HAMARTITHIA – (adj) being likely to make a mistake
The Tank slunk down the streets, the pop of the Hunter's skull still echoing violently in his ears. He felt wrong. It was wrong. Murder was wrong. Before the infection, the outbreak, the chaos, he would've been arrested and put on trial. He'd be labeled a murderer and put on Death Row for months before the Grim Reaper came to steal his life.
He shuffled along as silently as he could, grunting every now and again at the exertion on his muscles. He hated this life. He just wanted to die. Maybe he should run off of a building or a cliff or drown himself in a lake. Yeah, the lake…
He stopped as the familiar gurgle of a Boomer found his ears. He grunted. They followed food. He was getting hungry. The Tank came to a stop and waited. Hopefully, it wouldn't run from him.
The shadow of the teetering ballooned individual peered around the corner before he saw its face. Or, rather, her face. His chest tightened. He recognized this girl. Charlie.
She didn't see him right away, rubbing her swollen stomach in pain. The Tank grunted softly and her eyes shot in his direction. They tightened into slits too quickly for his comfort and she turned on her heels (which was a spectacle all of its own) and moved away from him.
The Tank took after the Boomette in a hurry, moving one hand into her path. She turned, cheeks puffed out in anger. He took a deep breath, determined to form words for the first time.
"Ssssssrrrryyyy…"
She snorted and turned away. He tried again.
"Sssssoooorrrrryyyy…"
"Shut the hell up!" she barked rather clearly, moving from the small area with a bit of trouble.
He followed her after letting her move far enough ahead, trying desperately to determine how to convey his feelings. What was he to do?
He stopped before a building and noticed something. Quickly, as to not lose sight of the Boomette, he ducked inside and grabbed the remaining bag of Reese's Minis. Maybe this will make her feel better.
He took off after her as fast as his thin legs would allow, grunting and hooting all the way. He finally caught up with her and stopped, taking a second to catch his breath. She glowered even darker, one hand on her hip.
"What do you want?"
He gave a small smile and offered her the bag. She stared at it. Suddenly, she puked all over the bag and his hand. He reeled back in confusion, and she spat at him again.
"You know I'm allergic! You haven't changed a bit, Tyce! You're still the heartless asshole you were back then!"
She stormed off, a small collection of Commons moving for the Tank. He swatted them away, torn in two. She still hated him…
…but she remembered his name.