hadriel_logs | Event Log: Dead Men Walking

Entry tags:

Event Log: Dead Men Walking

Who: Everyone participating in the event!
What: The event log for the Dead Men Walking event!
Where: All around the city
When: September 14th-September 20th
Warnings: Zombies. Walkers. The Infected. Zeds. The undead. Risen.

Everything seems more or less normal in Hadriel on the 14th - at least at first. But wait, who's that over there? Why are they walking so weird? Are they feeling okay? Wow, did they just try to bite you? Oh shit, you might've seen a movie like this before. That was definitely a zombie.

But hey, it's no big deal. A few zombies here and there are pretty easy to avoid, especially when you can outrun them without too much trouble. They're only really dangerous if they're fast or if there are a lot of them, and they sure aren't fast! Only - well, before long, there are a lot of them. You can hardly go outside without running into one, and mobs form quickly. Went out for supplies? Let's hope they didn't follow you - you might get stuck in that shop, mobile corpses pounding on the door. Oh, and don't stand too close to the windows of your house. They'll be more than happy to smash the glass trying to get you.

Don't worry, though! A hard blow to the head will take these zombies out, and you'll be sitting pretty, as long as none of them bite you. None of them bit you... right? Wow, what a relief. We're all glad you're not concealing a life-threatening zombie bite from your friends! Who would do that, anyway? Now if you can manage that until the 20th, you'll be safe and sound as the zombies shamble out of the city. Hopefully you won't be shambling with them.

► This log covers September 14th-September 20th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If you join the zombie party, please let us know here!

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▍▍▍▍I. EARLY EVENT | CLOSED TO MELLO (torrefied) & CHRIS (thechoiceisyours)

[ It smells like the dead. It's been a little more than a day, and the city already smells like the dead; a fucking stink that clings to every surface, and gets knotted in the brain, never to be forgotten. The alley smells worse, somehow, the scent thicker. She gags, and covers her nose with the back of her hand on instinct, but she can taste it on her tongue.

The visuals aren't much better, the ground covered in shiny, dark spots of gore. The few dead that she can see appear to be dead dead, or dead again, their faces smashed beyond human recognition. And that means, for all the stench, it's the safer route around the small horde that's gathered near the closest cluster of stores.

She tip-toes through, stepping over twisted limbs, and bloated torsos, her grip on her kitchen blade tighter than ever. She's almost through when one of the dead—one of the should-have-been-dead-dead—reaches a bony hand for her ankle. She screams as she trips, hitting the ground (still damp, her chest and fingers now sticky and dark) with a hard thump.

She feels sick, dazed, for one single heartbeat, and then she's scrambling, yanking, pulling. She does not scream as she smashes the green-grey fingers with the butt of her knife. She does not scream as she jams her kitchen blade into it's eye as it clambers on top of her, it's other hand pulling, digging, at her white leather vest, as if it's trying to pull out all her vital organs. She does not scream as it drops limply on top of her.

Her body shakes. She feels sick. The knife is stuck, sharp edge jammed into the bone of the eye socket. She shoves the body off of her and breathes deeply, shakily. She does not have time to catch her breath, or to slow her heart beat, or to swallow back the panic. Her scream was the Dinner Call, and everybody is hungry tonight.

Sharon takes off, out of the alley, only moments after the first zombie stumbles in where she'd entered. She runs blind, brain taking in only the necessary information, and soon she's stuck. It's not a dead end, but it may as well be. The only other paths were just as busy, just as clamoring with the undead as her own, along with the familiar silhouettes of Chris and Mello (they just barely register). There were no other ways to run; they either had to fight their way out of this—a virtual impossibility, even with her supernatural abilities—or... A wooden door catches her eye, and she doesn't waste another second, feet already there, hand on the handle—it turns with ease, and she throws it open. ]

Get the fuck over here! [ She screams.

Please, god, please, please, please. ]

▍▍▍▍II. LATE EVENT | CLOSED TO L (hearthebell), with later appearances by MELLO (torrefied) & NEAR (solvethepuzzle)

[ Sharon has abandoned the idea of using a knife now. Early on, it was easy to get close, and jam it up through the back of the skull, but now the streets are infested, and getting too close is asking for a bite. So, she's taken to the lead pipe. It's got a hefty weight behind it, and she can brain a zombie, and knock down another with a single swing. She can clear herself space quickly now, smash a head while on the run, shove a creature out of her way without having to touch the soft, pudding-like skin on their bodies (she swears it just takes a little pressure in the wrong place for a finger to slide right through, messy).

But all of it has been messy.

