A... nail gun? Where'd you pull that one from, princess? Another man joining their crew received a curt nod; she was slightly too distracted for formal introductions, but she wasn't the only one. Above the faint groans she heard the other woman's shaky sarcasm.That's more like it...
Footsteps echoed down the stairs, the enclosed space amplifying the clicking heels and distant low growls by a magnitude, the later of which grew louder each second passed as though the wave of creatures was about to decent atop of them; a tsunami of decaying flesh and lifeless eyes, accompanied by the waft of rotting corpse which filled one's lungs and caused their breath to catch within their throat. Unpleasant was an understatement. It was foul. There were no real words to describe the approaching scene, merely expressions of terror and confusion. "Oh?"
Natalya couldn't care less about the other two within their party. Especially not her. "Is my... 'asshole-badass attitude' is too much for you, princess?" She couldn't help but mock, her eyes rolling as she crooned. "This is no 'I'm so bad' shit. This is just me. Natalya. Deal with it." She'd always had an attitude. She'd always been told she had an attitude. Who cares? She wasn't exactly an ice-queen. She just hated whines, screams, cries... Hated.
Silence... then the loud laugh which echoed from Natalya's lips; one of pure derision. "I have about twenty nails in this thing..." she mimicked in her best accent, before shaking her head and snatching it off her. "They are useless if you do not use them!" Two seconds. Two shots. Two eyes. Two pairs of legs stumbling backward down the stair. I bet her daddy never taught her to hunt a rabbit. Thrusting it back, she grimaced. "Though, what use when one is already... dead." Her frustrations pent up, an exasperated groan sounding as she - like the man before her - thrust her foot directly into the chest of an oncoming creature. My poor shoes! Yes, stilettos were effective, a hole pierced firmly into the chest around which flesh merely fell off like a well-cooked piece of meat around the bone. Yes, they were also expensive. Ugh. My most favourite pair too. Shaking her leg free, she declined the other woman's expression in favour of retreat.
"Do you not see?" she asked, stamping her foot upon the concrete floor. "We have the advantage! They move uphill, we move down! All I need is..." Breaking off and with surprising haste, Natalya cleared the top few stairs and returned with a four-legged office chair. "We at least need food and water, yes?" she demanded, echoing the unknown man's words. "So we search! Not stay locked in this prison while these creatures, they bang upon our door!" Tilting so the legs faced the oncoming wave, she grunted and threw her weight forward. Like ninepins they fell, and while still 'alive' so to speak, she could pick her way through the fallen bodies - occasionally stepping upon one - and toward the next floor. Above all things, Natalya detested the feeling of helplessness.
Bending down she swiped the combat knife from her ankle holster, thanking her lucky stars her sister's previous experience had encouraged her, not disabled her. Viciously she slashed, if anything, merely for freedom to fresh air in some form or another, whether it be a broken window, or an exit. I cannot breath in this menagerie. I cannot breath. Russia's atmosphere was crisp; fresh, with heavily laden snow lining the routes. This was stuffy and humid, like a compost patch, or... or a collection of newly deceased persons, rotting as they shuffled forward with a single purpose. It was a nightmare... but it was real.
Her lips had begun to crack, her throat parched, longing for the soothing touch of water, or something stronger perhaps. The back of her hand wiping across her brow left a smear of blood. She yelled, "hurry!"