[h2][color=green]Donatello De Rege[/color][/h2][hr]
[indent][b]August 18th, 2039, 9:02 AM
An abandoned laundromat, New York City[/b][/indent]
A bullet whistled through the air and hit the washing machine Donnie was hiding behind. It whistled again as it rebounded and flew away from Donnie's head, stopping in the drywall with a crumbling noise. His hands flews as they tied a scrap of cloth around his leg, tightening over a cut in his leg. Pale golden fluid was beginning to pool at his thigh as another bullet punched through and shattered the glass in the door of the washing machine next to him.

[color=green][b]"Aw jeez."[/b][/color]

Donnie's voice whined as chanced a peek around his cover, receiving a near-miss in return. There were only two gunners now, but the noise would attract more. And maybe not even raiders! Maybe some wild animal would come and deal with him before the raiders did. They were terrible shots. A bear could probably waltz right into the laundromat, open him from brains to balls and still have time to get his cap and uniform washed before he had to go prevent more forest fires. Baby Christ on a cracker, how was he supposed to know that he was in raider territory? He didn't see any effigies or signs, not even a corpse on display! He didn't even get time to beg for his life either! They just yelled at him and started firing, but luckily only that one bullet grazed his leg. He tightened the scrap of cloth once more, only for it to tear and loosen in his grip.

[color=green][b]"Awwh jeez."[/b][/color]

With a few flicks of his knife, he had taken another strip of cloth from the t-shirt he found discarded on the floor. An extra-long strip that he layered twice and tied around his leg tight before bowing it nicely. The bleeding would pass, and he didn't feel TOO light-headed. Hell, he'd have one great scar to tell stories with. If he survived. That thought ended as a voice came over the machines in a harsh growl. [i][b]"Do y'think he's dead? I betcha I got him in the head. I betcha."[/b][/i] Donnie's heart raced as he tried to keep his body as still as possible. As still as you can be when you're reaching for your sidearm thats tucked into your cowboy boot. 

[i][b]"If he is, I get his boots. And his shirt. And his gun."[/b][/i] There was an noise of annoyance. A frustrated grumble as Donatello heard the cracking of glass beneath someone's step. [i][b]"And his goggles too. Hurry up 'n' check if he's dead!"[/b][/i] The steps got closer just as Donnie finished grabbing for his handgun and settled his pale, green-tinged arm in his lap. He had smeared some of his blood on his face already, so what difference did a little bit more make? He closed his eyes and he could feel the warm amber flowing down from his forehead. And then he stopped breathing. Well, through his mouth and nose, anyway.

A finger brushed his lip and beneath his nose. Checking if he was still breathing was pretty smart for a couple of dumb raiders. He almost sneezed as he smelled the foul stench of the raider's finger, but he managed to remain still. Disgusting. [i][b]"Yerp, he's deader'n a hare inna foxhole."[/b][/i] The raider said again. 

[i][b]"Y'wanna strip him here or-"[/b][/i]

Donatello didn't let him finish his sentence. A few minutes of struggle later, and he was left with two dead raiders and four bullets wasted. He rifled through their belongings and found 6 7.62x51mm bullets, a grenade and a power bar, but no 9x19mm ammunition. A quick check revealed that he had all of 10 bullets left for his handgun and some 40 odd bullets for his rifle, including the 10 left in the magazine. All just sitting there, gleaming from the bottom of his little child-sized backpack. He grumbled to himself, beginning to limp away and around the corner into the alley alongside the laundromat. Had he taken a left, or a right just before? Or did he go straight and then fall? The chase had turned him around big time, and the power bar he looted was already gone so the first order of business was to find food. His stomach growled at him and his leg gave out for a moment, sending him careening headfirst into a dumpster.

And there he lay, on his back. Seeing stars as if the night-sky was out at day.

[color=green][b]"Awwwwwhhhh jeez..."[/b][/color]
[hr][h1][b]Atlas[/b][/h1][hr]
[indent][b]August 18th, 2039, 9:02 AM
New York City[/b][/indent]
That was definitely droppings that he just ate. Definitely. Atlas' tongue lolled out of his mouth and he coughed onto the road, the previously interesting brown pellets coming straight back out from his gullet to hit the floor in a small heap. Why did his siblings think they were so appealing? They weren't berries, they tasted terrible and they smelled worse. The muscular dog sneezed, kicking some dirt over the leavings before moving on from the bushes and into the open. The scent was stuck in his nose, so searching for food with scent would have to wait for a while. He whined and rubbed his face in the dirt before sneezing once again. Mud, grass and feces were all he could glean from it, but his ears revealed something in the distance. Something heavier than a hare.

He was already moving by the time he heard the next sound in the distance. More firesticks. The loud reports weren't close, but they were enough to scare Atlas into running beneath the first obstacle he could get beneath. A big shiny the humans used for carrying things. A 'truck'. He put his body to the 'wheel' and peered out, shoulders hunched and ears forward. The loud noises continued from further away. Moving in the opposite direction? A good sign, the hunters had found other prey before they had found him. He came out from beneath the truck tentatively, before vaulting onto another human shiny called a 'car'. His eyes couldn't pick anything out aside from a sea of 'cars' and 'trucks' and other shinys that he didn't understand. So many shinys but no people.

That is until the heavy noise returned, very loud and very close. Right behind him. Atlas turned slowly to find a human, and a monstrously sized one at that. Tall, big, dirty and with firesticks on him. 'Guns' dangling off of him shone in the light of the morning, just as the other parts of him did. Atlas lowered his head, flipped his ears back and hunched slightly, ready to bound away should he try something. He could smell that the human was male, and that he wasn't exactly clean. Then again, neither was Atlas. His fur was matted and clumped with mud and blood, just as this 'man' was. Unsure of how to proceed, Atlas did what he was taught.

He barked.