midorisakura

Of course it's still alive. Things can't be easy. Not on this unholy road that he's on.

There's so much blood that he's blinded by it, and still, the Deadite motherfucker keeps coming at him in true Deadite fashion, no matter how many times he shoots it.

He should be used to this by now, especially after everything that he's witnessed while following El Jefe. All of the blood and gore. The people who've died. The shit that he's had to do just to survive.

He isn't used to any of it, and maybe that's a good thing. He doesn't know. Being numb to all this shit seems like a pretty damn good thing.

"Pablo, stop fucking around and get your ass over here!" Kelly yells. She's fighting something too. Doing a better job at killing than he is.

"I ain't fucking around," Pablo says through gritted teeth. He doubts it reaches Kelly's ears. The words weren't meant for her anyway.

The Deadite gives him a bloody smile, white eyes wide open, pulling him closer to its open maw and razor sharp teeth.

He pulls the hammer back on the gun, slams it home in the Deadite's mouth and pulls the trigger. Half its head blows off, and this is something else he should be used to, being showered in blood and brain matter, watching a body fall -- head blown in half -- at his feet as he turns and rushes to the car where Kelly and the others are waiting.

Another day, another kill. Nothing to write home about. Not that he has anyone to write home to anymore, or a home that isn't the road for that matter.