Akira
His chest started to spasm in pain. This wasn't the worst stitch that he had ever had, but it was pretty rough. He turned corner after corner. These buildings weren't built to be easily maneuvered, making it hard for him to get to where he needed to. All he really needed was a MS, any kind, something that would run. He turned a corner, starting to panic. All of a sudden he ran straight into a huge metal object. Falling to the ground, he looked up at the pole. There it was, a map. He could now finally get to where he had been trying to the whole fucking time. It was four corners ahead. The sound of footsteps pricked his ears, making him hurry to get himself up and steady. His knee was in bad shape. Discolored and bent slightly to the side, he suddenly realized that his knee was broken. He touched it, sending pain through his body, making him almost want to scream. But he couldn't, he was being hunted. He had no time to waste. Swearing to himself he pushed himself even harder to compensate, bright pain searing through his leg.
He turned the final corner, in a mad dash to make it to the suits before his enemy did. If there was any. It was dark, no light penetrating the deep underground levels. He must have been between a mile to two underground. A soaking moisture hung in the air, the humidity was stifling. Not that he could tell anyways. His vision swam, the pain reaching his brain, and then him slowly pushing it down the the deepest cavities of his body. Turning his head, he saw it, not quite realizing what it was until he ran into it.
A highly modified GM. This was not your ordinary modifications either. Six sets of vulcans were inlaid in the head, creating a spread of fire, a deadly arrangement. The armor encompassing the entire surface area of the mobile suit was painted a fiery red. The paint scheme could not cover up the scars and battles that the suit had seen though. Some sort of strange arms were crossed on its chest, as if it was a mummy. Gigantic scythe like blades sprouted out from a shield on each arm. No guns though... and thats what he had hoped he would find.
The man rounded the corner. His bloodshot eyes almost matched the deep red of the suit, the color of blood. He snarled as he saw Akira slide into the cockpit, his eyes suddenly opening wider as he realized that he no longer had the upper hand. Dropping the shotgun he had in his hands, he began to run. As the shotgun hit the floor, the collision with the ground set the ammo alight. Buckshot ripped through his back, into the deepest bowels of his being. He fell down and did not rise again...
As he carried her into town he realized just how urgent it was for him to get Kasumi to a doctor. The only problem was, he knew that there was no one else alive... or at least thats what he thought. He swore, tears welling up in his eyes. It looked hopeless, a lost cause. But he knew that he couldn't bring himself to give up, to give in. He kept walking, Kasumi growing heavier with each step.
This carrying had caused deep fatigue on his arms, soring even the deepest muscle. The lactic acid built up, hurting him. His knees crumpled beneath him, giving out. He fell onto his forearms, making them bleed. He picked himself up slowly and entered the closest building. You couldn't really call it a building any more, but the basement should be intact. He walked down the stairs, and gasped when he opened the basement door. Faces, eyes looking at him, pleading for help...
He stumbled back, falling over as he tripped on one of the basement steps. The remained frozen for what seemed like eternity. No one moved, scared that something bad might happen. Faces of children, old men and young alike stared back at him. Several of them were armed. Holding their guns pointed at him, a man stepped forward.
"What do you want from us? Why have you come here?" The man grilled him with questions, his ice cold eyes piercing Sergeant Johnson's skin, making his hair stand on end. Slowly, he replied, as if in a trance. "I thought that it was empty... I thought that I could shelter here and not disturb anyone"... he replied weakly, his lame excuse only angered the man more.
As the man walked forward he suddenly noticed the fragile body of Kasumi sitting outside at the top of the worn and dirty stairs. He walked around Johnson, making his way to her. The Sergeant quickly turned around started to move towards Kasumi at a lightning rate, only to be stopped by 3 guns in his face. Knowing that he could not take all three of them in his current state, he sat back down and prayed that he would not hurt her.
Miraculously, the man did quite the opposite, picking her up and carrying her in. he put her down on the single bed in the room, calling a man to his side. After quickly assessing her wounds, he called council with two of the armed men, leaving one to guard Johnson. They slowly broke up, all going to different places. They had not come to a decision yet. Her wounds seemed serious enough, but they did not know whether they could spare the medical supplies to treat her. They would come to their final decision in an hour. Or at least thats what the old hag had told him. They had tied him up and put him in the corner, leaving him there until they had come to their decision.
Knowing that this very decision could save or doom Kasumi's life, he hoped to dear God that they would help her. They met for the final time after an agonizing period of two hours. As they walked over to talk to him, he almost dreaded their decision, paralyzed in fear and pain...