and only just recently had he managed to mentally feel for longer than a few seconds. He took a finger and wiped his cheek, and upon inspection, there was the remains of a single tear drop on his finger. The Hunter looked away from the Witch, as if in shame. He felt compassion once again, and he did not want to make her cry again too.
Then he felt something on his left cheek this time. It was lips, and he felt the Witch's icy cold breath on his cheek as she kissed him there. When she stopped, he looked over at her. There was an explosion of emotions; shock, then love, then shock, and then love again. Behind her wrinkled, contorted face, he saw something beautiful. The only thing that had ever provoked emotion in him for seemingly forever. He suddenly felt the urge to return her favor, and his head went forward and his lips met hers. They were cold, but the Hunter did not care. He felt something emotionally other than rage, he actually felt something physically. They kissed there for a time, but after a while, they both heard something outside and suddenly snapped away from each other.
"Check for supplies in these storage rooms." The Hunter and the Witch both heard muffled footsteps then in the neighboring buildings identical to the one they were in. Soon, another voice.
"Well, there's this crowbar here, if anyone wants it."
"I'll take it."
"And… looks like a magnum here."
"Great, that's mine."
"Hey, I wanted it."
"Too bad, you've got your crowbar, right?"
"Well, alright…"
The footsteps were closer now. The Hunter looked over at the Witch and saw that she looked like she was going into a daze. She sobbed, one hard sob. But that was all that it took to alert the people of their presence.
"…Did you hear that?"
"Holy shit, that Witch is close. We'd better get out of here quick."
"Damn good thing we haven't gone into that last storage room yet."
The Hunter felt extremely anxious for a moment, but then it all went black. His vision faded for a moment before returning, and then he knew nothing. Once again all the Hunter knew was blind rage. He got onto all fours and began to crawl out of the building towards the voices that he heard. Just then, a walking person; a real, honest person walked out of the building. He wasn't shuffling, he wasn't walking about blindly, he was jogging out of the building. The Hunter suddenly felt an uncontrollable urge to attack the man, to tear him limb from limb, to eat his flesh, to drink his blood.
Before he even knew it, he was leaping through the air, letting out a devilish, high-pitched scream, and in mid-air he collided with the man, tackling him to the ground. The man screamed for help, and the Hunter pinned him to the ground. He felt his goal for blood, to hear the flesh ripping right off the man, was near. He began to sink his claws into the man's chest, and he ripped once, hard. A blood-curdling scream emitted from the man below him, and the Hunter felt the urge to silence him. He once again sunk his claws into the man, this time into his stomach. It was all happening so fast, but it felt like ages for the Hunter. He relished in the gore and destruction that he was causing. He had never felt anything so good, and yet, he could not get enough.
But that all ended very abruptly. He found himself suddenly rolling off of the man onto the ground, and he felt more rage. The Hunter wanted more death and violence, and he was just denied. On all fours again, he looked up at his surroundings and growled. There was the man on the ground from before, and there were two more people standing up before him. One had just shoved him off the man with his crowbar, and another was holding a magnum and taking aim right at the Hunter. The Hunter shrieked and jumped once again, this time at the man brandishing the crowbar. He was stopped in mid-air when he thrust out the crowbar in front of him at the last moment. He should have felt the hard metal collide with his chest, but he didn't. The Hunter fell to the ground with a slight howl of rage; denied once again his thirst for bloodshed.
Gunshots went off. He should have felt something, but he didn't. He heard the bullets collide with the ground directly behind him, blood spurted out of his chest, but he did not feel it. The Hunter began to get ready for another pounce, but suddenly found himself unable to. He slowly crumpled to the ground, completely unable to move. His thirst for violence could not be quenched, this time due to his body. It wouldn't move. He wanted to attack, to kill, but all he could manage to do was look up at his killers; they were helping up the man who he had only managed to get two slashes in on. His wounds were severe, but the Hunter did not care. He wanted more. He wanted the man to be no more than a million scattered chunks of flesh.
