[ WP ] `` I could smell the stench of death and gasoline on him . ''

I think it's amazing how the human body can sustain itself, especially when certain components are taken away. 
 
 Like shelter... or family... or an eye. The pain still comes back from time to time. The Outlands has a bad habit of taking things from you. 
 
 Out here, I was told there's a subtle habit that everyone almost always forgets. 
 
 *Always check to make sure you have at least one bullet left for yourself. * 
 
 Because in the Outlands, you'll going to find yourself in a shitty situation. Situations like starving to death. Situations like sunstroke and severe dehydration. 
 
 A situation where all seems hopeless. 
 
 That's where the bullet comes in. To escape. 
 
 I could smell the stench of death and gasoline on him. An intestine is slung over his shoulder. He grinned, revealing a set of gold plated fangs. His eyes were devoid of humanity. Just pure rage and malice. 
 
 `` Hello, my *pretty*...'' His voice was akin to toxic waste. The crowbar twirls around in his bandaged hand. It's missing a finger. 
 
 He charged forward, yelling gibberish, arms flailing. 
 
 I squeezed the trigger, taking out a gigantic chunk of meat out of his right shoulder as red dots and gibs splattered the warm sand. Yet he still charged, because the agony was taken from him a long time ago. 
 
 With no time to reload, I thrusted a screwdriver into his throat, taking a hard hit to the ribs by his crowbar in the process. His words slowly morphed into a slow gurgle as blood filled his lungs. 
 
 Seconds later, he drowned. I looted his corpse, finding nothing but a charred photo and a lighter, and went on my way towards east. 
 
 *Always check to make sure you have at least one bullet left for yourself. * 
 
 *So you can escape. * 
 
 I do n't need to escape. I do n't need to run. 
 
 I'm not finished here. 
 
 
 
 
 

