Die. Rise. Repeat.

Follow the story of a survivor. no super powers, no playful furries, no teen dramas. just survival.

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3. Lost in blood.

It was her last supply run in this town. she had stretched her boundaries, went to all the areas she scouted, followed the routine. now it was time rinse and repeat.

It wasn't too long of a stretch back to her temporary hidey-hole. she was starting to feel the sting of the glass in her back. That attack on the old lady couldn't help helped the situation, and now she was hoping the glass wasn't buried deep or had severed anything too important. 

wait... was that... she was starting to feel a warm, sticky substance down her cloths, sticking to her leg and back. she stopped to look at her legs... there was a trail of blood leaking from her cut, pooling at her feet.

oh god.

she knew this wasn't good. this... this was bad beyond bad.

she quickly undone her jacket, took off her shirt (long had been the time she would care if someone was watching or not) and ripped it into bandage sized strips. she wrapped them as best she could around the shard. she stuffed the jacket in her backpack; it wasn't worth the risk of putting it back on and catching the piece of glass, exacerbating the situation. wait, exacerbating? who uses that word.

she then did what she had to do... god, she hated this. Alyx picked up a bottle of whiskey (a very expensive brand, because if you're going to loot why not loot with style?) and took a gulp. "great job girl, alcohol but no actual medical supplies. perfect." this whole trip was mainly to stock up on pills and stuff for winter, but she decided that drinking alcohol would do for bleeding wounds, to sterilise the wound and stop infection. with a high alcohol content, whiskey was the most useful in her mind. and it would help her get drunk faster, not that she wanted to but to help null the pain, although it would be a different pain to what most alcoholics were used to; much more physical trauma then mental worry.

after she decided she didn't want to drink too much (although it was barely enough to make her tipsy) she needed to do it. 

don't be a pussy.

do it.

do it bitch.

shaking the bottle in her hand, she pour it all down her arm and on the wound. she let out a soundless scream, tears welling up in her eyes. she was on the verge of sobbing, before realising she was better than this. she got up, her legs shaking. she dropped the alcohol, it smashing by her feet. and she marched.

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