"Dalton Boulevard"

[Alice2015]

"Dalton Boulevard"​

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Maxine "Max" Taylor

• 28 years old. Born 1 May 1994.
• 5'8"; 125#; 38DD-24-34
• Dramatic hourglass figure; fit, toned.
• Fair skin, naturally flawless.
• Natural light brown hair dyed blond.
• Deep blue eyes.
• A handful of battle scars, including knife, bullet, and "accident" wounds.

25 November 2022:

I wander warily amongst the debris clogging Dalton Boulevard. I was involved in a pretty hairy fire fight here three days earlier, and only now -- after spending 72 hours taking pot shots at the stragglers and scavengers to keep them away from my treasure -- I am finally able to emerge in the harsh midday sun to retrieve what has kept me here this long.

The city is deathly quiet around me. Deathly, I think as I loo around to both freshly killed and long decomposing bodies littering the streets. Nice choice of description, Max.

Despite two years having passed, there are still skeletons and corpses in varying stages of decay that obviously date back to the initial biological attack on Earth by the Coneheads. The name is borrowed from an old Saturday Night Live skit. I have never actually seen the skit, but I have seen old magazine pictures of the original Coneheads. I've never thought there was much of a similarity between the two, but ... it's just as good a name for the invaders as anything else.

I was lucky enough to have escaped that initial attack. I'd been on a back country training mission with Victor Security Services at the time, and our Instructor had insisted we wait out the attack in our mountain retreat. Some of my fellow team mates -- concerned about their families -- returned to their homes and families, but a dozen or so of us stayed hidden.

Circumstances eventually led to me leaving what was by that time an otherwise all male team. I didn't leave until after I'd sunk a knife into one potential rapist's chest and put a bullet deep into the skull of a second. After that, our Instructor thought it might be a really good idea if I struck out on my own, before someone else got killed.

I didn't head for the Capital immediately, of course. My four years in the Army, four more as a CIA instructor, and finally two more as a private contractor had taught me a great many survival techniques, not least amongst them being how to scrounge for necessities and hide stashes of the same. I spent the next two years gathering anything and every thing of value -- including intelligence -- and hiding caches of goods in a twenty mile diameter semi circle around the Capital. I now have over thirty caches hidden in woods, homes, out buildings, and more, just waiting for me should I ever need them.

Ironically, I've always expected that need for resources to be driven by my fear of and fight against the Coneheads. But, to be honest, I've never seen one -- alive, anyway -- closer than 50 yards away. I don't get many opportunities to have a decent conversation with people, but those to whom I have talked don't think the aliens have much of an interest in our city. We see their aircraft buzz overhead often, and about once or twice a month I see one drop a bomb on some distant target. But it's been a very long time since I or anyone to whom I've talked have actually seen a Conehead -- even one of their wheeled or winged vehicles -- on the ground.

Of course now, as I carefully weave my way through a medium density neighborhood in the Capital, the only need I have is ...

There... there it is...!

I hurry forward to the green duffel and drop to my knees behind an over turned delivery truck. I unzipped the bag and draw a deep breath of relief at the sight of almost a thousand rounds of 5.56 NATO. I pull the bag closer to the overturned vehicle, kick out my nearly empty magazine, and quickly reload it.

When in the process of loading a second magazine for my withdrawal, a hail of rifle fire nearby alarms me. And while some of the bullets strike vehicles and buildings near me, I realize almost immediately that the bullets aren't meant for me. I rise from the prone position on the dusty road to which my instincts dropped me, and search through the mangled front end of the overturned truck for clues as to what the hell is going on. I find a young man hauling ass up the street directly at me, his arms clutching to his chest a net bag full of...

Canned food...? my starving brain or starving stomach or both scream out, making sure to remind me that I haven't eaten in two days.

I move to a shooting position and stick my T91 through the mangled front grill of the truck. I find the young man in the scope, then tell myself, Patience ... let him bring it to you. I am shocked at how fast the kid is moving. It's not like he is some jock back at high school running a flat, smooth track for a ribbon or trophy: the streets are full of debris from destroyed vehicles and crumbled buildings, as well as coated by dust, leaves, and other debris with which the Capital's Public Works department would have dealt. As I recall the memory of street sweepers and guys in the park with litter sticks I muse, Your tax dollars at work no more.

The man is soon close now that he fills my scope. I wait until once again my view is open -- as he runs by, totally unaware of my presence -- and squeeze the trigger of my T91, currently set on the 3 shot setting. I aim at another target and squeeze, then again, and finally again. Sure of the finality of my work, I spin around to aim my weapon on the surprised young man whose gaze is shifting between me and the four men who had been chasing and shooting at him. They are, of course, now dead in the street with the other rotting or soon to be rotting corpses, never having realized the joy of the meal they'd been chasing through the dangerous streets.

As far as that meal went, I look over the top of my rifle's scope at the net bag, then cock my head and smile. I say with a bit of humor in my voice, "I'm free for dinner tonight."

(OOC: This role play needs a male writer who knows how to write a naïve, inexperienced, submissive young male ... who will, in the end, become quite a fighter in the streets and a lover in the bed. If you are in a hurry to get to the sex, this isn't the role for you. Also, we are writing in First Person Present. It's more difficult, but fun.)

 

[Dreamwalker85]

Benjamin "Ben" Wayne
Age: 19.
DOB: October 31st. 2001.
Frame/Body: Runner's frame, lithe, athletic, but Ben doesn't think he is. 5'10" and 200 pounds flat, give or take a little due to hunger.
Skin: Caucasian, but with a bit of a tan from being outside a lot. Probably could use a good bath due to squatting wherever he could.
Eyes: Dark Brown eyes that people can get lost in.
Description in the post along with bits from above.

Simple snatch and grab, that’s all this was supposed to be, but the world doesn’t work like that. At least my world doesn’t. Probably a lot of other people too, but I don’t have time to worry about them. No one has much time to worry about anyone else but themselves these days. I mean sure you get the scavengers that stick together, but stragglers tend to be a loner.
I don’t want to be roped in with stragglers. Yeah, I’m a loner, but stragglers will beat the shit out of someone if you cross the wrong one. Me, I’m just a guy that’s sick of his stomach growling at night. That’s why I’m getting shot at right now!

Bullets zing by my head and all I can think is, “SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!” This isn’t my first rodeo. This isn’t the first time I’ve stolen from people. Today is the third time I’ve done it this week. What makes this one stand out, besides the bullets, is the fact I was caught.

Normally I’m careful. I look around, scope out the place, that sort of thing. With my stomach screaming at me I didn’t take in the area like I should have. One of my green converse shoes, the one with the duct tape around the front of it to keep the soul attached to the thing, nudged a can. Well, nudge isn’t quite the word. An accidental light kick feels more fitting. I blame my stomach. I mean I think I saw a can of ravioli sticking out of the burlap sack of cans. It’s been a while since I’ve had that Italian man’s fine cuisine.

The second my foot touched the can it clattered against the ground. All of the clanking noises traveled to where the four guys were sleeping. They rose up and quickly went for their guns. Panicked I did what any guy in my situation would do…take the cans and run.

Now I’m moving down the street. If I hold onto the bag any tighter cans are going to spill out. Bullets whiz by me, they even bite into metal. The sound of bullets piercing the objects nearby me just encourages me to move faster. People I’ve run into said I would have made a great track star before the Cones came to the planet. My usual reply to these claims is, “Would being a track star have gotten me food? If it won’t then I’m not interested in being one.”

Right now I want more than anything to be a track star. Anything that’ll create just a little more distance between me and the four very angry men shooting at me. Nothing registers on my radar besides road, distance, and debris. Any and all debris I just whip by. Jump, slide over, whatever, I’ll do it because if I don’t then I’m hungry and probably dead. The world sucks, but I don’t want to die any time soon!

If I was a true scavenger I could maybe have fought these guys a little instead of run. However, I can barely fight my way out of a paperback. To make matters worse I don’t even have a weapon on me besides a screw driver. Nothing is on the green trench coat I’m wearing that would be of any use in a fight. All it does is flap when I move and tear when it gets caught on small bits of metal when trying to run.

“Rip!” another tear at the end of my coat. The edges are completely frayed. My dark grey cargo pants are caked with some dirt and desperate could use some kind of lake for cleaning. A simple red shirt clings to my frame. It has a few tears around the neckline. Normally I’d bitch about the coat, it’s hard to find a good coat out in these parts, but I just want to live.

Moving past a vehicle I just pray for some kind of miracle. Some kind of sign from above, but I don’t think whatever’s out there would listen to me. Bullets begin to echo out of nowhere. Suddenly I duck down covering my head. “DON’T KILL ME!” I scream.

The gunshots continue for a few more moments. A can slips from the bag, but I don’t care. My hands frantically search my person. In the back of my mind I fear finding a bloody hole. “Oh my god!” I cry out in a whisper feeling no holes in me, at least no more than usual.

My eyes spot the source. Some girl with a gun that has a smoking barrel, there’s also male companions there and they’re all decked out. They look like some kind of military outfit and shoot like one too.

The blonde girl says, “I’m free for dinner tonight,” and all I can say is, “What..?” My gaze goes to the girl then back to my cans, yes they’re mine now, and then back to hear. Something clicks, “Oh! Yeaahhh. Right, dinner. Ummm,” I pause for a moment. To be honest I’ve only had a few girlfriends before. Honestly, I’m not Casanova. Hell, unless she says something specific I’ll probably miss flirting.

“Dinner. Yes. Right. I would, but umm,” my eyes go to the barrell of the gun and its owner “Pick you up at seven? Your place?”

 

[Alice2015]

I say with a bit of humor in my voice, “I’m free for dinner tonight.”

I get just about the response I expect:

“What..?”

The confusion is more than warranted, I guess. But my humor finally fights through the panic of the moment and he says...

“Dinner. Yes. Right. I would, but umm ... Pick you up at seven? Your place?”

I chuckle, standing tall while also being careful to remain hidden behind the overturned truck. "You're cute. Really."

Raising the rifle and pointing it directly at his chest to ensure that he realizes he's not yet out of danger, I look over my shoulders to the four men laying in the street. I want their weapons and gear. You always take the weapons and gear. You may not need what is there, but more often than not, you don't want someone else to have it, particularly the weapons.

But looking back to the young man, I find myself more interested in the food he holds. I -- or we -- can come back for the spoils later. Right now, I'm starving! I take another peak behind me -- to the streets, the alley openings, the buildings -- and don't see any obvious dangers.