She's got all sorts of new gore on her, the kind of mess you want to shower off with a hose before you go inside to get actually clean. She feels sticky, and gross, but it's one of those uncomfortable things she pushes to the back of her mind as she moves. This area, luckily, appears mostly clear of undead. There are stragglers, but they're not packed tightly together; they barely even notice her as she moves from building to building, keeping her body up against them. She's ready to move to the next when she spots one of the stragglers, back to her, directly in her path. The moment she takes it out, the others are going to notice her, but they'll notice her if she heads back, as well.

Fuck.

With no other option, she surges forward, and swings the pipe down. This close, her brain registers that he doesn't have the same green pallor as the undead, that his clothes seem marginally more clean, that his hair isn't falling out in chunks. This close, Sharon can tell she has just made a terrible, terrible mistake. There is no stopping the pipe, not now that it's been swung, but she tries, for what little good it'll do. ]

[This place is such colossal bullshit.

Mello didn't ask for any of this - being dragged away from his mission, used as a power source against his will for creatures that claim to be gods, any of the assorted nonsense they've put him and everyone else through in the time he's been here - but he especially didn't ask to be accosted by the actual walking dead on a routine trip out to the shop for supplies. The whole situation is disgusting, and it's dangerous, and Mello is good at adapting to shitty situations, but he is completely out of his element here. Two wasted bullets have no effect on the creatures, so instead of standing his ground and making an attempt at fighting these things off, he runs - a quick analysis tells him that he's faster and more agile than these things, and avoiding them is a better strategy than taking them on in combat.

... At least, Mello thinks it's a better strategy. The fact that they've more or less surrounded him - and Chris, and Sharon, too - suggests otherwise.]

Tell me these things aren't what I think they are.

[He doesn't really need the outside verification - his words are more an expression of exasperation than an actual request.

His attention is pulled toward the sound of Sharon's voice - does she need help, or has she found a way out? Either way, Mello takes off running again in that direction, following her through the open door.]

[Well this sucks.

Being surrounded by zombies and being in the general presence of Mello are both not ways he'd choose to spend his time, though the latter seems--as much as he hates to admit it--preferable to the former. Combined, however, it just makes Chris feels on some low level like he's done something really awful lately that he doesn't know about, and he's paying for it.

He doesn't bother to answer Mello's comment, because it's obvious he's not expecting one and it's also just as obvious what the answer actually is, but he has to double-take when Mello suddenly runs off in the direction of Sharon's voice. Damnit, he hates running.]

H-Hey!

[He takes off after Mello, mentally thanking the fact that his leg isn't still screwed up, and ducks through the door and into the building after Mello and Sharon. Since he's last he pulls the door shut hard, immediately looking for something they can barricade with.]

W-We need to block the door.

[ There's no time to waste. In the moments it took to get in, and get the door slammed shut, the undead are there, slapping their palms against the door, desperate and hungry. It's a scene from a fucking horror movie, and she berates herself for the pound of her heart, and the rush of choking fear.

The room they're in is small, sparsely decorated, plain papers on the floor, and walls peeling. When Sharon spots the small, half-dresser against the wall near the entrance, she's to it in just two steps, pressing her fingers into it. It whines as it moves, and riles up the beasts behind the door.

The sooner the door is blocked, the better. ]

[Mello doesn't have to be told twice. Almost immediately, he's crossed the room after Sharon; he takes hold of the dresser's opposite end and pulls it towards the door without commentary. This is no situation for banter, and he has nothing clever to say anyway.]

[There's pretty much nothing in this room other than what Mello and Sharon are already hauling to the door, so Chris decides not to get in their way and instead focus on the zombies slamming against the door. Even with it blocked that won't stop them forever; they'll still eventually break through the door and just climb over the dresser, and so there's no avoiding a fight.

However, this way they might be able to take out each zombie as they come through, and with the three of them against one monster their odds are a lot better that being out in the mob. And it's not like these things are wendigos.

So Chris pulls out his revolver, aiming it at the floor but ready to start picking the zombies off as soon as they begin to break through the door, but not until Mello and Sharon are safely out of the way.]

M-Mello, you've got a gun, right?

[He doesn't know if Sharon does, but she also has magic so he's pretty sure she's armed either way.]

[ The dresser in place, Sharon finally lets out the breath she didn't even realize she was holding. They're not safe, not as the undead continue to pound away at the wooden door, but they've got enough time to breathe, to gather themselves, and consider their next course of action.

