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[RP] The Omnicide Reality

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Frenchfry:
Calx's sudden outbursts were beginning to sharpen Stefan's more primitive senses. Before the sniper had finished his climb up the tree, he'd grabbed Astrid by the collar of her shirt, diving behind a shrub.

Peering between the leaves, he  couldn't make out much of anything. The passerby appeared to be alone, at least. He waited a bit for the traveler to pass until his back was to the brush. He risked a glance outside his cover. It was a big guy, to say the least. nearing seven feet tall. He had a Vz.83, the submachine gun appearing tiny in his arms. More importantly, he had a sandwich poking out of his bag. Gigantic armed men are usually a bad sign, but Stefan was feeling daring. Or perhaps he didn't want to kill more people in a single day. One way or another, he was taking that man's food. He stepped out from the safety of the bush, approaching the traveler.

"Hello, sir. You wouldn't happen to have any spare food for a poor, tiny escapee, would you?"

The limber figure turned around, shouldering the tiny SMG.

"Mhm. I guess not."
OkeydokewhatdidTVtropessayaboutavoidingahugeasssprayofbullets? Oh, right. Get on your back.
Stefan kicked his legs forward as if he was trying to perform a backflip. Only, he wasn't in the air. So instead, he crashed to the ground, landing on his spine. It stung, but the flying balls of death that flew over his head at the same time made him decide that maybe the sting wasn't so bad.
As the giant fellow was processing what had just happened, Stefan drew his revolver, aimed at the man's torso, and pulled the trigger.
Click. Click. Clickclickclickclick.
It was empty. How? He'd checked the cylinder just last night, and there were six FMJ rounds in it. That didn't matter now, though, because the large fellow with the loaded gun was regaining his senses. The Vz was aimed at Stefan again.
Meh. That's what I get for being considerate.
Bang.
A red mist spouted between the aggressor's eyes, and he collapsed immediately.
"Oh, thanks Calx. I wouldn't have minded it if you-"

Stefan never finished that sentence. He didn't finish because it wasn't Calx that fired that round. It was Astrid, shaking, with her 1911 cradled in her hands. She was a killer now,  just like the rest of them.

Silver:
Calx lets out a laugh from the branches, poking his head out from between the leaves to face the two.

"Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wann'd,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!" He states pointing at the crushed meal.

Frenchfry:
Stefan stood up, brushing the dirt off his back. He limbered over two the dead giant, and the crushed sandwich underneath him. Edible? Not with a giant man's buttox flattening it against the dirt road. A snake slithered out from under the corpse. Stefan unsheathed his knife and dove on it, cutting its head off. He lifted the body and turned to the others.
"I've never eaten snake before. I wonder what it tastes like when someone prepares it who doesn't know the first thing about the wilderness."

Silver:
Taking in a full 360 degree view of the area, Calx spots a group of tents deeper in the forest.
There
He looks over at the two, struggling to skin what looked like a snake. With his goal so close, he wasn't waiting.
He hops down from the tree, and silently makes his way towards the camp.

St. Jimmy:
     Crimson stopped at a seven-eleven. He pushed through the door and looked into the shop.  There was a woman behind the counter.  She was about 30 and obviously had a tobacco issue, judging by her teeth, and the horrid, wheezing cough that she produced every few seconds.  Crimson walked into the bathroom, and then into the stall.  He sat down on the seat and brought the knife out of his pocket.
     I can't risk people noticing me. Grabbing a clump of hair, he raised the blade to his head and cut through his hair.  He did this repeatedly until his hair was dramatically shorter.  The hairs that were cut off were dropped into the toilet and flushed into the sewer.  He stepped out of the stall and looked into the mirror.
     Not bad. Not. Bad.  Walking out into the main part of the store, he grabbed a few pre-made ham and cheese sandwiches and a few bottles of Gatorade.  He paid the clerk for the stuff, got walked back to the motorcycle, and drove off, looking for a way out of the city.

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