Stood alone, drenched as the rain fell down from the purple sky, she looked down the road at the broken city. An innocent person, dragged into a war that should never have begun, that should have been stopped before it ever started.
Her shoulder-length brown hair was stuck to her face, raindrops, like tears, dripping down her face. The turquoise top, barely existent, a small piece of material, starting just below her armpits, finishing just above her belly-button, accentuating the perfect figure, athletic, but feminine. Her short black hot-pants, slightly frayed at the edges, did nothing to cover her up, starting underneath her belly-button, finishing at the very top of her thighs. She has a long black band across her chest, and down her back, holding ammunition for the gun attached to her thigh, and the one in her hand.
Behind her, the gates out of to the city were closed, never to be opened again, slightly battered, bullet holes littering the thick metal doors, and the floor around it, the living dead, now permanently dead, never to wake again. Never to attack the innocent civilians of the city, oh, wait, they were the civilians. There's no one left now, no one for her to protect, but herself.
The city itself was torn to pieces, by gun fire and the living dead. Bits of buildings crumbling away before her eyes, nothing left to salvage, no point staying here, there was no one for her to turn to. As she turned away, someone staggered into view, the gun still in her hand, was lifted, and supported by the other hand, as she started to pull the trigger; a voice rang out across the empty space, a lonely, broken voice. Someone she could help, or who could help her.
Stood together, drenched as the rain fell down from the almost black sky, they looked down the road at the broken city. Two previously innocent people, dragged into a war that was now over, that was finished, with just the two of them left standing.