Somewhere, deep in Sunset Acres Woods, a lone figure traveled through the brush, hacking away at the low hanging branches with his long machete. On his back the figure carried a backpack, crossbow, M2, and a long sword.
It was night, probably about 11:00 Pm. The moon was full and bright, allowing the figure to see somewhat clearly. Soon enough, he came to a small clearing, atop one of the many hills that rolled across the forest.
BLAM! A gunshot rang out in the distance, followed by many more. He stood still, studying where the sound came from. Then, slowly, he sat down. Pulling his backpack off, he unzipped the back pocket, pulling out a journal. He opened it, and began writing.
October 12th, 11:27 Pm
Gunshots ring out from the neighborhood. I'll have to be wary when I investigate. I'm hoping the shots were directed towards the dead, and not the living. It really shouldn't matter though. I'll be able to take care of whatever it is.
Today has been uneventful. There was one dead biker that I put down, and that was it. I should be thankful, but it's hard to be so when the world's gone to shit. I'm hoping there'll be an end to this one day. There may not be.
Tomorrow I'll venture to Sunset Acres.
He closed the journal, put it away, pulled out a sleepingbag, and zipped himself inside.
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