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[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/dB9oeIk.png[/img][/center]

[center][b]Woodhouse Smith, American Retiree.[/b][/center]

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Woodhouse was at that kind of age where nothing really mattered; he called gays fudge packers, he called black people Negroes, Asians zipper heads, and of course, Czechs communists. He was from another time, where life was harsher and less progressive; the white man was the norm, and affirmative action was a joke for the fellahs down at the bar. Yeah, he came from a time that now barely existed. This didn't make him a bad man, and he always tried to overcome the demons ingrained into his subconscious from birth; he knew gays were just people with different tastes, that blacks and Asians were just people with a different colour skin - but it was still hard to shake the prejudice left to him by his parents, some sixty odd years ago. 

But, with his age, also came the traditional "hard man" image. The kind of portrayal of dignified aggression that Hollywood had forgotten about a few decades back. 

The Commie had wrecked his ride, probably even cost him his life - once the sickos caught up. He had a gun, he was talking tough and threatening Woodhouse with death. 

Sometimes, the only thing that made a man a Man was his unwavering resolve when it came to seeing a bully put on their ass. Woodhouse saw this no different than being back on the schoolyard, surrounded by a multitude or jeering Jocks, all baying for his blood. To Woodhouse, the whole situation had become a matter of death or glory. 

"Two," the Czech soldier called. 

Woodhouse started walking towards him, rolling up the pink floral sleeves of his favorite holidaying shirt. "Now you listen here Son, and you wait a God darned minute. Put the gun down and fight me like a man, damnit!" 

The soldier smiled broadly, but only lent further into the sights of his rifle. 

There was about ten feet between the two. A second wasn't enough for Woodhouse to cover that distance, and even if he did, what then? He'd kick that young Commie's ass, that's what. 

"One," the soldier said. 

Woodhouse started running for him.

A voice yelled from some distance away, its words bouncing around the neatly allocated lanes of Prague's city center.[i]"Fuuuucccckkkkk!"[/i]

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/aBwYZlU.png[/img][/center]

[center][b]Četař (Sergeant) Tibor Švec, Aktivní záloha (Army Reserve).[/b][/center]

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Tibor's finger put pressure on the trigger; the old man staring back at him with an iron that reminded the Czech of his own father. 

[i]"Fuuuucccckkkkk!"[/i]

He turned his head, just for a moment, in the direction of the scream. 

Something bulky and heavy struck him across the midsection, and he fell to the floor, his rifle flying clear of his hands. He hit the concrete hard, the air knocked out of his body. Before he even had time to mutter "What the fuck!?", two meaty, pale and wrinkled hands were pummeling his face towards the dark side of the moon. 

"Son of a bitch, you God damned Commie bastard," the old man wheezed between punches, "you think it's nice to prey on the elderly, huh? Is that what you do in this country?" 

Tibor's consciousness blurred for a moment, as another punch sent a pulse of lightning across his vision. Out of primal desperation, he reached forwards through the stars in his eyes, and gripped the old man's throat with both hands and squeezed. 

"FUUUCK YOU AMERICAN PIG!", he roared. He managed to shift his knee under the old man's generously sized undercarriage, and shoved with all his might.

The old man rolled backwards with a concise meat-on-concrete slap, "you filthy Commie bastard," he whined, and struggled to get back to his feet; one hand clutching his bruised groin.

Tibor pulled his combat knife from his battle harness, and sliced at the air, "you die now, old man." 

The Czech soldier was angry and hurting, blood ran freely from several cuts in his face, and no doubt his nose had just been shattered. Reason had escaped, and all he wanted to do now was gut this stupid old man like a fish. 

Meanwhile, both of them remained painfully unaware of a dozen walking corpses that had started to crawl out of the closest buildings. They staggered, tumbled and limped, arms reaching out in painful hunger.