The Hunter heard something in the room behind him. Growls of anger and the urge to kill. That was when he remembered what was in that room; it was the Witch. The Hunter heard the panicked voices of the people, when suddenly, she let out a scream of pure rage. She ran right at the people, right past the Hunter. He watched her run forward. The person with the magnum began emptying shots into her body, but she still rushed forward at the group. They all ran back, the wounded man not nearly quick enough. The Witch was finally right up to the man, and she slashed him all up his entire torso, from bottom to top, with her huge claws. The amounts of blood and chunks of organs and flesh and who knew what else was incredible. The man crumpled, falling to the ground instantly, not even making a sound.
Then, one last shot rang out from the other two people. The man with the magnum had made one well-aimed shot straight at the Witch's head moments after she had hesitated after her kill. Grey matter spewed out of the back of her head, and she was dead before she hit the ground.
"Shit… Man down…"
The two remaining survivors sighed heavily and began to move onward. They walked around the bodies, including the Hunter's. He tried to growl but could not even manage that much.
Finally, the survivors were far away, and the Hunter could hear them no more. Staring at the Witch's limp, lifeless body, trace amounts of thought once again returned to him. And then he felt pain once more, and it was physical pain beyond anything he could have possibly imagined. And that's when the emotional pain kicked in, too. He wanted to die. He was in so much agony, and he knew that he would never feel the Witch next to his body ever again.
The Hunter tried to crawl over to the Witch's body, but he could not even manage to go more than a few inches. A tear escaped from his eyes, and rolled down his mangled cheek. His vision began to fade, and soon, he neither saw nor felt any longer.

Description
The hooded figure, crouched high above everything around himself, noted his scenery. He was in a sugar mill, on top of a silo, and it was a very rainy day. The ground was covered in ankle-deep water. But that didn't matter to him. It was far below, and he was free to go almost anywhere he pleased. Crouching further still and placing his hands in front of him, he then leaped, going far, far into the air before landing with a heavy thud on top of a before-distant silo that was slightly higher than the last. From here, he could see even more of the mill.
But he wasn't just sightseeing, he was looking for something in particular; or rather, someone in particular. After a time of sitting there, he finally heard it; muffled sobs coming from a fair distance to the left. He leaped once again, traveling far into the air, the wind and rain on his face as he did so. He landed once again with an even heavier thud than before on a silo far to the left and only about half as tall as the previous.
From here, he could finally see her; Wearing no more than panties and a torn shirt, was who he was looking for. There she stood about, in a slight daze, silently sobbing to herself. Her fingers were exceedingly long and sharp, and her hands covered her face. She was the Witch.
He wondered why she always cried. She never exploited her freedom that she now possessed, she never did much anything; just sat there, crying and crying. What was her purpose? Why was she this way? She was different from the rest. The rest of their kind stood about, mindless, not doing much anything. Occasionally they would wander off or wander into the sugar mill, but very recently, many of them had all run off in the same direction at speeds that they looked incapable of achieving.
Because of this, the sugar mill was now more or less empty, except for a few. Among these were himself, and this girl, along with a few others who occasionally showed up, sitting idly by, but exploring nonetheless. Noting the small pole that went to ground level from the top of the silo, the hooded figure grabbed ahold of it with one hand, and, supporting himself with his feet, slowly slid down until he was a mere ten feet above her. She still continued to cry, not even noticing him. He almost wished she would, but wondered what would happen if she did. Would she attack him? Or would she stop crying? Despite the fact that he did not seem to have much mental thought, he did have a slight curiosity for the girl below him.
She finally walked a bit further, getting even closer to him. Still crying and apparently unaware of his existence, her sobs finally stifled for a moment, and she peeked through her long, sharp fingers to get a good glimpse at him. He was a monstrosity like her, with grey skin, long, sharp nails and teeth, wearing a grey hoodie and brown polyester pants that were both shredded and ripped. He had duck tape on many places on his limbs in order to stop air flow from hindering his ability to pounce. His hood covered his eyes. He was the Hunter.
