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I'm a Lover not a Hater: because the Hunter felt threatened by him. I know I didn't explain it very well, but the Smoker was looking at him in a way that made him feel angry. I'm bringing in other characters in replacement of the Smoker.

L4dfanz: I will! Be sure of that. I actually have a plot right now. When I started, I didn't know what my plot would be, but I thought up of one. I'm so proud of myself! :3 Well, I'm glad that you like it.

When the late Survivors arrived with what they thought was the cure, the city had fallen in to disrepair. The number of the Infected had grown so large, that the buildings were being torn apart by the number trying to move through the streets. In a few days, the dead bodies would disappear into ash and the streets would look empty once again.

If this keeps up, it seems like the entire city will be deserted. There would be no Infected left…

Night fell and the Witch and I set off to another building. A fact nagged at the back of my mind. Where did my Horde go? We sat atop a steep roof and looked at the ground, watching our kind get destroyed by those with the "Cure". The Witch whimpered as she watched another of her own get shot down but she didn't shrink in her stance.

I crouched lower and growled at the Witch. We needed to get moving. We had to find others. I slid down the wall and grabbed onto a windowsill, looking up at her.

She nodded and hopped down onto my shoulders, then wrapped her legs around my waist. Heat radiated off of her body as she gripped me tight.

I continued to slide down the wall and touched down onto the ground, growling as the Witch clambered off of me. I stood up and cracked my neck, grumbling as I saw a group of Survivors run by. I ran out with a screech, jumping onto one's back. I brought him down with me, snarling.

The Witch screamed and ran out, shredding all who got in her way. Once she reached the end of the crowd, she held her arms, shivering and panting.

I crawled over to her and nudged her before standing up. She looked at me and nodded. We continued our walk.

As the sun began to rise, we took refuge in a warehouse before the Witch would notice the light peeking over the rooftops. She sat in a corner and hugged herself, hair falling in front of her face.

I prowled nearby, keeping an eye on the entrance. I could hear the Survivors running outside. There weren't many left, but there weren't many of us left either. We had to remain alert. A loud noise rushed overhead and the yells of other Infected reached my ears. There were others inside.

I crept farther into the warehouse, my ears straining to pick up any more sounds from the hidden Infected.

A snarling came from above me and something jumped on my back, its legs wrapping around my neck. A Jockey.

A long, slimy tentacle wrapped around my legs and tripped me, causing me to fall flat on my face. Another Smoker.

I was brought down fast. Now I had no idea why this Horde was attacking me. I snarled and clawed at them, trying to drive them off.

The Witch watched with a sort of apprehension before stepping—more like running—in. She encircled her arms around me, pulling me down to the ground and she stood above me, claws bared. The heat permeated in waves from her body, beating down upon me from where I laid under her.

The Horde started to back off but the Smoker started to drag me away when the Witch wasn't looking. I howled and tried to scratch at the tongue.

Enraged, my companion ran at the tongue, arms flailing like mad. She cut the tongue and dragged me away, shaking. She huddled back in the corner, hugging her knees and sobbing again.

Nursing my hurt pride and chest, I dared not leave her side. A sickening gurgle reached my ears and my head shot up so fast, I felt a sharp pain at my neck that subsided as soon as it had come.

Two feet away, stood the fattest Boomer I had ever laid my eyes on. Its welts pulsated with the acidic, putrid vomit that dripped out of his mouth onto the ground, hissing after contact with the cold floor. It stayed away from us, but kept watching me and gurgling.

The Smoker hopped down from the top and joined the Boomer in watching me, coughing and hacking where he stood.

Growing increasingly uncomfortable, I hid my blood covered face underneath my surprisingly clean hood. I growled, licking at the blood on my sleeve.

The day grew darker. The Smoker and Boomer dared to move closer to us and stopped before me, staring at the closing hole in my chest.

I growled at them in warning, but they didn't venture any closer. Soon, gun shots reached my ears. Those monsters were out and at it again. I got off my haunches and crawled forward, balancing on my fingertips.

The Witch stood and wandered after me, skirting around the other two.

They followed us, even as the Witch wrapped herself around me as a scaled the wall. The Smoker flung his tongue up to the top of the building and pulled himself up like a mountain climber (only faster).

I never knew a Boomer could climb walls, but this fat one could. He waddled after us, slower but managing to keep up.

The Witch whimpered in my ear. I took that as a sign to not attack these two, although I kept this to myself: if they attacked me, I would get them as well.

I saw the flashes of light before I saw them. The monsters were below us, shooting at an oncoming Horde of Infected. They had set off a car alarm. I glanced around and, seeing no Tank, sent the Boomer down.