When Chris pulls the revolver, Sharon shoots him a dark look, stomach twisting with a mixture of fear and unnecessary anger. ]

They respond to sound, Chris. [ Her words are clipped, and whispered, but there's a subtle shake to them, the only indicator of her panic. A gunshot going off in this room wouldn't just give them a serious case of tinnitus, but likely just rile up more of those creatures, or catch the attention of the one's less curious or more far out. She digs into the knapsack at her side as she continues, tone softening somewhat. The pounding rattles the hinges, but the door doesn't seem ready to give way, at least not anytime soon. ] I'd rather guns were our last resort.

[ She pulls a short blade from her stained bag. ] You guys need a knife? [ Yes, she means to fucking stab every single one that comes through that door, and she has extra knives to share. ]

Yeah, for all the good it's done.

[The two shots he fired off earlier weren't glancing blows - they went straight through the zombie's torso and didn't even slow it down. Mello's gun stays tucked away, and he instead produces a knife of his own from his inside jacket pocket. Sharon seems to know what these monsters are, like she's dealt with them before.]

I've got one.

[He has several knives hidden on him, actually, but that's not something anyone really needs to know. Mello turns his attention entirely on Sharon, gently reaching for her shoulder, studying her closely.]

Hey - are you hurt?

[This concern may seem somewhat incongruous to Chris, since the last available public information about Mello's relationship with Sharon was that he shot and killed her.]

[His first thought is that pretty much all monsters respond to sound, but that doesn't mean the best option isn't to shoot them in the face. But he doesn't disagree that guns should be their last resort, he just thinks they've probably reached that last resort already.

Until Sharon and Mello start pulling out knives, and are they serious?]

You're gonna stab zombies.

[This is possibly the dumbest idea he's ever heard of. Like hell is he getting within arm's reach of those things even if he trusted himself with a knife, which he doesn't.

Mello's concern for Sharon does catch Chris' attention, though he doesn't question it for now. Better that than the two of them fighting or afraid of each other or something, anyway; he's not going to complain if they can get along and work together, even if he feels a small jolt of nervousness. If Sharon and Mello not only don't dislike each other but actually get along, then Chris knows he's the expendable one of the group.

But fine. Whatever. He'll deal with that if it happens. For now it's probably best if he lets them stab zombies to their hearts' content, and he can pick off any that get past them or are about to sink their teeth into Mello or Sharon.]

Edited 2016-10-01 22:59 (UTC)

[ For all the blood on her, none of it is, thankfully, her own; most of it is dark, and thickly coagulated, the brown of old, dead blood. She answers Mello's question with a quick shake of her head, not pulling back as his fingers brush her shoulder. There will be bruises in the morning, she can already feel the soft burn as blood rushes to her knees and palms, but it's nothing she's incapable of handling, and it's nothing that will make her a liability.

When Chris mutters incredulously, her attention turns to him almost entirely, eyes narrowing. She has no desire to get up close, and personal with any of those hungry bitches, but it's not like they have a wealth of other options. If that door does come down, they have to be able to take the fuckers out without drawing more attention to themselves.

The undead continue to pound, and slap their hands against the door, and the heavy wall separating them. It's impossible to tell how many are on the other side, but the sound grows as the rest of the strays catch up. She fears the sound may draw even more, if it hasn't already. ]

It's not exactly something I want to do, Chris, but I doubt you have the skill or ammunition to kill every single one of those things before it tries to get through the door, do you? The brain has to be damaged, or they'll just keep coming. I'm sure you've seen a Romero film.

[ And then there's the whole sound issue. A gun is just too loud. Fuck, a single, short scream is too fucking loud. She allows her gaze to fall back to Mello. ]

I'm sure you know the soft spots of the skull, if they get in, get them in the head. [ A tap to her own temple with the tip of her knife. And then she addresses them both. She's seen a million zombie movies, but they've somehow left her unprepared for the zombie apocalypse. ] Don't get bit, or you'll probably turn into one. And if there are too many, like if things look... [ a pause, and it takes a physical effort to keep the shake and strain from her voice ] ] really bad, I'll take care of it.

[ She's not confident at all. She's terrified. They're trapped in a small room, and there are monsters on the other side of the door that really, really want their flesh. How is she supposed to protect them like this? As the one with the supernatural abilities, she feels that falls to her. ]

[Mello allows his hand to drop from Sharon's shoulder, nodding at her question - yes, of course he knows the most effective places to apply pressure on a person's skull in order to cause maximum damage. But a much better scenario is if the three of them never have to get close to the things that are outside and intent on making their way in.]

We need a plan.

[This much is obvious; sitting and waiting to be attacked is stupid and suicidal. To Sharon:]

Have you dealt with these things before? For real, I mean, not from watching a movie. Damaging the brain is fine if they get in close enough, but I'd rather it didn't come to that.

[He turns his head and shifts his gaze to Chris.]

If you have a better suggestion than stabbing them, Chris, I'm all ears.