For a moment, they just stood there, staring at each other. They were not capable of discussion, and it was quite incredible that either of them were experiencing some emotion, weak though it may have been. Finally, the Hunter dropped from the few feet above that he was at. He approached the Witch carefully and slowly; he had observed her in action before, and if she attacked, he had to be very quick about getting away. He was perhaps only a couple of feet away from the Witch now, and they still observed each other for a long time.
Finally, something completely unexpected happened. The Witch suddenly sprang into action, wrapping her arms around his, and the Hunter found himself unable to get away. She may have looked weak, but he discovered that she was incredibly strong. Soon, he stopped struggling. She wasn't attacking him. She was apparently embracing him. He felt something that moment. He didn't know what it was, but he suddenly found himself feeling awkward here and yet… proud at the same time. The Hunter suddenly felt a urge of what could be described as nothing other than compassion, and he returned the embrace. They hugged each other far tighter than necessary, to the point where they should have been in pain were it not for their mental condition.
It began to rain harder than before in the mill, and it was soon difficult to see further than thirty feet away. The Hunter released her slowly, and to his surprise, the Witch did as well. He was familiar with the area after lurking there for so long, and, keeping one arm around her shoulder, started walking very slowly over towards a small building. After a short time, she replied by going along with him, and eventually, they found themselves inside the small building. It was very plain wooden building, with the boards run down, and it only contained a toolbox and a wrench lying next to it. There was no door. He led her over to a wall in the interior, and they both sat down.
They both sat there a long time, and the rain showed no signs of giving up. They both did very little but sit there, looking at each other, but for once, the Witch was not crying. The Hunter wondered if her crying was due to loneliness in the first place, or due to her condition; perhaps she was more sensitive about her condition than the rest. He may have felt some remorse due to being infected, but he could only very rarely conjure any sort of rational thought.
The Hunter thought. He wondered why this had happened to all of the world as far as he knew. He felt remorse, longing for his old life. He had freedom as he was now, but all he knew was pain and blind rage. Suddenly, the Hunter felt something on his right cheek. He felt something. It had been so long since he had physically felt anything, and only just recently had he managed to mentally feel for longer than a few seconds. He took a finger and wiped his cheek, and upon inspection, there was the remains of a single tear drop on his finger. The Hunter looked away from the Witch, as if in shame. He felt compassion once again, and he did not want to make her cry again too.
Then he felt something on his left cheek this time. It was lips, and he felt the Witch's icy cold breath on his cheek as she kissed him there. When she stopped, he looked over at her. There was an explosion of emotions; shock, then love, then shock, and then love again. Behind her wrinkled, contorted face, he saw something beautiful. The only thing that had ever provoked emotion in him for seemingly forever. He suddenly felt the urge to return her favor, and his head went forward and his lips met hers. They were cold, but the Hunter did not care. He felt something emotionally other than rage, he actually felt something physically. They kissed there for a time, but after a while, they both heard something outside and suddenly snapped away from each other.
"Check for supplies in these storage rooms." The Hunter and the Witch both heard muffled footsteps then in the neighboring buildings identical to the one they were in. Soon, another voice.
"Well, there's this crowbar here, if anyone wants it."
"I'll take it."
"And… looks like a magnum here."
"Great, that's mine."
"Hey, I wanted it."
"Too bad, you've got your crowbar, right?"
"Well, alright…"
The footsteps were closer now. The Hunter looked over at the Witch and saw that she looked like she was going into a daze. She sobbed, one hard sob. But that was all that it took to alert the people of their presence.
"…Did you hear that?"
"Holy shit, that Witch is close. We'd better get out of here quick."
"Damn good thing we haven't gone into that last storage room yet."