"Rather than pick me up at seven," I say, moving toward him with an obvious gesture of my rifle to move along. "How about I pick you up now? Git!"



I take him on a round-about path through the alleys, basements, and even a section of sewer access tunnel. I don't know this guy, nor do I know whether or not I'm going to let him live. But, in case I do, I don't want him knowing how to get to my current hideaway. Despite the fact that I could have thrown a rock and hit it from where the two of us first met, it takes us ten minutes to get to our destination via the maze through which I directed him at gun point.

My hideaway was once the basement storage room of a Korean grocery on the corner of Dalton Boulevard and Front Street. It is packed with goods I've scrounged from the six story, former mixed commercial-office-apartment building. There's just about anything and everything a person would want here ... except food, of course.

I gesture my new cook to what masquerades as a kitchen: a single burner Coleman propane stove and a vast assortment of plates, bowls, cups, and dinner ware that are both normal kitchen ware and plastic disposables. I never cared much for cooking, let alone cleaning up after cooking, so my kitchen is seriously lacking. I can seriously count the number of full meals I've cooked in my life on two hands. Well, at least meals cooked in a kitchen: I've cooked hundreds of meals over camp fires while on duty, of course.

"Get cooking," I tell the young man, gesturing him toward the stove. I gesture toward one of the plastic tubs, still filled with soapy though cold water, and say, "Wash your hands, first. God knows what's on them. And ... tell me your name."

As he answers, I check my T91, my ammo, and my gear, always wanting to be prepared for an immediate fight if necessary. I pull the clip from the rifle and eject the shell from the chamber, rendering it useless, just in case my newfound friend has a dangerous thought. I don't know, of course, that he has no experience with fire arms and probably wouldn't know what to do with the assault rifle if I handed it to him anyway.

Setting it next to the old raggedy recliner I hauled down from an apartment upstairs, I check the semiautomatic .45 on my hip -- conspicuously so, to ensure that he understands I am still armed -- then drop back into the still comfortable seat and set my eyes upon him.

I hadn't been totally unaware of Ben's good looks after our initial meeting or our necessarily serpentine walk, but it was only now that I got an opportunity to really study him. Under all that dirt and ragged clothing, I could see what was likely a solidly built body. It's been a long time since I've been with a man -- two years, since before the Coneheads arrived, in fact -- so contemplating having Ben on his back while I ride him cowgirl style isn't a thought that surprises me. Hell, I'm so fucking horny at this point in time, I would ride the cock of one of the dead men out in the street is I could get it hard.

But the world has changed, and there is a great deal more that must be considered before hooking up with a guy these days. Hell, dating for a military girl in the pre-Conehead world had been hard enough. I can't even imagine what becoming involved in a sexual relationship would entail now.

But, of course, that doesn't mean that I can't fantasize...

 

[Dreamwalker85]

“You’re cute. Really.” Well a good looking blonde girl just called me attractive. My day was starting to look up. I mean I had cans of food which meant not going to bed hungry. Now I was considered cute by some stranger. “What is she doing with that gun?” I thought to myself as the mysterious sexy stranger was raising her weapon to me.

“Rather than pick me up at seven…How about I pick you up now? Git!” Of course she wanted to make me her prisoner. That was just my luck. Meet a cute girl that wanted to save your life only because she wanted to be the one to end it.
“Is this what you do to every guy you meet or just the cute ones?” I heard myself say before making the food was secure. All of my movements were slow and deliberate. Last thing I wanted to find out was if the mysterious blonde had a temper and an itchy trigger finger, or not.

We weaved through all sorts turns, basements, dank sewers that I tried to avoid any water in. Water and duct tape were not friends. Ever since the world went to shit it was hard to find a good pair of shoes. “So, where are you from? Local or out of towner before the Road Cones came into town,” I never wanted to insult the good Coneheads with the real alien assholes that arrived. I liked the Conehead movie back when I was younger. It was insulting to my childhood to call the aliens Coneheads.

“What did you do before the world changed? Family? Friends? Cute people you threatened with lead?” I just kept the questions going. Maybe I could have gotten a few answers from my kidnapper. Was Stockholm Syndrome easier to become effected by given the state of the world? Some people were desperate for company. Even I’d be hard pressed to admit if it wasn’t for the gun I’d tag around the blonde until she threatened to kill me if I didn’t leave her alone.
Slipping down some steps I recognized the basement setup. Most basements looked the same before they became nice hidey holes. Blondie’s place had all the amenities someone needed to survive. A decent gas stove, silverware, water by the look of that full contain-Water?! “Could I bother you for a shower later? It’s been a few days since I’ve come across water big enough to dunk myself in.”
“Get cooking” she ordered. Sighing I started to move into the kitchen. Apparently she wanted a house slave. Great, just what I wanted to be in the post-invasion world, Cinderella. Did that make the blonde princess charming or the wicked stepmom?

Leaning back I couldn’t help but admire the woman’s ass. Nice, tight, firm, kind of reminded me of a girl’s track team ass. God, I wonder what it felt like. My thoughts turned to a cacophony of images from just squeezing her ass to pounding into her and seeing it as our hips met. Okay, Stockholm Syndrome was probably easier to get in these times. I so need a cold shower.

Raising my hands again I went into the kitchen, “No apron?” The order came to wash up. “Besides access to some water, what’s the benefit package around here?” Taking a rag and some of the soap I gingerly rubbed at my hads seeing the bits of brown wash away as the dirt left.

Taking the rag I rubbed it over my face. For the first time in a few days I could see my reflection as I stared into the cleaning water. At least I was looking a little human.

Grabbing pan I opened a can of corned beef has. Seeing the contents hit the can it wasn’t long before it sizzled and began to cook. Growing up I had some experience cooking. I wasn’t a four star chef in the making, but I didn’t burn poptarts. Simple burgers, eggs, and the like I could make. “Why do you need my name, beautiful boss lady? You know you catch more flies with honey right? You can put down the couch, flash me a smile, show off the obvious curves you have, something. Don’t mind me, I haven’t had anything since a good year before the aliens came down. I mean, unless you count my hand then it’s only been three days. Yes, I have no shame. Who can afford it?”

Shrugging I went to nab a spatula, “For all I know I could be dead tomorrow. Whether it’s by scavenger assholes or a sexy blonde Rambo I don’t know. I’d rather lay the cards out there, and let people get offended. Hell, maybe something good will happen if I do. Like right now, you did something to gun to make it useful. That click was probably the safety going on. I haven’t fired a gun unless you count Grand Theft Auto or Call of Duty on my Xbox. If I try to take it from you I’ll be lucky if you only bust my nose. If I try to run you’ll probably just shoot me, steal my stuff, see that I leave behind a beautiful corpse, that kind of thing. I can’t fight my way out of a paperbag so I all I got is my running but your gun can cover any distance I could create,” yes I was being forward and honest. Sometimes you had to admit when you were beaten. Today I was beaten.

“Best chance I got is if you were to take a shower then I could maybe sneak out. That’s if I’m not praying for a whole to be somewhere in your home to give me a view,” suddenly my face reddened. I didn’t expect to be that candid with my kidnapper.

“Umm got any spices for the hash? Seasoned salt?”

 

[Alice2015]

“No apron?”

I almost don't hear his question. I don't realized it until just now, but as he's begun moving about the make shift kitchen, my eyes have become glued to his body.

“Besides access to some water, what’s the benefit package around here?”

My lips widen a bit, then return to a more plain expression as he glances back to me. Benefit package...? I think, again imagining my new acquaintance naked on his back, me grinding atop him. Yeah ... I'd like the benefit of your package.

He cleans his hands and face in the pan, and I can literally see the dirt and grime being removed. I can just imagine how dirty the tubs of water are now. And just as I had imagined, the young man turns out to be a handsome young man with the grime of the world removed.

“Why do you need my name, beautiful boss lady?

"In case you need a tombstone," I answer with a sly smirk. "We have enough unmarked graves in the Capital, don't you think?"

Beautiful...? I think, as he continues with a barrage of questions and playful comments, including one about my obvious curves. I was beautiful once. I still am, of course. Mother Nature had been and continues to be very kind to me, even though I'd betrayed her a bit by deciding I thought I looked better as a blond. She had set me on a maturing path that would make me very popular with the boys and men I would meet as I filled out. Hell, I'd even been popular with a great number of the women I'd met, too.

But it had been a long time since anyone -- particularly a man I could see myself one day fucking -- had told me I was beautiful. Of course, this man was likely only saying that because I was resting my right hand on the butt of a .45 with a 12 shot clip in it.

When he begins talking about not having gotten any for a while -- unless you count Rosy Palm as a sex partner -- I can't help but chuckle. Very often over the past two years I've smiled post-orgasm at the thought that I am becoming the sex slave to Master Bation.

"Yes, I have no shame. Who can afford it?”

Who can? I agree in my mind.

Ben switches the topic to the weapon at my side and his chances of getting away with either overpowering me or escaping me.

"Just cook the food," I cut into his endless chattering, "And you won't have to consider dying doing either."

And yet he just continues onward, like one of those Chatty Cathy dolls my grandmother wouldn't let us little ones play with because they were antiques and worth more to her than her grandchildren's joy and pleasure.

“Best chance I got is if you were to take a shower then I could maybe sneak out. That’s if I’m not praying for a whole to be somewhere in your home to give me a view.”

"Maybe I'd let you watch," I say, again smirking widely. As I watch his face redden noticeably, I counter the idea with, "Or maybe I'd put the end of my Desert Eagle in the hole and put a bullet through your eye ... and skull."

Other than his flushed face -- the cause of which may have been his suggestion or my subsequent one, I'm not sure -- I'm not sure how my comment of possibly shooting him in the head affects him. I don't know whether he's ranting on out of nervousness, or because he is simply a chatty person, or because he has no real fear of me. He's a hard person to figure out as he continues working away at the meal that is now -- and with great relief and joy from me -- filling the underground space with the wonderful smell of burning animal scraps.

“Umm got any spices for the hash? Seasoned salt?”

When he turns to look at me, I wag a finger toward a metal shelf unit standing against the wall. "Whatever I've scavenged is in there. Make yourself to home."

He takes out and uses what he wants, and as he does so, I consider some of his questions and comments, particularly the one about showering. I feel a twinge in my groin, and I know it's a result of wanting. I've only just met this man -- this boy -- so obviously I won't be fucking him anytime soon, if ever. But that knowledge doesn't keep my pussy from beginning to lube itself in anticipation.



