It begged him to move; pulling his hair, yanking his clothes. He fought against it by standing perfectly still, refusing to give in. Gusts of sand pinched his face as he squinted into the scope, trying to spot his target.

The wind was stronger than usual. Gray was losing feeling to his limbs. How long had it been? Four, five hours? He had been perched on top of the deteriorated building far longer than what was comfortable.

Yet it wasn't the first time he had waited this long. He was used to the long hours of remaining motionless, his finger itching to pull the trigger. After all, it was his job, and he was the very best at it. Any time someone would need a man dead, Gray Fullbuster was the person they turned to. Always hitting his mark and never hesitating, he was a cold hearted killing machine.

This time his target was an old business man. Father of two, husband of a baker, owner of a company that sold what little artillery still existed to the northern civilizations. One would think that humans would stop blowing each other up after having destroyed their world, but they would be horribly wrong.

Gray never questioned the people paying him, but it didn't take a genius to know the reason behind targeting the man. His new employer was vice president of the artillery company, and once the man was dead, he would take over. Selfish, but Gray didn't care as long as he got paid.

The scope was pointed at the entrance of a tent, where the man was making a deal with one of the northern leaders. Gray spotted the curtains shift, the green fabric moving to the side to make room for a bald man. He spotted his shiny head. Fingering the trigger, Gray aimed, and -

BOOM!

The gunshot echoed throughout the abandoned city. Gray felt warm fingers on his shoulders, yanking him backwards. His back hit the sandy floor, and suddenly he was looking up at the clear blue sky.

Except it wasn't the sky. Instead, it was a pair of vibrant eyes. A face was frowning down at him. "What are you doing?" the girl asked in a disapproving tone.

"Fuck," cursed Gray as he sat up, nearly bumping heads with the girl. He leaned over the building's wall. His eyes scanned the streets for a corpse, only to find the bald man gone. Gray had missed.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" exclaimed the girl. She was dressed like a typical survivor; dark jeans, boots, and a bandana tying her azure hair up. All survivors, including Gray, wore bandanas in one way or another. Sandstorms were not uncommon, and when they came it was important to protect the mouth and nose.

Gray was furious. He had never missed a target before, and now this girl had messed up his perfect record. "The hell's your problem?! Why'd you bother me, don't ya have something better to do?!"

She hardly seemed offended. "You had a gun aimed at a man, why would I not? Don't you have something better to do than killing someone?"

"It's my goddamn job, that's why! And even if it wasn't, it ain't any of your business! Jesus fuckin' Christ," Gray hissed. He angrily snatched his gun and began packing up his supplies. He'd have to somehow ask the new employer for another location in order to catch up with the target.

Gray stomped past the girl into the stairwell. It was partially destroyed, and some steps were missing. He half wondered how she had been able to make the trek up.

"Can't you just get a normal job like a scavenger or something?" she questioned, leaping over debris to catch up with him.

"Why are you following me?" he asked, irritated, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'm a hitman, maybe I'll make you my next target." Gray was also upset since that had been one of his favorite sniping spots. It was well hidden and had a view of nearly the entire city, but now he couldn't use it since the girl had found it.

"I could just report you to one of the gunners." Gray froze at that. The term "gunners" was used for the people who still tried to keep the peace. The police, in a way. They were called gunners since they were usually the only people who had firearms, but it wasn't too uncommon to find someone like Gray who owned a gun.

Unfortunately for Gray, those people were terrifying to criminals. He had heard of all the terrible punishments they used. "Oh, yeah?" he said, gulping back his fear. "So what? I can take you out before you even reach one of 'em."

They had exited the building and were now taking the back alleyways through the city. As they trudged through the sand, the girl said, "I've got some friends who'll look for me. They'll hunt you down."

Gray snorted, pulling up his bandana to cover his mouth. The wind was really picking up now, and sand swirled up to their faces. The vendors whose tents lined the streets had disappeared, leaving it deserted. "Look, this conversation has been great an' all, but I've got somewhere to be. Don't you?"

"You won't be going anywhere with this sandstorm. We need to take shelter," said the girl, suddenly alert. The wind was howling at this point, and it was getting harder to take even just a single step.

"What do you mean 'we'?" Gray shouted. He could hardly even hear his own voice. The girl had grabbed his wrist and was pulling him toward an empty bar. He squinted at her figure, only able to make out her curly blue hair whipping behind her.

Once inside, he heard her yell something among the lines of "Help me block the door!" It wouldn't close; banging back and forth violently. Together, they flipped over a table and struggled against the wind to push it against the entrance. The sound of the wind became distant.

The girl panted, leaning against the bar. "I guess we're stuck here, huh?"

Gray rolled his eyes and laid down in one of the booths. The cushions were basically nonexistent, but it was better than nothing. "Whatever. I'm just gonna sleep. Do not wake me up, understand?"

He heard her mumble something, but he was too tired to care whether she agreed or not.

"Aw, you can do better than that!"

A woman with hair so dark it was almost purple playfully ruffled Gray's hair. He was holding a 9mm pistol; something only beginners would use.

He looked to his left and saw a white haired boy holding the same gun. There were soda cans about twenty feet in front of them, sitting on cement blocks.

"I've already hit my target," boasted the white haired boy. "Don't you think I'm better than Gray, huh Ur?"

The woman smiled fondly. It vanished as quickly as it came, being replaced with a concerned frown. "Boys, I need you to go inside. Right now."

"Why?" asked Gray, but he found himself getting pulled by the other boy. The sound of horses grew closer and closer.

"Hide in the back room. Don't come outside until I say so!" she yelled, taking a bigger gun out of their crate and loading it.

They sat there for what felt like hours. Gray could hear muffled gunshots and screams. He looked beside him and saw that the other boy's face was deathly pale.

Suddenly, they heard the front door being slammed open. Heavy footsteps ran around their shelter, and there were more screams. The footsteps were close to them by now. Gray could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

The girl was hovering above him. Gray was gasping loudly, drenched in sweat.