The Hunter felt extremely anxious for a moment, but then it all went black. His vision faded for a moment before returning, and then he knew nothing. Once again all the Hunter knew was blind rage. He got onto all fours and began to crawl out of the building towards the voices that he heard. Just then, a walking person; a real, honest person walked out of the building. He wasn't shuffling, he wasn't walking about blindly, he was jogging out of the building. The Hunter suddenly felt an uncontrollable urge to attack the man, to tear him limb from limb, to eat his flesh, to drink his blood.
Before he even knew it, he was leaping through the air, letting out a devilish, high-pitched scream, and in mid-air he collided with the man, tackling him to the ground. The man screamed for help, and the Hunter pinned him to the ground. He felt his goal for blood, to hear the flesh ripping right off the man, was near. He began to sink his claws into the man's chest, and he ripped once, hard. A blood-curdling scream emitted from the man below him, and the Hunter felt the urge to silence him. He once again sunk his claws into the man, this time into his stomach. It was all happening so fast, but it felt like ages for the Hunter. He relished in the gore and destruction that he was causing. He had never felt anything so good, and yet, he could not get enough.
But that all ended very abruptly. He found himself suddenly rolling off of the man onto the ground, and he felt more rage. The Hunter wanted more death and violence, and he was just denied. On all fours again, he looked up at his surroundings and growled. There was the man on the ground from before, and there were two more people standing up before him. One had just shoved him off the man with his crowbar, and another was holding a magnum and taking aim right at the Hunter. The Hunter shrieked and jumped once again, this time at the man brandishing the crowbar. He was stopped in mid-air when he thrust out the crowbar in front of him at the last moment. He should have felt the hard metal collide with his chest, but he didn't. The Hunter fell to the ground with a slight howl of rage; denied once again his thirst for bloodshed.
Gunshots went off. He should have felt something, but he didn't. He heard the bullets collide with the ground directly behind him, blood spurted out of his chest, but he did not feel it. The Hunter began to get ready for another pounce, but suddenly found himself unable to. He slowly crumpled to the ground, completely unable to move. His thirst for violence could not be quenched, this time due to his body. It wouldn't move. He wanted to attack, to kill, but all he could manage to do was look up at his killers; they were helping up the man who he had only managed to get two slashes in on. His wounds were severe, but the Hunter did not care. He wanted more. He wanted the man to be no more than a million scattered chunks of flesh.
The Hunter heard something in the room behind him. Growls of anger and the urge to kill. That was when he remembered what was in that room; it was the Witch. The Hunter heard the panicked voices of the people, when suddenly, she let out a scream of pure rage. She ran right at the people, right past the Hunter. He watched her run forward. The person with the magnum began emptying shots into her body, but she still rushed forward at the group. They all ran back, the wounded man not nearly quick enough. The Witch was finally right up to the man, and she slashed him all up his entire torso, from bottom to top, with her huge claws. The amounts of blood and chunks of organs and flesh and who knew what else was incredible. The man crumpled, falling to the ground instantly, not even making a sound.
Then, one last shot rang out from the other two people. The man with the magnum had made one well-aimed shot straight at the Witch's head moments after she had hesitated after her kill. Grey matter spewed out of the back of her head, and she was dead before she hit the ground.
"Shit… Man down…"
The two remaining survivors sighed heavily and began to move onward. They walked around the bodies, including the Hunter's. He tried to growl but could not even manage that much.
Finally, the survivors were far away, and the Hunter could hear them no more. Staring at the Witch's limp, lifeless body, trace amounts of thought once again returned to him. And then he felt pain once more, and it was physical pain beyond anything he could have possibly imagined. And that's when the emotional pain kicked in, too. He wanted to die. He was in so much agony, and he knew that he would never feel the Witch next to his body ever again.
The Hunter tried to crawl over to the Witch's body, but he could not even manage to go more than a few inches. A tear escaped from his eyes, and rolled down his mangled cheek. His vision began to fade, and soon, he neither saw nor felt any longer.