Ten minutes later, I run the tip of my finger across the plastic dinner plate to get the last of the sauce from the corned beef hash. It was a simple meal -- canned hash, canned corn, canned asparagus, and canned grapes -- but it was more food than I'd eaten in the previous week, so my brain thinks it was the best meal my stomach has ever accepted.

I was still in my chair on one side of the room while Ben is on the couch on the other side of the room, where I'd directed him to sit so I could keep an eye on him. Once finished, I stand and make my way to an old metal, four drawer, office file cabinet. I open it and remove a bottle of beer. I had sworn again and again that -- like a fine bottle of champagne or a good cigar -- that I would save this last bottle of thick, rich microbrew for a special occasion.

And I'm thinking that this might be it. I retrieve a glass from the counter top, pour half of the beer into it, and cross to stand before Ben. As I offer both of them out to let him chose glass or bottle, I saw, "Don't tell your folks. You look a bit underage for alcohol."

I crack a bit of a smile and back away, my gaze on the stranger as I reach and lean back against the dinner table that -- like the recliner -- I man-handled down from an upstairs apartment. As I sip at my half of the drink, I tell him, "Ben ... I have a deal for you. I need someone to help me with ... tasks that I have in mind for the neighborhood. I'm looking for a partner."

I sip at the rich drink again, then continue, "I'll watch your back. You watch mine. You seem like a man who knows how to move around."

Ben's trek down the street through the rubble, while being fired upon, had impressed me. I glance to the rifle standing next to my chair, then cross to another metal cabinet and open it to reveal another three rifles of different calibers and two shotguns. I continue, "And I know how to pick off trouble makers ... as you may recall from your hundred meter dash out on Dalton."

Slowly, I start back across the room toward Ben, continuing, "We split everything fifty-fifty, but ... I give the orders ... and you follow them."

When I stopped walking, I was practically standing over him. Standing so close and above him as well, my Double D's in a tight fitting black tee shirt and support bra must have looked even larger to the young man. I look over the top of them with a slight smirk, wondering whether any man could pass on such an offer from a woman shaped like me, and ask, "Whatcha think?"

 

[Dreamwalker85]

"Name's Ben. Just make sure I leave behind a beautiful corpse before you bury me. I’m just happy I’d have a grave,” I comment idly. There were so many people that didn’t have them. Honestly, I’d just like to have my own if the worse as to happen. “What’s yours?”

The blonde was just letting me talk. Maybe my plan wasn’t working out like I had hoped. Her comments to the shower, got me thinking about Max’s body wet, soapy, and everything on display. Everything about her body for my eyes to see. The few seconds of it was so very sweet. Then the image of the gun ran through my mind. With a simple “Blam!” my body was on the floor and that was it. Shivering the nightmarish vision brought me back to reality.

At least she let me enjoy her spice rack. I wish it would have been her metaphorical rack instead of a literal one. Luckily she did have some season salt. Before long I was cooking more bits and serving them. Max forced me out into the other room where I was ordered to sit. Normally I would have complained but everything about where I was sitting felt too soft. Furniture was loads better than the ground or rubble. “You just want something to watch with your dinner. A free show and meal for you,” I say half-teasing, half-not.

Then before I knew it the blonde Rambo was standing over me, handing me a drink. I took a sip then nodded, “Can do. No one will know about this.” My eyes roamed over her and they couldn’t help, but to stop on Max’s breasts. Seconds later I was shocked. A proposal? Me? I wasn’t able to get out of there if it wasn’t for Max.

I tried to say something to her, but I couldn’t get my mouth to work. Both of my eyes didn’t want to tear away from her breasts either. Breathing out I tried to center myself. Instead of sounding confident all that came out of my mouth was, “I ummm-uhhh..I…,” and my eyes still didn’t leave her chest.
Tearing away my eyes by closing them and even looking down I spoke with as much courage as I could muster, which probably wasn’t much. Right now there was a tent in my pants that was so very hard to ignore. Still, I had to try. “Everything’s even. You don’t run out on me during a job, or here, and you’ll get the same from me. No need to keep me here at gunpoint unless it gets you off. I understand you’ve got some military training. It oozes off of you. What are the boundaries? Do you want me to see you naked or shoot at me if I cross a privacy line? Also, I want to sleep somewhere nice and not on a floor, or bath tub. Those are my conditions and questions. There’ll be more questions and maybe one more demand. Perhaps two.” Catching the end of my speech I'm sure I sounded like a weakling trying to demand for a favor. Damn her lovely breasts.

 

[Alice2015]

"...There’ll be more questions and maybe one more demand. Perhaps two.”

Ben was rambling again, but I understood why. He was having one helluva time keeping his gaze above my collar bone, which only caused my smirk to widen as he went on.

"You won't be seeing me naked..."

As I was saying it, I meant it. Even though I'd spent most of the last hour fantasizing about having Ben's cock deep inside me, I knew there had to be, as he called them, boundaries.

I finished my statement, "...and if you do, it'll be the last thing you see."

I sounded confident in what I was saying because I meant it ... at the time. Little did I know that one day soon, this young man would be making me scream out in ecstasy.

"As far as a place to sleep," I went on, turning my back on Ben for the first time in our two hours together to walk back to my chair and drop into it. I knew that the black slacks I'd found to replace my worn out fatigues fit my ass tightly, so I didn't hurry to turn my ass from him view, wanting to give him something to fantasize about with Rosy Palm later. "We'll be moving upstairs tomorrow. I couldn't afford to leave my little basement paradise without the ammo bag I retrieved today."

For the week leading up to the fire fight three days ago, I'd been fortifying the building's access points to make it a more secure building. The doors and windows on the first floor were all now blocked with sheets of plywood I'd stripped from the building's interior and further reinforced with the heavies furniture I could find. And the windows on the second and third floors were blocked with various pieces of wood or metal in such a way that I could quickly remove one or two pieces to create a sniper's nest.

The only way into the building now was through the labyrinth Ben and I had traveled, which was rigged with both noise makers and dangerous booby traps; or from the roof via aircraft, which wasn't going to happen since, as far as I knew, there wasn't a plane or helicopter left in one piece in all of the state; or by breaking through the barricades on the first floor, which would be rather dangerous to the intruders as they, too, were booby trapped against invasion.

"We'll move upstairs in the morning," I told Ben. She, casting my glance from his face to his body, I added, "But in the mean time--" I wrinkled my nose and took on a playful tone. "--you have got ... to take a bath and burn those fucking clothes."

I pointed to an open door and said, "Solar water heater. It's not hot, but it's not cold either. Soap and shampoo ... razor ... couple of dozen toothbrushes, still in their packages. Second floor dentist office, thank you very much. Get cleaned up, and I'll take you on a tour of your new home ... get you some new clothes."

 

[Dreamwalker85]

“People have died to less appealing sights. At least my last memory would have been a good one,” I said with a smirk. I didn’t want to die. No one wanted to die I suspect unless they were like Mel Gibson from Lethal Weapon.
Then she explained the sleeping arrangements. An eyeful was given to me. I wondered if it was intentional or not. Max wouldn’t have teased me like that, right? Sure she gave an eyeful, but the woman didn’t seem to be into guys like me. Then the place was explained in vague details. “What’s so important about upstairs? Won’t we get pegged off?”

Upon hearing about my smell I blushed a little. Taking off my coat I even took a sniff of my armpit. God, that was only a little bad. I’d probably go so used to my won smell I was probably worse than I thought. The blush brightened as I went into the shower. “Leave them outside the door. I don’t want to dirty them up.” Stepping inside the shower rom I close the door.

Getting into the shower after I start up the water I just savor it. Clean water, nothing that came from a lake. Sure, it wasn’t hot showers. I missed those, one of the things I missed the most about the old world. Taking a wash cloth and soap I lathered up and began soaping up my body. Time ticked by as my skin started to turn lighter shades as the caked dirt mixed with the water and went down the drain.

Honestly, I lost track of everything by the time I grabbed the shampoo and conditioner. The familiar suds went into my hair and slowly washed away. Turning off the water I grabbed a towel, dried off as best I could. Wrapping it around my lower half I breathe out.

My body had actually strengthened a bit since the attack. I could have been a trackstar before. Now, I know I would have been if I had the body now. There was a lot of lean muscle as I gave myself enough nutrients to not have my body digest muscle. I wasn’t sure how people would have found it. It was hard to the touch no matter where you touched.

Opening the door I walked out and gave Max a look, this was potential payback for the earlier display. Taking the clothes outside the door I went back inside the small room. Dropping the towel I put on a button up jean shirt and some jeans. The dirty clothes were left in a pile in a plastic container. I think it was going to be burned with the clothes.

“I’m going to head upstairs, need anything while I’m up there?” I asked looking at her.

 

[Alice2015]

(OOC: I have a couple of First Person role plays that are being written in Present Tense. I am having trouble flipping back and forth between Present and Past Tense, so I hope you don't mind that I switch to Present Tense here. You do not have to do the same. I just need to do this to keep my sanity.)

>>>>>><<<<<<​

After he departs, I draw and release a deep breath, thinking Wrong man, wrong time, Maxi Baby. Wrong man, wrong time.

It's been over two years since I've felt the pleasure of man's mouth, hands, and penis. I've had opportunities, but never such easy ones as this with such an obviously good looking man. But I know that I need to maintain superiority in what ever relationship upon which Ben and I are about to embark. Business, I tell myself as I start to forage through a stack of clothes, looking for something that will fit Ben. Business ... and survival. Keep your thighs closed and you eyes open, and you'll be just--

I find and lift before my eyes a thin blue denim shirt. I chuckle. The style -- with the pre-rolled up sleeves and little button securing them has been out of style for years, decades maybe. But then, at the 21st century continued onward, Style became what ever you wanted it to be, I guess. I can remember my sister, a fashionista, telling me that Retro was always in style.

Thank god for military fatigues, I think as I continue to dig through the pile. I have never had to worry much about style. The Army, the CIA, and then VSS: they each provided me with what to wear on the job, and since my job was usually a 24/7 type of position, I rarely wore anything but my uniforms, either dress, duty, or fatigues.

As I take the seven or eight chosen items from which Ben can choose to the chair outside the bathroom door, I think back, trying to remember the last time I actually bought clothes for myself, other than panties and bras. As I listen to the water splashing beyond the door, I realize that I can't. Wait! The wedding. When my sister got married, a few months before the Coneheads' arrival, I bought a dress and shoes. Yeah ... I remember that dress.

