Not too far off from where the gun had been fired, five men huddled around an oil drum fire perked up and began to stir, these men, with creul glints in their eyes, and twisted sneers on their grimy faces, were bandits. It had been several days since their last raid, and although there was still more than enough food and supplies to keep them going for at least two weeks, the group was looking to increase their stock, 'Chester, you stay and watch our gear, the rest of you lot with me." one of the bandits, a stocky man with greasy blond hair, and a nose that looked like it had been on the receiving end of one too many bar brawls, grunted out to one of the others. Chester nodded and picked up his weapon of choice -a machete- and twirled it a few times, "You got it Cliff. Hey, try to bring back a woman will you? Alive this time, I don't feel like fucking a dead body.". The group shared a laugh, then four of the men wandered away to inspect the gunshot, this was the moment that Dimitri Campbell was waiting for. For days, Dimitri had trailed the group from a distance, watching them, getting to know their patterns; eat, drink, sleep, piss, shit, kill, steal, and when they ran across an unfortunate woman, rape. Dimitri had wanted so many times to confront the group when they found some unfortunate soul, but as much as he disliked sitting idly, he knew it wasn't worth the risk. They had numbers on their side, jumping it would be suicide.
Now however, one of the men was all on his own, something DImitri had eagerly waited for. After waiting for fifteen minutes, Dimitri looked down at the watch on his wrist, '8:09 am' blinked onto the LED screen in short intervals, any moment now, yup, just like clockwork, ol' Chester set down his weapon and sauntered a few feet away from his camp, then dropped trough. Dimitri sprung into action, quickly and quietly closing the distance as he'd done so many times, stopping whenever Chester seemed to move his head to the side. The bandit hunter crept in, so close that he could hear the sound of urine hitting the ground, and worse, smell it. Dimitri drew his tomahawk and crossed the kast two feet that would bring him into striking distance, "Hey, how's it goin'?", "What the f-". Chester's exclamation would forever remain unfinished thanks to the spiked end of the tomahawk, which had found itself lodged in the bandit's head with a sound similar to the smashing of an over ripened melon. Dimitri grimaced as the bandit crumpled, landing in his own urine, "That is NOT a dignified way to go out..." he muttered before yanking his weapon free of Chester's head and setting about raiding the camp for anything of value. He was out in less than twelve minutes, now five cans of soup and eight full cigarette cartons heavier. Dimitri didn't smoke, but he knew that the tobacco sticks would fetch a nice price when it came time to trade. He thought it funny, in a world where people fought their damnedest to see the next day, a few were willing to trade one kind of death for another.
