Persian had never seen a look like his as he laid his head back onto the seat, a low sigh escaping. He was built like steel, the smooth contours and lines that etched his muscles were almost mesmerising to her. His jaw was wide and stubbled, his loose buttoned shirt and denim jeans were not his usual attire, she knew. It wasn't like she hadn't seen buff guys before, trust me she had, but this time it was different. The veins branched and wove between the protruding muscles in his arms, his jaw chutting as his teeth were almost permanently clenched, and his fists equally so.
The train jolted then kept at a steady speed, humming peacefully over the tracks heading towards its destination, to Seattle. Persian glanced out the window and could see the winking lights in the distance, drawing her into the city. A city she had never known and would have never wished to know until quite recently. Until the infection will hit.
The soft, subtle movement of the woman was probably what gave the passengers a false sense of security. They couldn't have predicted what happened that day.
Like the wait before the lightning, the air was still as Persian pulled out her gun. Their time had slowed, but not his. His eyes flashed and his stance changed, he flung himself into the opening, his brain and body seemingly disconnected from his earlier tiredness, and reached for his gun with the jolting feeling of emptiness – his gun was left in the attic months ago. What's that saying again? You can take the man out of the apocalypse, but not the apocalypse out of the man? Light on his feet he surged forwards, without knowledge on what to do. This forced Persian to take a couple steps back to hoister the gun up to his head, a slight smile played on her lips and her grey eyes glinted.
The lightning strike, she pulled the trigger.