A long moment passes, and suddenly I realize that I've simply been listening to the water splash beyond the door, wondering... What...? What are you wondering? I smile, chastising chastise myself. I realize that I'm wondering and actually fantasizing that Ben -- now naked, wet, soaped up, and clean -- is grasping his cock and stroking it to the image of me laid over an abandon car's hood, legs spread, pussy swallowing up his long cock as he strokes it hard, deep, and fast.

"Wow," I whisper as I move away from the door. I'm surprised because I realize that that is my fantasy, whether or not it is Ben's. "Get a hold of yourself, Maxi Baby."

I wash the plates we used and toss the plastic ware into the trash. No recycling pressures any more, I think. Once done with the always minimal house work, I lean back against the counter and finish my half beer, waiting.

And the wait is worth it. Ben emerges from the bathroom with a large towel wrapped low around his waist. He is ... simply beautiful. Toned. Solid. Well sculpted. Thank you Mother Nature, I think as he gathers the offered clothes and hesitates before turning back to the bathroom. If his front side had excited me, his back side -- a nice, muscular, tight ass -- only preceded to get me wet with anticipation.

I wonder if he is intentionally giving me an extended ogle of his manly form, then -- as I remember the little ass wiggling show I'd given earlier -- think to myself, Of COURSE he is, you wanton slut. I tell him as he drops his old clothes next to the chair, "I'll burn those later."

After he closes the door, I turn away from the door, suddenly aware that my nipples are hard. Fuck! Did he see that? Suddenly, I wished I was still wearing my street vest. I look to the door to ensure that it is closed, then reach up to run my fingers over one, then the other nipple. Fuck...

I drop my hands, then turn and find, then don my vest again. I am fully aware that I used my sexuality -- flashing my big tits and shapely ass -- as part of our earlier negotiation about Ben staying on. But I can't have him knowing how easily he gets me hot, either. I look to the door again -- just to be sure -- then lean over and part my thighs, just to be sure. I sigh with relief, thinking, Not wet ... good.

When Ben emerges, I look him over again. Despite now being dressed, I can still see his fit body in my mind's eye ... in my horny mind's eye. I say simply, "Much better. You don't announce your imminent arrival now."

The last comment was, of course, about the nasty clothes on the floor. I retrieve a plastic garbage bag from the standing cabinet and give it to him. "Bag'em. Make sure you check your pockets before you burn'em."

I realize that I am probably sounding like a mom, but the direction is actually from my military training. You would be surprised what gets left behind in pockets sometimes. I could tell you stories about hints and clues we'd gleaned from prisoners over my career, just from a scrap of paper, candy wrapper, or tool found in a pants, shirt, or vest pocket.

Ben says...

“I’m going to head upstairs, need anything while I’m up there?”

"Unless you want to be dead," I say, turning to retrieve, reload, and sling over my shoulder the T91, "you might not want to do that."

I retrieve a few more things I'd been planning on taking topside as I explain that some of the floors have booby traps. I snatch a .30-06 rifle -- scoped, for sniping -- from the gun rack, and say, "C'mon. I'll show you the way."

The Dalton Building -- named after the same family for which Dalton Boulevard had been named -- had once housed retail shops on the ground floor, professional offices on the second and third, and apartments on the fourth through eighth. With twenty retail stores, forty offices, and fifty apartments, the building had once been home to more than two hundred people and serviced as many as five thousand customers a day, more during the shopping seasons, of course.

Now, of course, it was all mine. Well, I think, as I look down the stairwell behind me at Ben -- whose gaze I think I discovered on my wavering ass -- ours now. I tell him something about the buildings past as we climb. And I disarm the fishing string-triggered booby traps as we go along.

The building is, of course, a mess. Immediately after the Conehead's biological attack, there were bodies on every floor. Then came the panic and people hurried to pack what they could and flee. Then came the looting. Then came the neglect. There was two years of dust and decay where once upon a time there had been a maintenance staff of six to deal with it.

Once we reach the third floor, I open a few doors along the way, pointing out apartments that had had male occupants and might now offer Ben a wider assortment of clothes and shoes. I glance back at the huge deck shoes that had been the only thing I could offer him at the time. "I'm sure we can find you a pair of boots some place."

I don't realize it now, but we won't. After an exhaustive search, we won't be able to find a pair of suitable boots anywhere in the building. We'll end up going outside for that, but -- of course -- we won't know that for a couple of days.

During our tour, I have been careful to keep us in the hallway that runs down the length and middle of the floors. When we reach the eighth floor, I open a door and explain why. "The Dalton Building is the tallest in the neighborhood. That's why I picked it. It offers vantage points ... places from which we can watch the neighborhood and, if necessary, sniper nests from which we can defend ourselves."

I take a moment to study Ben. I've only just met him a couple of hours earlier, and yet I'm telling him things that I shouldn't be telling him. Why? My training is telling me that I should have tossed him back out on the street with a badly needed shower, a change of clothes, and a split of the canned goods. But my mind -- my lust addled mind -- is telling me You gotta trust someone some time, Maxi, if you're going to accomplish what it is you want to accomplish. And ... besides ... he really looked good with no clothes on.

"But..." I continue, moving inside the apartment and along the wall, gesturing Ben to follow in my footsteps. When we reach the window, over which there is not just the normally expected bug screen but a second one as well -- preventing people on the outside from seeing any movement inside the room -- I point out to the streets below, and more specifically the building above them. "...if you step up into one of these windows ... and one of our friendly neighborhood snipers is paying attention..."

I don't find it necessary to further explain. A couple of hours ago, Ben was being chased by bullets, so I'm sure that he understands my meaning. I continue, "So ... you are welcome to scrounge around for anything you need. Boots, clothes, jackets ... girly magazines..."

I smile broadly as I turn and hug the wall back toward the door, continuing, "I've scavenged each and every room thoroughly for food and weapons, but ... anything else you find of interest..."

I hear a shot in the distance and instinctive lift the sniper rifle. But the shot -- and subsequent ones -- are blocks away and of little concern to me. "So ... you asked me earlier about moving upstairs. About whether or not it was a good idea."

I gesture Ben to follow me and as we make our way to the corner apartment overlooking Dalton Boulevard and Front Street, I explain, "I didn't randomly choose this building as a hideaway, Ben."

I push the door open to reveal something the young man likely hasn't seen in two years: order. I step inside a few steps, looking about myself. The room looks just as it had three years ago, the last time I stood in it before the alien attack. Clean, neatly decorated, elegantly furnished and appointed. It has an early 20th century feel to it.

The first thing I did after returning to Dalton was to correct the damage done by the looters. Not everything in this room now had been here before, and not everything that had been here before was here now. But, days of scrounging and hours of redecorating -- of course, by a woman who knew nothing about redecorating, namely me -- got this living room, the attached bedrooms and kitchen, and even the bathroom back into a condition of which I think the former occupants would have approved.

I turn to look at Ben, and when I do I am embarrassed to realize that my eyes are glazing over. I say with a voice that's threatening to choke up, "This was my parent's home."

 

[Dreamwalker85]

Catching a look at Max, I saw she was in a tank top when I grabbed my clothes. When I came back out she was in a vest. Why the hell did she put that on?

Comments came about my smell and all I could was shrug, “I just smell like the land. I guarantee you if I announce my presents there are others out there that scream theirs to the heavens,” a smile came to my lips. A few memories linger about other scavengers that made my own nose curl.

Taking all the bags I loaded up everything after extensively searching the pockets. Leaving out the shoes I slip them on my feet. I’m not exploring anything in just a pair of socks. Max’s tone has a motherly bit. I’m not sure if she was falling back on military training or if there may have been a little one in her life before things went to shit. I wasn’t going to ask.

Then all the warnings came about the third floor. We began to look through everything, and I stayed close to her just hugging the walls like she was. All the warnings of snipers came and all I could do was nod. “Yes Ma’am.” “You got it.” Stay away from windows,” I heard myself say falling into step. For some reason I felt like her recruit.

For some reason she talked about me finding girly mags. I didn’t think she wanted to know when I jerked off and what I jerked off too. Unfortunately my lips and brain weren’t communicating well today, “Why would I jerk off to a picture of a dead woman when I can jerk off to you? I mean if you bend over just right or walk out in front of me forgetting to put on a towel. Whatever, ten times better than a magazine, plus I may have a shot with you. Sure it could be a point zero, zero, zero, zero, one percent chance it’s still a chance. More of a chance I would have than someone in a spank bank magazine. Depending on the year they may have died long before the invasion. Also, I can’t see too many porn models surviving everything going tits up like it did. Some, sure but not all, I’m sure posing in the water with big jiggly tits is not a good survival skill in today’s day and age,” by the time I was done I blushed and walked away wanting to curl up into a hole. I can’t believe I said all of that.

Following Max I just stayed close and stared into the apartment. For a second I felt like I was taken back in time. The place just reminded me of the world. How it was. How it should have been. People should have worried about bills, groceries, condoms and winning the lottery. Not when they were going to east, if a crew of people would have killed them Mad Max style. The world didn’t make sense anymore. At least if you were an outsider looking in.

Seeing Maxine’s toughness crack a little all I could do was wrap my arms around her. She didn’t ask for it. If anything she probably would have tossed me away. Didn’t matter, I just held her close to me. I tried to tuck her head into my chest, “I lost people too. Everyone has. My family and I were a group of six. My younger brother went in the biological shake down. Then my older sister. Mom got separated in a raid. Then I did,” I admitted to her. Hopefully she would have found comfort in the fact that she wasn’t alone when it came to painful memories with family.

Moments passed between us before I said, "They'd be proud that their girl found a way to survive and let their memory live on."

 

[Alice2015]

"...I’m sure posing in the water with big jiggly tits is not a good survival skill in today’s day and age.”

I smile and -- a couple of times -- even chuckle at Ben's comments about masturbation, sex, strippers, and more. He's a funny guy, and I'm already thinking that maybe I've made a good choice with whom I want to risk associating myself.

I'm not expecting tears to form in my eyes, nor am I expecting Ben to take me into his arms either. And yet, I let him. Despite my lust for him and his constant banter about how sexy I am, it isn't a sexual sort of hug. It's comforting, and -- based upon my not kicking him in the nuts and telling him to back off -- it must also be badly needed because I press my face into his shoulder and let the tears come.

I listen to him talk about his family, lost but obviously not forgotten, before commenting on my own...

