Snippet #2118234

Deep, low, quivering notes resonated throughout the air, breaking the unnaturally silent atmosphere that had seemed to consume the area of the street. Rikter sat cross-legged atop a wrecked van, the front tires missing, a hubcap missing from the front right, while the rear was missing its entire axle, wheels, suspension and all. Looking down to the old bass he strummed away at, the young man sighed heavily, his tune heavy and solemn, just as his heart felt. Trapped. Isolated. Alone... With a glance, he kept plunking out the notes on the strings, the song beginning to pick up its pace and starting to sound very prominent, though still solemn. Smoke on the horizon, coming from the direction of a camp he had passed through not too long ago. It only really went to show just how much this world was going to hell.

After watching the rising smoke, closing his eyes, and inhaling deeply, he let the breath out as he sang softly. Given that the acoustics provided by the linear-running buildings surrounding him on that road, his voice travelled quite a distance as it broke the quiet with the instrument's call. "...Before I tell my story please consider who I am...I missed my window years ago, I'm doing all I can...A tragedy is commonplace, but in the end they go away...My skin is the only stain I'm left to wear in shame..." His voice was haunting in its tone and pitch; calm, sorrowful, resentful, a Baritone range paired with a faint but apparent Russian accent. A rare breeze blew down the street, causing him to stop playing and singing. With hazel eyes opened now, he looked upward and forward, down the street, parting his slate colored hair a bit in order to see clearly. Such a breeze wasn't felt so often, and given the situation, it brightened his mood a little bit.

However, the breeze wasn't the only thing that caught his attention. A soft sound, but still quite prominent; metal grinding against metal for a brief moment. That meant something was moving. And given the situation, he may as well see what was causing this. If it was another survivor, excellent; if it was one of those shambling, husks of humans...He'd rather not think about the latter scenario. Rikter began to move, but hesitated, a soft jingling heard at his chest. Cupping his right hand, he lifted the pair of dog tags into the palm of his hand, sliding his thumb over them to separate them. The upper tag held the name "Rikter Jonathon Reznov II". Rikter Jonathon Reznov Jr. That was who he was. The lower read "Rikter Jonathon Reznov". Rikter's father. Rikter's deceased father. A shakey sigh escaped his throat as he clutched the tags, muttering a soft prayer in Russian before sliding down the van's roof and landing on both feet. Dusting himself off, adjusting the strap, and flipping the bass guitar around to its back, neck and head pointed downward, he began to walk. Just...Walk.

He could only really wonder who he would find; it could be anyone. A man, woman, child, doctor, lawyer, killer, prostitute, salesman, soldier...It could be anyone. Or anything. There was some worry in his mind if he would have to fight. Then again, a lot of things were resting heavily on his mind these days. But, he wasn't too concerned. Maybe if he was lucky, he would find a gorgeous woman who knew how to survive something like this! "Naaaaah...." He waved off the thought as he walked toward the source of the audible disturbance from before. Rikter knew his luck, and the chances of something like that were near nichego, nothing. His focus returned to finding the disturbance, and finding it fast. But, still...He could only wonder who, or what, he'd find.