He followed my growled direction and went to work, doing what Boomers do best… Booming.

The Smoker stayed up with us, waiting I assumed for my direction. His tongue was inside his mouth, at the ready to shoot out and grab an unguarded monster.

I watched with mild interest, wishing I could join in on the fray. But my chest was telling me to stay out and my head had started throbbing again.

The first thing that alerted me for the strangeness, though, wasn't the emptiness of the day-lit streets. It was the mutation of one of my close acquaintances. He wasn't the most fit person, but the next I saw him, he was covered in welts, his stomach looking like a bomb ready to explode. He told me he felt sick. …I said he looked it. He didn't talk to me for a week.

The next I saw him, he was grey, even heavier and acted like he ate an entire barrel of shit. Vomit poured out of his mouth. After a few rounds of his sick, he finally sputtered that he couldn't control it. I left him alone in his misery, pulling my hood over my head in an attempt to create noise to drown out his disgusting sounds.

The battle was a quick one. The monsters retreated once they were overwhelmed by more and more Infected. The Boomer had vomited on three of the four and he had missed for the last one. He waddled away and crawled back up the wall, gun shots rebounding off the walls. Even a shotgun buckshot missed.

The Smoker had grabbed the clean elder monster by its neck and dragged it closer to him. His tongue had been severed before he could get him close.

"There's a Hunter and a Witch up there!" he had yelled before they broke into a retreat, Infected trailing after him.

With grim satisfaction, blood trailing in their wake, the four of us watched from our post on the building. The Witch tightened her grasp around me, apparently having relaxed and realized that she was slipping.

I growled in discomfort as she readjusted herself, her feet pushing against my thighs as I crouched. I rolled my shoulders, aiding her with her placement.

The Smoker looked at me and gave a loud hack. Apparently, he wanted to move on.

I gave a nod and crawled, cat-like, towards a crumbled wall. My fingers dug into the rubble and I made my way down, being careful not to touch the Smoker's tongue as he was above me, the grotesque thing hanging down above my hand. I could hear the sloshing and knew the Boomer was right behind us. I was surprised he hadn't exploded yet.

As we made our way across the city, taking back ways and shortcuts, we could hear the groans of hidden Infected and the cries of other Witches. The one on my back didn't seem too keen on joining any of her kin. Her nose was planted firmly against my neck. Did I smell sweet?

I woke up again. My empty stomach made itself known. Feed me! it demanded. I walked downstairs and found the jar of jelly in my refrigerator, took out a spoon and scooped the sweet, sugary contents into my mouth. My stomach released me from its relentless contractions, welcoming the sugar with glee. I was almost done this jar. It was one week after everyone started getting Infected. I didn't notice myself becoming sick like they had. My eye and arms mostly itched. I kept rubbing at my closed eyelids, sighing and groaning with discomfort, the noises almost turning into an exasperated and throaty moan.

I tossed the empty jar in a bin with five others. In one week… It was surprising, even to myself, that I had gone through five jelly jars in a week. I must certainly sweat sugar. My blood must be full of sugar, a vampire's sugar high. I scratched at my arm relentlessly until I broke the skin. Little red droplets formed on my skin, bumps rising where I was about to bleed. I sucked on my arm, cleaning the blood off without much difficulty. I was right… I did taste like sugar…

We reached a bolted door, hearing the distorted mutterings of the monsters behind it. I motioned for the Smoker to stay back. He and the Boomer would be seen, but the fat lard hadn't caught up yet. I crept closer to the metallic barrier, getting up on my haunches to listen inside. The Witch shifted against me.

"We need to get out of here," one of them said.

"We're nearing the exit. I can tell," a feminine voice responded to the gruff voice.

The elder monster (I now can recognize his noise) cut them off, "We'll get out as soon as the sun rises. Not many seem to be out then."

"Bill, how can you tell?" the feminine voice whispered, but coming across as clear as day to me, "We're so far away from light…"

"It will be quiet!" he snapped back, a squeak of wood following his retort.

"But where will we go?" a timid voice asked.

"We'll go and help other cities, look for more Survivors."

Becoming increasingly bored with their noise-making, I prowled back into the shadows, rejoining the Smoker and the just-arrived Boomer. His putrid smell filled my nostrils, making my mind reel. I ventured out of the enclosed stairwell.

I remember when my acquaintance turned on me, slashing me with his claws. I had become annoyed with him about something tedious and called him a fat-ass. When those claws pierced my skin, I howled and snarled in pain, but it had also felt relieving. The itch was gone, but my eyes remained annoyingly persistent. Scratch us out! Scratch us out! I did just that a week later, but I could still see…

~~ Chapter Four © Jacqueline Hough
~~ Concept © VALVe Software