"They'd be proud that their girl found a way to survive and let their memory live on."

I'm not sure how to respond to that. My father had never approved of my military service, and with the War on Terror continuing well into the terms of a fourth, fifth, and sixth Presidency before it was no longer relevant in the larger scheme of things, my ill-informed mother had never believed that my time at the CIA had been anything more than a an 8-5 job of water boarding jihadists. I'd tried to explain to her that I had nothing to do with interrogations, that I was in the field. But since I knew she would be even less enthused to learn that I was a CIA sniper -- let alone that I had been the one to put a bullets through the skulls of three popular but anti-American African leaders during my four years -- I chose to just let her believe that I was somehow involved in torturing what she generically referred to as Ay-rabs.

I clear my throat, wipe my eyes on Ben's shirt and again on my fingers, then back away from him, turning to hide my embarrassment. I don't show my emotions like this to people ... particularly to men ... and especially to men I've only just met. I murmur, "I'm sure they'd be tickled. Listen, I um..."

I half glance over my shoulder at Ben, then nod my head toward the open door. Why don't you pick one of the apartments at the end of the hall. Maybe the one kitty corner to this one ... overlooking Harrison and First. That'll give us eyes on all four streets surrounding the building."

The Dalton Building took up almost the entire block between Front Street on the east -- beyond which was the river -- Dalton Boulevard on the north, First Street on the west, and Harrison Avenue on the south. The building's sides didn't sit parallel to the streets, though. The building sat like a diamond inside a square. The triangular spaces in the block's corners had been community areas: in the northwest corner was a fountain that had once been surrounded by coffee, hot dog, and newspaper vendor carts; in the northeast corner was the Metro Station's ticket and information booth, as well as the access to the subway system; in the southeast corner was a children's playground that once had been surrounded by ice cream, elephant ear, and balloon vendors; and in the southwest corner was an elaborate system of three hundred computer controlled water jets that created a fountain display that -- on her treasured though infrequent visits to her parents' home -- had been able to keep Max entranced and mesmerized for hours on end.

"With me here," I continue, "on the north corner, and you on the south ... we can see any potential danger before it gets to close."

I move to the wall next to the window and peek outward. It's ironic, I think for the thousandth time. It doesn't look that bad really.

The irony of which I am thinking is that the Capital isn't destroyed so much as it is simply abandoned. Oh, sure, the streets are filled with abandoned cars and some wreckage and debris and two years worth of blown leaves and grass in the sidewalk cracks. But it's not like the Coneheads bombed the city. Sure, occasionally their aircraft strafed the streets, sometimes using cannons, other times using bombs. But for the most part, they just killed or ran off the humans that -- for what ever reason, we didn't yet know -- they wanted out of their hair ... or lack of hair now that I thought of their appearance again.

"I, um..." I contemplate whether I want to tell Ben this. I've already cried on his shoulder about my family, as well as invited him to join me in living in the Dalton, so ... What the hell! I think. I look to him and smile. "Ben ... I have a dream. Not an MLK kind of thing, but..."

I look out the window again, thinking about the past two years of post-alien invasion, then the decade before that in which I had always been dedicated to my work, even when I didn't believe in it.

"I want to create something here, Ben," I continue, still looking out the window. Despite being able to see for blocks and even miles what with the wide river being just beyond the Front Avenue and the Riverfront Park, my gaze is set upon the fore ground. "I want to get past the alien destruction ... past the in fighting between humans ... and build something lasting ... meaningful ... safe and secure."

I turn to look at him again, asking, "Is that naïve of me?"

 

[Dreamwalker85]

“You don’t need to give me apartment if you don’t want to. I mean, we can still work out a system right?” I asked. Part of me worried about getting too comfortable. With all the precaution she put into windows it made me nervous one day I wasn’t going to check. Then on that day there was going to be a ring of a gunshot and my body hitting the floor. A visible shiver ran through me.

Then Max talked about having dreams. There was nothing wrong with dreams. Hell, they were probably going to be worth their weight in gold. People were going to need new hopes to cling to. Seconds later she asked if it was wrong to have them. Thinking on it I carefully prepared an answer.

“No. You’re following basic human instinct just like half or two thirds of the planet right now. Some people want to go back to the way things work, with some improvements for different reasons. You have people, based upon the teachings of the likes of Foucault, where they see the benefit of forming societies in the name of safety. Bigger numbers, more secure people feel. This is why you’ve got groups of scavengers, thieves, murderers, rapists and whatever. Safety in numbers thing,” leaning against a wall I kept talking. Shrugging a little, “Then you’ve got the nostalgic. Those that are old enough to remember how things were. They desire to see the world as they know it should be,” smirking I looked at her. “I mean I could do without some of the big box stores, things like that. I’m sure someone will say congress, others will say Parliament, depending on where they are. Just a world nearly the same,” deep down I knew I was part of this category. Max sounded like she was part of this group too. Siging a revelation came to me. “There’s a third group too. I mean it wasn’t that long ago, but you’re going to have children born into this shit. The world we know will become a dream, a fairy tale, unless we see some drastic changes. The world of bills, paper deadlines, and all that will be the stuff of dreams. They may want to hear our boring days and treat the stories of our annoyances like they’re the things of dreams. It’s sad that we sort of squandered it, y’know?” I said then shrugged again before looking down the hall. Tipping toward the room I opened the door.

Crying out before peeking into my room I added, “It doesn’t make anyone that wants these things sad, pathetic or whatever. I makes anyone that wants these things like everyone else. It makes us all, human.”

 

[Alice2015]

"It makes us all, human.”

My lips spreads in a slight smile at that word. Human. The Coneheads had tried and continue to this day to try to wipe out us Humans, for what ever their reasons might be. And the surviving Humans, desperate to survive, took to killing their fellow Humans. I wonder for a moment whether being Human is really such a great thing to be after all.

But, what are the options, right?

I warn Ben about the booby traps on the Dalton's accesses -- windows, doors, and basement sewer access -- then tell him to feel free to scrounge up anything he can find in the building to make himself comfortable in his new apartment. I head back down stairs to the basement and begin inventorying the weapons, ammunition, and other resources that we will need topside, prioritizing what should be taken upstairs first and where it should be positioned for potential use.

I've never felt comfortable with permanently leaving the basement before today. It was impossible to keep an eye on all of the open spaces, roads, and other buildings surrounding the Dalton on my own. I have needed to be close to the sewer access in the basement, which is the only certain way to escape the building in the case of a major offensive.

Ben found himself being chased by four men this morning. And while that may sound like a danger no one wants to face, there are bigger ones out there. All across the Capital, gangs and militias use force, coercion, and resource management to control variously sized swaths of the city.

Despite no longer having the internet, cable, Twitter, and all of those other forms of communication and social media, news still gets around the Capital. I stand over the FM radio and the CB radio, sitting side by side in the basement, and I recall the long nights of sitting here in the dark, listening to the sometimes horrific stories of what's happening out there in the city.

And it scares me. It scares me to think that at any moment, one of those well armed militia might decide to come to the Dalton, to see what kind of treasure they might be able to pillage. I recall the reason I left the VSS hideout in the mountain -- the rape attempt by what were supposed to be my comrades in arms -- and I shiver at the thought of becoming play thing for an entire militia.

What if Ben is one ... a bad man ... a rapist? I wonder. What do you really know about him ... except that he had some really nice abs and thinks your tits are worth staring at? I shrug the thought off. Not because I don't believe its possible for Ben to be just another ruthless man, but because I have to take the risk that he isn't.

When I left the mountain compound and began preparing for coming back to the Dalton, I'd done so thinking that it would be just a few days, maybe a few weeks before I'd find good, kind, peaceful people who thought the same way I did. But it's been two years, and I am still alone. Well ... alone with the images of the many bodies I've left in my wake.

I have to take a chance on Ben. Don't I? Can I? Another shiver runs through me as I wonder, Are you making a mistake? It's not too late to take a step back. I can simply tell him I changed my mind. No offense intended, I can tell him as I blind fold him and lead him back out the labyrinth and toss him to the street. At least he'll be better dressed. Smell better, too.



Ben is standing in his apartment when he turns to find me in the doorway ... my side arm drawn and hanging at my side. I study him for a moment, wondering whether I am doing the right thing or not. I grip the pistol tightly, then cover the distance between us until I am just out of reach of him. I lift the pistol, then tilt it to display it to him, not point it at him.

"Do you know how to use one of these?" I ask. I kick out the clip, offering it out, as I begin his first lesson in weapons handling...

 

[Dreamwalker85]

The afternoon was filled with a lot. For most of it I felt like an idiot. Maxine had to explain how to turn the safety on and off three times. Our target practice session was sad. My second to last shot was the only one that managed to hit anything. Seriously, Stormtroopers were more accurate than me out there. I think I saw her smile at me once or twice. Was she just amused by how sucky I was? Was it something more? I wasn't sure.

Dinner came and I was ordered back into the kitchen again. I tried to ask more questions about benefits. Seriously, if this was going to be one of my roles here the last she could have done was provided a dessert. Something. during our training Max mentioned going to the roof to do more lessons.

Taking some canned ravioli and a side of canned peaches divided into two bowls I went up to Max, who was waiting on me.

"So what would you do if the world was suddenly fixed one day? Like say six months from now the world decided it was fixed...What would you do? Where would you go?"

Handing Max her servings I began to eat at my meal. I was curious about her answers. If we were going to be living together in the same building I wanted to know more about her. It helped that she was easy on the eyes too.

 

[Alice2015]

I have never been one to take joy in the inabilities of others, but I have to admit that watching Ben in weapons training was a kick. It reminded me of watching my then-six year old niece playing basketball in the Church league.

"It's a good thing you can run fast," I said at one point, and when he shot me a look, I couldn't help but laugh aloud. I had tossed my hands up in a surrender gesture and apologized, saying, "Hey, c'mon, we all have things we can't do well. For instance, I can't ... um... Oh! I know! I can't cook. See...? We all have a weakness.

Ben hadn't seemed to impressed with my shortcoming, and he'd been even less impressed when he realized that my admission had been a round about way of talking him into cooking dinner.



We settle down in a pair of recliners we'd packed to the roof earlier with TV trays in our laps. The sky above is incredible. I tell him with a soft voice, "I come up here often. With the electric grid down, you can see the stars again."

Across the city, there was virtually no artificial lighting of which to speak. Some of the more organized militias had generators, and one of them had a direct tap to the South Side Solar Project, which the Coneheads had, for unknown reasons, left untouched by their occasional bombing runs.

