Author's Note: Hey guy's, this is Forgotten here. This is my first story, and I warn you i'm not the best writer. Anyways, enjoy Chapter 1!
DISCLAMER: I do not own Left 4 Dead or any of their characters. They belong to their rightful owners.
It seemed like all he ever did anymore. The same thing every day and then repeat. Kill, eat, observe, and wait. Wait for his chance to get close to her. He wasn't sure why he suddenly had this emotion-he hardly remembered what it was- it was simply something about her. It wasn't hatred, he knew that for sure. If it was, he'd end up being dead. The others knew how strong her kind really was. But, it was something else. Something he couldn't quite name.
Each day, after he had eaten his prey, he'd jump across the rooftops till he reached the current alley she sat in, watching silently. She was never hard to find, even when she moved time to time, all he had to do was listen for her sobs. He swore he could hear her from miles away, but that might just be because of his enhanced senses. A human could probably only hear her from a close distance.
Today he managed to find her about three hours after he woke up. He assumed it was noon, but it was hard to tell do to the excessive amount of smoke in the air. The Tank busted down another building, he guessed, or possibly one of the Smokers lingering about had one too many cigarettes. It didn't matter; he just knew it was too dark to tell what the time of day was. The cloaked figure perched himself on the side of the building, staring intently down into the alleyway, and finally laid his eyes on her.
She was sitting in the alley, hunched over. Her razor sharp claws hid her face as she wept, instead of their usual resting spot on the ground before her. They were stained dark red from the blood of her past victims. Long, blond hair was covered in dirt and slightly tangled, which concealed her face as well. He never saw her face with his own eyes, but he'd seen glimpses of her eyes through her hair. They were a striking pale yellow, standing out in the darkness of the city. She was also extremely pale, maybe even a bit gray to him. Her clothing appeared to be strips of what he guessed used to be her underwear or a gown of some sort. It was tattered around the edges, but not enough to reveal anything.
He found her...stunning to look at. She was beautiful, in his mind, but he still hardly knew a thing about her. And she didn't know him, no, probably never even seen him. But he knew she wouldn't be fond of him. His eyes flickered down to a piece of broken glass beside him. His eyes remained hidden behind his dirty, faded dark blue hood, so you could only see the lower half of his face. Around his mouth was blood-stained from his last few meals, as was his sharp yellow teeth. A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat. He was a beast, a Hunter. She'd never hesitate to maul him if he disturbed her. Shifting his gaze back to the girl, he began to wonder his usual thoughts, wishing to forget the subject. But then he began to think about what might have happened if he approached her. Often he would wonder if he should dare try it, but every time he stayed on his spot on the roof, continuing his surveillance in silence. He knew she was dangerous, despite how harmless she seemed. He's seen the dead bodies of her victims before, after having her fit of crying disturbed by anyone, even some of her own kind, an infected. Her deadliness matched that of a Tank. There was no doubt in his mind that she would rip him to shreds.
The Hunter watched for a few hours more until he grew tired, and jumped across to another building. He assumed it had been about 7 hours, so it'd be at least around night. He had long lost his desire to chase after the survivors; the usual ones he found were smart and lingered in groups. It was smarter-and safer- to go after the fools who decide they could handle being alone in a zombie apocalypse. Sadly, it seems those people are all gone now though, unless they've all hidden themselves somewhere. He pulled himself into an abandoned window, which lead to a small musky bedroom. It was long forgotten, and the door was barred from the inside, so no one could access it. The rotting corpse of a small child had been here, but it looked like someone had eaten the rest, or dragged him off somewhere. The Hunter didn't mind though, it gave him less work to do.
The hunter climbed into the tattered bed, closing his eyes. He had no reason to fear of being attacked or killed in his sleep, he knew the survivors couldn't access here. Only other infected. But they weren't a problem for him.
After what seemed like ages, he fell asleep. And he dreamed of what he deemed his Fallen Angel, the cadence of her cries echoing in his mind.
Thanks for reading. Rate and Review if you'd like me to write more!