[A.N: Hey guys. I just got a random urge to post today. I'm gonna try not to burn myself out with writing, but I really enjoy it so far! I really hate when people don't post for months at a time, so I'll make sure to keep to at least once a week. This one feels a bit weird, so I might change a little bit of it later on. This one is a little bit shorter, just so that I can give myself room to advance the characters. Enjoy c: ]
Alby ignored the hand, his eyes sizing up the man. He was thin, tall, and though not covered in muscles, you could see the power in his stance. He wore a blue shirt, with a dark gray vest over top. Bullets were strung into the fabric of his vest, and his belt housed a small pistol. He didn't look particularly hostile, but the hardened eyes and scars crossing the flesh visible to Alby still unnerved him. This was a man who was not at all stranger to pain and war. When Alby refused the gesture, the man lowered his hand, peering at Alby through his glasses, judging Alby as Alby had judged him. "Tellin' you tha' you were lost would be an understatement, aye?" He stood, taking Alby by the arm and jerking him roughly to his feet. When Alby remained silent, the man spoke again. "What's got your tongue, lad? We 'aven't got all day to talk. There's a battle round 'ere, just 'case you hadn't noticed. How bout 'ou tell me yer name?" He had an australian accent, thick with each word. Finally, Alby let out the breath of air that he had been holding without his own knowledge, and spoke. "My name is Alby. And.." He threw his hands in the air, his frustration and confusion spilling over. "I am lost in a loony's town with the whole species of crazies out to murder each other." The man continued looking at Alby curiously, his arms now crossed, though he held carefully to his knife. Alby suddenly questioned his decision to call the man a loony. He looked dangerous, and a little more that a bit insane. When he didn't speak, though, Alby grew impatient. "What do you want, a life story?!" Alby threw down his bag. "I feel like my right arm is on fire, the heat is going to burn me like toast, I'm stuck in the crossfire of some loon convention, my head is spinning like a bad theme park ride.." Thoroughly defeated, Alby threw himself down against the wall, ignoring the splatters of dried blood on them, and looked up helplessly at the stranger. "I've watched two men die, another come back from the brink of death. What do you want from me?" Finally, the man spoke. "Well, Alby.." He scratched his chin, watching Alby with the same careful hardness in his eyes. "How'd you get yerself into here? It shoulda been impossible ta' get inta this place." Alby shrugged. "Some kinda metal thing. Under the bridge." He tossed a finger carelessly in the direction of the obliterated mass of wood. The stranger looked about to say something, but the pounding of quick feet interrupted him. Someone skidded around the corner, kicking up a cloud of dust. He was coated in sweat, but looked far from exhausted. Ignoring Alby, he yelled to the man talking to Alby. "We gotta hot one comin', Aussie! Move it!" Alby had time to catch a glimpse of a blue shirt the same shade as his interrogator's, and a slick black hat, before he rounded a corner at impressive speed. Alby yelped as the man jerked him up again, roughly tugging his uninjured arm, and pushed him forward forcefully. "Get movin', unless you're set on being toast." A soft sound could be heard now, around the corner. It sounded like a bonfire sparking into life. Making a wild guess at what the sound was, Alby took off at full speed, the blue-shirted man behind him. The crackling of fire could be heard clearly now, with muffled yells to accompany them. It seemed that the man in the rubbery red suit was.. Alive? Alby shook his head. No way. Looking up, he skid sideways to avoid a wall, his heart pounding heavily in his own ears. Racing to the left, he flew up a flight of stairs three at a time, the belching of the flames growing softer behind him. He darted into a large, hollow tower with a few windows to allow light into the sparse environment. Crates lined the walls, some with an odd assortment of items on them. As soon as the stranger was inside, he slammed the door shut. "What.. The hell.." Alby gasped, doubling over with his hands on his knees. He'd always considered himself rather athletic, but as he looked at the man, he realized he was nowhere near as in shape. His apparent new ally was hardly out of breath. The gunman walked stiffly to the wall. "Pyro," he said, glaring out the window of the tower they were in. "A nasty 'un, burn you alive. Or dead. Doesn't matter to 'im." Alby looked away, marvelling to himself that he had landed himself in the weirdest place ever. He nodded sarcastically. "Right, I'll take notes. What the fuck is going on here? Who are you?" Alby tipped his head for a moment. "What the hell is in the jar?" He inclined his head to the jars on the crates by the window. Two were full, one was about half empty. The man glanced back at Alby for a moment, then spoke to him with his gaze trained on the window. "You've landed yourself in the middle of a lovin' brotherly scuffle, mate. You can call me Sniper, cause we don't use names 'round here. And that," he glanced at the jars, a smirk cracking on his face, "Is a jar o' piss." Alby stepped back, revulsed. "We? There are more of you guys?" The Sniper nodded. "You've only seen a few o' the party, lad." Alby flopped down onto one of the crates, cradling his arm. "So um.." He glanced at the Sniper. He had taken a position on another wooden box, a gun that he had seemingly pulled from nowhere propped against the frame or the window. He had a scope close to his eye. "What now?" The Sniper took a shot, a sharp cry ringing out as the bullet collided with some poor sap, then turned to Alby grimly. "Now, we try an' keep you alive."