"When I was young," I continue, picking at the ravioli, tearing it apart as if dissecting a frog, then cutting the halves, then again, then again, like I used to do when I was a little girl. "Daddy used to come up here with me to look at the stars. I thought they were so beautiful. Of course, you could only see a fraction of them, but I wouldn't learn that until I joined the Army and went to Survival School out in the Mohave. I can remember the first time I looked up and saw the Milky Way. It was the first time I felt seriously small ... and yet ... it also made me feel like I was part of something so big."

We eat our meal, occasionally chatting about the Capital, about the world, about the Coneheads, which Ben explains he prefers to call the Cones out of a desire not to denigrate their Saturday Night Life namesake.

"I can do that," I tell him, laughing. I explain that I'm not laughing at him. "I'm laughing at what we -- you and I, and others, too -- see as important in this world ... as what's worth saving and protecting. You ... you like your Coneheads. Me...?" I stick a fork in one of the peach slices and shove it in my mouth, saying, "I'd kill to find the tree these came off of."

We laugh and talk through dinner, and then he suddenly asks...

"So what would you do if the world was suddenly fixed one day? Like say six months from now the world decided it was fixed...What would you do? Where would you go?"

"Fixed...?" I muse.

I look up to the stars and wonder, Is it broken? Planet Earth -- or more specifically Humanity -- was on the way to death and destruction even before the Coneheads -- the Cones! -- arrived. Global warming, chemical poisoning, killer diseases, war, famine, pollution...

Humanity had been doomed. The Cones simply put the last nail in the coffin. Ironically, with 90, 95, maybe even 99% percent of the planet's population now dead, the planet was actually healthier than it had been in 200 years. It isn't like I am happy that everyone was dead, of course. I'm just ... torn ... as to whether it had actually been a horrific loss or a ... correction.

"I'd go away," I answer. "I don't want to be a part of that old world. Cars clogging the highways, coal plants spewing their toxins into the sky, the rich getting richer while the poor get poorer ... proud, heroic veterans living on the street while cheating stock traders get their wrists slapped for losing millions, then returning home to their hill top mansions."

I stand, slinging the .30-06 over my shoulder and walking a few steps closer to the edge. I know from experience how close I to the building's lip I can get and still remain safe from potential snipers nests in neighboring buildings. I turn to look at Ben, softly illuminated by the light of the half moon.

"I came back here, to the Dalton," I continue, "because I want to -- as you hint -- fix the world." I point to the roof top at my feet. "Solar panels for electricity. Rain catchers, directing water into the sprinkler system and down through out the building to apartments full of men, women, and children ... living and working together. Hydroponics providing fresh vegetables to keep our little ones healthy. Health care ... a doctor who will make house calls. Okay, apartment calls, but you know what I mean."

I step closer to Ben as I continue. "It's all possible. It can be done. All it takes is someone with a dream..." I lift my hand and lay it to my bosom. "...and someone who is willing to help with that dream..." I lower my hand toward Ben, then drop it back to my side.

"Listen, I, um... I know that that is a lot to ask." I chuckle. "It's not like you answered an Ad. Dreamer needs workaholic to save the planet. You were brought her under duress. And ... and you don't have to be part of this crazy plot of mine if you don't want. Stay here ... live here. Be safe and secure." I smirk and tilt my head a bit. "Cook me delicious dinners occasionally." I laugh again. "Keep me company ... make me laugh with all of your incessant rambling."

I am standing close to Ben's seat by now. I sit atop an exhaust fan vent and look into his eyes. I don't mean for my tone to become so serious, but I can't help it. "I can't be alone anymore, Ben. One more day without someone to talk to..." I lift the disposable cup filled with juice from the can of fruit slices. "...someone to have five star cuisine with ... and I'm liable to eat a bullet, rather than a seriously out of date can of peaches."

 

[Dreamwalker85]

"I didn't mean go back to how sucky the world was. I mean try to make it so y'know, less raping, stealing from one another, more working together," I replied back softly. Then she talked about the dream, "I'd like that. I'd want a sexy neighbor to be cozy with. Cozy and sexy with," a smile pulled on my lips. Sitting back on the lawn chair a little more.

"I'd love to help. I was a runner. Peopel were going to set up some grants and awards for me before. So ummm, at best I could just be the stores delivery boy and guy that cooks can stuff, yay" the sarcasm dripped from my words at the end.

Breathing out I leaned back into the chair, "At least with the world being as it is I've got some uses. Maybe more than I did before it went to hell in a handbag," it was sad to admit this but ti was the truth.

"Yeah, you pressured me into it. If I didn't want to be here I could have shot you. I don't want to for the record," my hands went up. "To be honest with you I was just as alone as you. Well, I don't have a giant place to get sensory deprivation, but doesn't mean I'm less alone. You saved my life. One day I hope to return the favor. Even if I didn't owe you, I have my own place here. Can't even say I had that before the invasion. That's progress, right?"

 

[Alice2015]

"That's progress, right?"

I smile wide at the thought. "Six ... maybe seven billion dead ... the world changed irreparably ... aliens in control. But hey...! I own an apartment building, and you have a corner penthouse. Progress."

I laugh and reach out to slap Ben on the thigh before standing and returning to stand next to my recliner. I pick up the last ravioli in my fingers and turn back to face Ben as I stuff it in my mouth. I smile as I chew and then swallow it, then say, "Bed time."

I can sense the smart aleck comment building in his mind and, laughing, clarify, "Me in mine ... you in yours."

I turn for the roof access, but then stop. I look over my shoulder to him and turn in profile. The moon shines down upon my figure, and I see the young man ogle me once again, as I've caught him doing often during the day.

"I'm not frigid, Ben," I say bluntly. "And I'm not a lesbian or man hater."

I hesitate for a moment considering that last comment. I have, in fact, spent a few wonderful evenings with some wonderful women in the past, but I've never considered myself even bisexual, let alone homosexual. And there have been times in my life when I would have liked to put a bullet through the brain of every man I saw. But neither of these is the reason why I am not inviting the young hunk to my bed.

"I have to know someone before I can..." I hesitate to contemplate my words, then finish, "I don't know you, Ben. You wouldn't enjoy it. I promise you. Maybe someday."

I can't help but drop my gaze for a moment to his groin, out on display for me in the way he is sitting back in the recliner. I think I see him hardened, but then it could just be the moonlight playing on the folds of his new jeans. I smile as I look back up to his face.

"Maybe someday soon."

I turn and enter the stairwell, descending one floor to hurry to my room. I'm anxious. I take a quick check of the neighborhood from the windows of the living room, which faces Dalton on one side and Front on the other. Then I retire to my bed room, strip to the skin, and spend the next twenty minutes or so fantasizing about sitting in Ben's lap in his recliner under the stars ... and drive myself to a deeply satisfying orgasm.

 

[Dreamwalker85]

Hearing about how I put the few small slivers of light in the vast darkness that was today's world made me smile. "Hey, small victories."

When she said "Bed time" I wanted to make a comment, but I couldn't. Even before Max laid out rules.

Then as she stood there I just savored the details of Max's figures. Rising from the chair I waved my hands after she said the not knowing comment. "Look we just met. I figured two meals, at best, would have given me a flash of breasts." A smile was on my face then I tried to stop her speech, "We just met. Unless there was a lot of beer involved even on my best day, in the planet's hey day, I'd have a ten percent chance at best. Also, I had a few one night stands before things went to hell. Not really for me."

"Like I want you to want me. To like me. Then maybe we stop foraging and fighting for a day, and do one of the other behavioral 'F's." I tried to give Max a hug and turned my hips so she wouldn't have nudged up against my hardon.

Sitting back down I swear I saw Max's eyes were going over me, but I probably imagine with. As time ticked by I stared up at the stars. I will admit I wasn't tired, but being around Max for so long made me realize I was pretty alone. Is it sad I wanted to just slip into her apartment, crash on a couch or chair, just talk at her until I sleep? Probably.

 

[Alice2015]

When Ben awakens, he finds me standing over his bed, illuminated by a small candle, looking down with a slight smirk. "See ... you're already feeling at home and comfortable. You didn't lock the front door."

I hold out a steaming mug. "Since you made me dinner, I made you coffee. May not have any food, but I got lots of jo."

I set the mug and candle holder both on the coffee table next to his head. He must have peeked to the windows and realized it was still dark beyond them because he asks what the time is.

I respond with humor, "5am ... reveille ... time to rise and shine, catch that early worm ... how ever you want to put it."

I am, of course, fully dressed and ready for my day. I like to wear black inside the Dalton because -- what with no electric power, and thus no electric lighting -- it's dark in the building and the black hides me better from potential snipers this time of the day. So I'm in yet another pair of black jeans that hug my ass and another black tee shirt that clings to my Double Ds.

What with no electric power and it being late in November, Ben is well hidden beneath several layers of blankets. I can't help but wonder whether, despite the cold, he sleeps in the buff. I never have. In the Army, I never knew when some male Sergeant hoping to get an eyeful would pull a midnight roll call in the women's barracks; and on assignment in the CIA or with VSS, I'd never wanted to spring out of bed at the sound of falling mortars or ricocheting bullets only to spend those first vital seconds trying to cover my tits and ass.

Despite not being able to get my own eyeful of Ben, I do know one thing about his sleeping habits from the full minute I spend standing over him before urging him awake. As I turn for the door, I say, "Get dressed. We have things to do. And oh, by the way--" I turn to look at him with a wide, knowing smile before I leave. "--you touch yourself when you dream."

He can hear me laughing as I head down the hall, calling out, "Up and at'em, Sunshine! We got training!"



"There," I whisper, my eye remaining behind the scope of the .30-06. Ben is sitting next to me on an old metal chair with a high powered pair of binoculars on a spotter's tripod. "See him?"

I have trouble sleeping when I'm anxious, and I've spent the last ten years of my life -- and particularly the last two -- more anxious than not. So at 2am, after just four hours of sleep, I was up and at'em, finishing the final touches of a sniper's next in the south corner of the sixth floor.

From the window on the southwest side of what was once a living room decorated with modern appointments, we can see the triangular plaza below us, with its deactivated fountains sitting idle; First Street running north and south with the Number 1 light rail train still sitting where it had been awaiting passengers when the power went out two years ago; and Harrison Avenue, running east and west with its dozens of variously sized vehicles both parked along the curbs and abandoned in the streets where, light the light rail, the Cone's initial attack -- which had also included an EMP bomb -- had left them without the power to move.

But it's the view out the window on the southeast wall in which I'm more interested this morning. In the distance, beyond the Red River, are the East Side industrial neighborhoods. From here, I've been watching movement in and around the buildings there that would seem to indicate they are being used for building something significant. I don't know what it is and, right now, I don't care. My immediate concern is the Children's Playground in the corner plaza below us.

I'd begun to notice small changes to the Playground, specifically to the grass growing up through the cracks. After a while, I came to realize what was happening: during the night, an intruder was visiting the play area at the foot of my building.

"To the right of the slide," I clarify to Ben, this time lifting my face to check his expression. His face lights up suddenly, and I realize he's found the target. I continue as I lower my eye to the scope again, training the cross hairs on the target, "Now, further out ... about ten ... twelve feet along the wall. See her?"

I give Ben a moment, and after he acknowledges sighting the target, I ask, "Can you do this? Are you fast enough and nimble enough..."

He looks to me and finds me smiling. I can't help but share his smile. After all, he's probably never been asked whether -- in the middle of a mayhem rampant war zone monitored by both enemy militias and alien invaders -- whether or not he's fast enough and nimble enough to catch a pair of escaped bunny rabbits.

"I know they're a male-female pair," I tell him, "because I've seen them going at it down there in the sand pit. If we can catch them both, then maybe find another female breeder ... tastes like chicken ... only better."

 

[Dreamwalker85]

Max’s head bobbed up and down. I didn’t expect this visit. She came in during the night. The woman wasn’t wearing anything when she joined me under the covers. The warmth of her body pressing to mine told me that much. Her lips began to trail downward. God, I couldn’t have believed this was happening. Each kiss told my flesh how soft those lips were and how good they had felt. I’m sure not having done anything in a long while helped this, but Max’s lips were to die for.

I tried not to scream as a comfortable warmth suddenly engulfed me. Breathing harder I just gripped at the covers of my bed. Was I dreaming? No. Everything felt too good. God, if this was a dream I didn’t want to wake up. Her mouth was slow at first then started to pick up speed as if she was hungry for the precum that was leaving my cock. I wasn’t sure how much longer I was going to last. It had been too long and she was so good. My body shuddered as I was getting closer, and closer, my eyes fluttered.

Then I saw Max standing over me with a candle and a cup of Jo. The woman was no longer naked and more disheartening she wasn’t in the bed with me. She said “"Since you made me dinner, I made you coffee. May not have any food, but I got lots of jo." All I could do was groan and put the covers over my head for a moment. Normally I would have been grateful. Coffee wasn’t my thing, but I learned to appreciate any drink I could get if it was warm regardless of how bitter it may have tasted. Today I was upset because I was in such a good fucking dream.

Pulling back the covers I stared at the window. I didn’t care that I wasn’t wearing a shirt and she could have seen anything from the neck to the waste. There was enough of my skin revealed to show anyone in the room I slept in the buff. Plus there was the pile of my clothes near the bed. I needed a laundry hamper of some kind.

She told me the time and I looked at her like she was nuts before I pressed the mug of coffee to me lips. Bitter, warm so it was fucking good. Max was trotting out of the room as I took another sip. She was encouraging me to get up. Then I suddenly spat out my coffee at her revelation. “Next time knock! Or wait for me to finish!” I cried out angrily. The anger wasn’t directed at her. I’m sure she would have recognized the tone. Hell, she probably carried it once or twice after an unsatisfying lover that just did a wham, bam, thank you ma’am and didn’t give a damn about her needs.

Everything after that was a blur. Before I realized it I had finished my coffee, was dressed in whatever black jeans, shirt and hoodie I could find, and out on the rooftop spotting targets. “I see him,” was my response as I was observing the first target. “Her too.”

I kept nodding to Max as she asked if I could do it. “Just hand me a burlap sack. Something,” I muttered before taking whatever was given. She commented on finding a female breeding, “At least someone’s getting their rocks off around here,” I muttered. Yes, I was still crabby from before.
Heading down I kept my noise down to a minimum. Everything was slow and deliberate as I made my way onto the ground. Out of nowhere I burst forward and snagged the first target. Unfortunately the rabbit screamed. A rabbit scream was heart breaking and deafening. The noise was high pitched and if it wasn’t for the sack I would have dropped bugs on the ground rather into the burlap material.

The female was a lot of work. At times I felt like I was trying to catch a chicken rather than a rabbit. Seriously the thing was squirrely. Another scream filled the air before I put the second one in the bag.

Going back up to the rooftop I asked, “Did we want to breed them and make a colony? I’m good for eating now, but if these things go at it so much…getting a crap load of them for eating could be a long term goal.” It was just an idea. She made that breeding comment so I tried to think of things other than sex. Having a rabbit farm for food could have been a good, yet weird, idea.

 

[Alice2015]

“At least someone’s getting their rocks off around here.”

I smile behind the scope, trying to contain my thoughts to Ben's playful though somewhat serious disappointment and away from my own thoughts about him getting his rocks off while deep inside of me.



Watching the rabbit round up is even more hilarious than watching Ben with the pistol and rifles the day before. Peter allows himself to be nabbed pretty easily, but Fluffy gives Ben a helluva chase. The fact that she doesn't simply sprint across the road and disappear into some debris field or abandoned building tells me that she's feral now but was once someone's pet, rather than a wild rabbit which would have instinctively headed for the hills.

The round up begins to get so entertaining as Ben tries to catch the future mother of all meals that I almost forget my part in the operation: cover fire. I force myself to pull my eyes from the chase to scan the building to the south of us, as well as the restaurant and arcade that sit in Waterfront Park. I'd seen some activity in both in recent days, but it wasn't anything I was too concerned about as I sent Ben out into the open as I had. Last thing I want to do is waste such a skilled runner on a failed bunny hunt.

When he returns to the building, I meet him in the lobby near the side entrance we opened for this occasion.

“Did we want to breed them and make a colony? I’m good for eating now, but if these things go at it so much…getting a crap load of them for eating could be a long term goal.”

"Thirty one days, Ben," I tell him as I look down into the burlap bag at the cuddling bunnies. I gesture him to follow as I continue, "My cousin used to raise'em, back in Colorado. Fluffy there'll pop out six to twelve little Kits after just a month ... 31 days, plus or minus one. Then, a month later, we can eat the males. They'll be small, of course. Best to leave'em until their eight weeks old, but ... we might be licking our lips by then and having dreams of bunny burgers."

In what used to be the custodian's room, I show Ben the half dozen cages that I'd brought down over the past days from a variety of apartments. They were of all sizes, originally meant for every thing from gerbils to hamsters to small dogs.

"We only need to keep the females long term," I continue, finding a cage I think will suit Fluffy well and pointing it out to Ben. "We'll need one more male, unrelated to the females, for some genetic diversity."

As I walk past Ben, I stop close to him and smile. Looking down toward his groin, then back up, I say with a seductive tone, "Sometimes a girl wants a choice of dicks to choose from."

I pass by him, laughing as I continue on with some of the facts my cousin had imparted to me so many years ago. I am amazed at how this shit comes back to me so easily. I'd been 15 years old when she told me taught me about breeding rabbits, and -- truthfully -- the only reason I'd been interested was because it was about sex, and my body had recently begun burning up with a desire to breed.

I tense suddenly at the sound of a very near gun shot. I hunch down and try to picture from where the shot came, then -- without hesitation -- rip the .45 out of my holster and slide it across the marble floor toward Ben, still in the custodian's room trying to figure out how to get the large cage through the narrow door.

"Remember what you learned last night!" I command, looking at the gun coming to a rest a few feet from him. "Keep your head down! Keep quiet! And don't fucking shoot me on accident!"

My training and instincts kick in. Despite the echoing of the shot -- and the two more that follow it -- through the downtown area's densely packed 3 to 5 story buildings, I've determined that the shooter is somewhere to the north, more than likely east, further in town. I hurry to the stairs, ascend three steps at a time, and hurry for a sniper's nest I'd already built on the third floor.

I arrive, panting despite my excellent strength and stamina, and search Dalton Avenue and First Street. There is no activity at all. That doesn't truly surprise me. Each day, I hear shots ring out somewhere in the--

And then I see movement. I raise the .30-06 quickly but look over the scope for a moment, wanting a general idea of at what I'm looking before I get a close look. It's ... a female ... young maybe, though hard to tell. She's injured, and it's obvious from her frequent glances over her shoulder that she's being chased.

I look back to the alley from which she came, and a moment later I see them: two men, armed with ... a bat and a... I lower my eye to the scope and find the two quickly. A bat and a piece of rebar. Fuckers! I think. I don't know why it is, but I've always despised more those men who use blunt objects to beat people to death than those men who put a bullet through their victim's brain. The result is the same: dead person. But the method...

I squeeze off a shot, and despite the rifle's kick, my training keeps the scope steady enough that I can see blood and brain matter spray out of the back of the head of the man with the bat. I shift left to find his partner, who is now standing idle, looking down upon his partner's already dead corpse. Anger roils up inside of me, and I lower my aim. The first round goes through his right knee, and a moment later, as he stumbles about trying to remain standing, the second round goes through his left knee, dropping him.

Satisfied that the threat is neutralized, I search for the fleeing woman. She'd gone. Oh well, I think. I already took in one straggler this week. Ain't enough bunny meat to go around as it is.

 

[Dreamwalker85]

Seeing that Max was too steps ahead of me, as per usual, I nodded. Like clorkwork my first lesson in raising a bunny farm came. I knew there was a process about how to keep a proper farm of animals going. Unfortunately I really didn’t care back in the day about how Bessy the cow went from animal to wrapped in plastic with a Styrofoam support whether I enjoyed her as a burger or steak. So, I was trying to give my new lessen in breeding an honest listen. Sure, it was for rabbits but I expected this information to be assimilated for all animals.

Max talked about genetic diversity then she moved in close saying, "Sometimes a girl wants a choice of dicks to choose from." I moved in closer. I’m sure she could have seen desire in my eyes, the way my chest was rising and falling. God, did I want to kiss her or say something like, “Mine’s right here for the taking.” Unfortunately I could barely get out an “Ummm.” And as much as I wanted to kiss her my feet were suddenly frozen in place.
As she walked away from my hand went out to grab her side and bring her back. Unfortunately I missed and awkwardly slapped/grabbed/patted her ass. The motion was clearly a failed attempt as my hand went horizontally across her ass. It wasn’t on point to be a playful spank. I mean yes I felt her ass and it was great, but it wasn’t my target. Honest!

Unfortunately my grab was short lived as a gunshot ran through the distance. Max barked out orders and I fell in line quickly. All Maxine would have heard were my shoes hit several stares once I snagged the gun. “Cover me!” I said loud enough so only she could hear me. A weapon like this probably sucked at great distances, but close range was another matter.

Eventually I left the proper exit of the large building after sneaking by all the windows. I kept to the buildings, looked around, did corner cover, any small military thing I remembered either from training with Max, video games or movies I applied until I made it to my target.

He should have been standing, but instead was on the ground. Blood poured from his legs. My plan was to shoot the guy but umm…Max beat me. Hearing the screams I grabbed the rebar and gave a one handed Happy Gilmore style swing to knock the guy out. As metal connected flesh I think I saw some teeth fly out.

“Stay there,” I said to whoever they were chasing.

Then I started to carry the big guy further away from the building. Carry was probably the wrong word, it was more like awkwardly hoist and bring away. Going out another fifty yards I dropped the guy. Stripping him of clothing sans underwear and taking everything useful I left him out there. I flicked the blood on my rebar around to make it look like the swing happened here.
Going back to where I found the guy I used the clothes to soak up any blood. Then I grabbed the other guy, the one with the brain matter, dropped him, ran to the empty fountain and promptly lost my coffee and whatever bits of dinner still lingered in my stomach. Wiping my mouth off I went back to the dead man.

Wincing I awkwardly hoisted him up gagging along the way. I dropped him next to his buddy, stripped down to his scivies, took everything useful. Like before I used the clothes to clean up blood. I used to watch a lot of real crime shows. Last thing I wanted was trace evidence to be around. It wasn’t to save Maxine, but a blood trail equaled weapons. If they weren’t roaming marauders that meant there were people nearby. Where there were people there was shelter.

Grabbing the bat I looked at the woman with a pile of clothes in one hand, along with the bat, the bloody rebar in the other. I could feel the warmth of blood on me that dripped from the dead body, and the taste of vomit was still on my mouth.

“You got two options,” I said firmly.

“You can either come with me. No harm will come to you. Boss will look at you. For a price we’ll patch you up, feed you, send you on your way in the morning, or you can possibly die out here from your injuries. Your choice,” after I said everything I tried not to blush. I was hoping she didn’t think I meant anything sexual. I umm, Max it totally would have been a pass. This stranger not so much because well I just felt bad for her. Hell, I didn’t even get a good look at her face. She could have been a dude from all I knew. Hell, if she was a dude I would have done the same thing except give warning glances because I really didn’t want Max to have her choice of dicks unless the only options were me, myself and I. Yes, I was jealous.

“What’ll it be?” I asked trying to sound intimidating. Then something hit me. I rushed over to the fountain and tried to clean up my vomit. Rushing back I looked at the woman, “What’ll it be.”

 

[Alice2015]

Max
Dalton Building, 3rd Floor:

I don't realize that Ben is on the street until I look back from where the woman disappeared and see him swinging something downward. I drop my eye to the scope again to find him bringing to an end the crippled man's suffering. I grimace a bit, thinking Wasted that second bullet for nothing. Then I chastise myself for having intentionally injured the man rather than simply killing him outright.

I lift my face again and watch Ben scramble about the street and alley opening. I'm not sure what he'd doing at first, then it occurs to me. Smart man, I think. We used to do the same thing in the Army and later in the CIA, either to cover our tracks or set up deceiving scenes. I wonder where Ben learned it, then I applaud him in my mind for considering it so quickly.

I keep my eyes open for additional targets, providing the cover that Ben will need to complete his task and return without becoming the third dead body of the morning. I see movement in a window a block away and quickly sight my scope on the location. I'm surprised to find a woman leaning out of the window to see what's going on ... holding an infant in her arms! I'm not aware of any mother-types within blocks of the Dalton, so I am a bit shocked. I am also a bit concerned.

The last thing I see of Ben is his picking up the aluminum bat and heading off in the direction the fleeing woman had been traveling. I move from the northwest facing window to the northeast facing one, but I still can't see him. I can't provide cover if I don't know where he is, so I resign myself to simply scanning the entire neighborhood for dangers until he returns to the building.



Laura Harness
Dalton Street, with Ben:

“Stay there..."

...the young man says as he sprints by me. He surprised me, not just by his sudden appearance but by the fact that he didn't throw me down to rape, rob, and kill me ... not necessarily in that order.

I look about me for others, but the man apparently is alone. I had heard shots ring out overhead somewhere, but I am unaware of where they came from. All I know is I'm exhausted and injured and I can't go any further.

I find an overturned pickup truck and sit on the wheel well cover, inside the bed. I lean back and pull my dress up to check my leg. The cut is still bleeding, but it's not like I'm going to bleed out or anything.

I must be more exhausted than I know, because I close my eyes for a moment ... and that moment turns into one, two, maybe ten minutes, I don't know. What I do know is that the man returns again, this time with his hands full of stuff scavenged from the men who'd been chasing me.

“You got two options."

He begins to spell out my options and I just stare at him dumbfounded. He is offering me sanctuary. He doesn't know me, so ... why would he be offering me a safe place to stay ... food ... first aid? It doesn't make any sense. People just don't do that anymore, not unless they want something they don't expect you to willingly give up. That means ... he wants something.

He rushes off to the fountain on the corner next to the big building set like a diamond in the block. I don't realize what he's doing, but when he returns he says...

“What’ll it be.”

I smile to him, then pull the too-big pistol that had in the first place produced the shot that began this whole incident. I say with a polite tone, "I think that sounds like a good idea, thank you. Now ... very carefully ... very slowly ... put that gun on the ground, or I'll fill you with holes."

 

[Dreamwalker85]

"O....kayyy...," I said as the gun was pulled on me. My mind raced then inwardly I smiled. "I'm going to take a step to the right. Then I'm going to hold my gun out, empty it and set it down. This way you know...no funny stuff, okay?" Breathing out I took a giant side step to the right. Deep down I'm hoping I could be found in the sniper scope.

Making a big display of the act I held out my gun to my side and above. The sun was my ally at this point. I was hoping it would catch the gun trying to create a reflection. Yes, I was trying to reveal my position because shiny things could be seen through a scope. Suddenly I empty the gun and before I set it down I laugh.

At first it was a chuckle then it began a bit of a laugh. A small full blown one that had a potential to turn into a cackle. When asked about it I respond, "Oh nothing. Just...you."

Sliding the weapon over to her, "You gotta ask yourself a few things. At least I would if I were you." The moment I'm given a questioning look or response I was more than happy to answer, "Look at my gun, big and impressive it may be, but you heard the sounds of the gun shots. They were in the distance, right? Completely out of the range of my piece. I mean your attackers were struck in the knee and debrained."

"If I'm with a boss, you heard me mention them, and there's another gun that can hit with such precision and accuracy. I'd have to ask what kind of gun can do that? While you ponder this let me tell you about the person behind this weapon."

"First, you're hesitant to trust because you just don't know what people want," I was talking a lot just to keep my gunman still. Buy some time to be found. "Well, we have a partnership professional and it's budding into personal. I'm seen as an asset for survival and some small shred of restoring something from the past. She also said I was going to get laid next week for my birthday and it had been a year since she had last been with a man..."

Smirking I said with the biggest bluff I could muster, "You kill me you take away this woman's asset, partner, and first time with a man in over twelve months. How pissed would you be? How much would you want to just kill this person if you were in her shoes?" I waited for an answer before delivering the last few bits of my speech. "Sniper rifle."

More confusion came I'm sure, "The gun you are trying to think of is a sniper rifle. My partner has a sniper rifle rifle. That is the kind of gun that can be so accurate from a distance." My laugh returned and I smiled, "If you doubt the accuracy look at the brain matter of my shirt. And let me ask one little thing. Want to know what the best part is about working as a unit?"

"Sometimes your partner can be used as bait...y'know for bigger fish or bitches with guns," I smiled devilishly and preyed a warning shot would have been fired off. Something that would have put the fear of God into this stranger.

 

[Alice2015]

(OOC: I only have a moment. Gonna "god mode" just a bit, but nothing of which I think you would disapprove.)

Laura
On Dalton Street with Ben

The guy laughs at me, which surprises me, then angers me. I feign a growl that my trembling body can't honestly produce with the fear racing through me. "What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing. Just...you."

He starts rambling onward about questioning myself, guns, partners. At first, I think he's just trying to bluff me, maybe into surrendering, letting him go, running off myself, or some combination therein.

But in all honesty, my gentle trembling is growing, and it isn't long before the gun in my hand -- which was too big to begin with for my small frame and lesser strength -- begins to noticeably shake in my hand.

He talks about his supposed partner -- somewhere high above me with a very dangerous weapon -- and how she's just aching to have his cock working feverishly within her. Actually, feverishly working slips into my consciousness from somewhere deep within my horny subconscious. I think, A year...? Is that all?

"Want to know what the best part is about working as a unit? ... "Sometimes your partner can be used as bait...y'know for bigger fish or bitches with guns..."

From behind my dark sunglasses, I'd already been peeking past and above the man, searching for some sign of a shooter. But now, as he begins talking about how he is expendable if the target is worthy, I seriously begin to worry. I understand expendability. In all of my 20 years, I've never been anything but expendable to those around me.

(OOC: Here's where the god moding comes in. Hope you're okay with it.)

"Turn around," I order. When he hesitates, I holler, "Turn around!" After he turns, I tell him, "Pick up the gun ... put it in your belt ... move forward ... forward!'

He moves farther than I want and a bit off to one side, as if he wants to move. I'm not a military type, so it doesn't immediately occur to me that he might be trying to line me up for a shot. I move forward and -- with my eyes and weapon still on him, shaking as the latter is -- pick up the bullets he shook out onto the ground and pocket them. Waste not, want not, my grampa always used to say.

Then, with a quick movement, I surge up behind him, grasp the back of his coat collar, and shove the end of the gun firmly against his spine. I growl, "Remember all of those nature stories ... about the wounded beast, and how dangerous they were when cornered? I have a deal for you."

I push the gun forcefully, urging him forward, as I continue, "You take me to meet your partner. And ... I'll consider your deal. You try anything, and I'll cut your spine in two."

(OOC: I was going to write for Max but I'm out of time.)