[Mello's base of knowledge is fairly broad, but it falls short of most pop culture. He's good at devising strategy, but not when he doesn't have a good grasp on what he's up against.]

Um, the ammo's the main problem, which is why I asked Mello if he has his gun.

[Chris is always hesitant to be too confident, but if there's something he really is confident in it's being able to hit a target. Stupid, shambling zombies are definitely no wendigos.

He's quiet while Sharon gives stabbing instructions and Mello responds, though he's a little surprised when Mello seems to genuinely ask if he had any ideas.]

Well, um, the closer any of us gets to them the way bigger chance of getting bitten, so shooting's generally better, but...

[But if sound and limited ammo are problems, like they seem to be here, then--]

M-Maybe um, kind of a combo idea. See if we can bottleneck enough for only one to get through at a time, I'll try and keep its attention, and one of you shank it from behind so it can't get a bite in. O-Once we get the numbers down we can shoot through the last few and bail quick before any of the others show up.

[Because stabbing might be quieter but he's pretty sure even zombies will notice eventually, and Sharon and Mello will probably get tired.]

[L really should have stayed inside.

It occurred to him, of course, that leaving was a bad idea, but it wasn't an option to remain cloistered away even if Near did a good job keeping the house barricaded from outside danger. The impulse to hide when he'd first arrived has given way to agitated restlessness, and a desire to find out how best to productively deal with the strange things that happen in Hadriel. That means becoming more familiar with them, and of course the day L would choose to venture out would be the day this strange epidemic sweeps through the cave.

He's done a decent job staying under the radar of most of the zombies. Maybe it's because of his own shuffling, shambling gait, or the pallor that makes him difficult to distinguish from the undead. Maybe it's the overall sloppiness of his appearance, but the dead don't bother with him as much. He's making his way home, slowly but surely, keeping a wary eye out for anything that demands a more sudden reaction than just playing it cool and not drawing undue attention to himself.

She comes out of nowhere. So does her pipe. It connects with a sickening crack against living bone and tissue, and even if Sharon made last-moment efforts to reign back the force of the blow, L isn't particularly substantial. The ground rushes up to meet him as he topples, but unlike one of the zombies, that's not quite the end of the story. He's conscious, if dazed... and more than a touch furious.

Instinctively, he reaches back to touch the back of his shaggy, dark head. His fingers come away red-tinged.]

What is wrong with you?

[ There were a thousand apologies on her tongue, but then he speaks, and those words are swallowed back like they're something disgusting. It was an honest mistake, one she should own up to, but then some twisted pride rises up in her, and she wants to snap at him. Blame him.

If he hadn't been out here. If he looked like a regular person. If she'd paid more attention.

But there isn't time to blame him, or linger on her own guilt. The dead may have paid them no real mind earlier, but now all their milky eyes are on them, groans rising out of them. ]

Fuck. [ She wants to take off, leave this stranger on the ground to deal with it himself, but it's her fault. She reaches out with her free hand, an offer to help him up. ] You can bitch at me later, but right now we've got to go.

[L hears a lot of apologies, where he's from. As the detective they call when no one else can solve a case, the buck passes to him and tends to stop there, but if something goes wrong, it's usually attributable to one of those working under him. He's grown used to expecting incompetence, even when he doesn't believe his team is capable of malice or sabotage.

This is completely different. He actually doesn't know how to respond to this entire situation, and it probably isn't just because he might be concussed. She just attacked him, but she seems to be offering to help him. Blearily, he's putting it together that she might have mistaken him for someone, or something else. Not that there's a lot of time to dwell on it; he's bleeding, dizzy, and the zombies are encroaching on their space. He grinds his teeth, but he decides that he trusts her more than the shambling predators closing in on them.

He reaches for her hand. Double-vision makes him miss. Second time's the charm.]

Don't tell me you thought I was one of them...

[Mostly because that's fairly clear. He doesn't need to hear it.]

[ The moment his hand is in hers, she pulls him to his feet as quickly as she can, and none too gently, either. There's blood in his hair, and Sharon is pretty certain that those things can smell it with the way they lift their heads in the air like hound dogs. She links her fingers with his, ignoring her own discomfort at the act (and his, if it bothers him, as well), tightly so as not to lose him.

It would be cruel, and wrong of her to leave him behind. ]

It's been a long couple of days... [ She mutters, like it's an excuse for what she's done, and quickly observes their surroundings, noting the smattering of dead in every direction, all peeled faces turned towards them. It looks like they're going to be playing a game of dodge the zombie whichever way they go, and she chooses the path with the least possible resistance.

Her attention returns to L just as quickly as it had left him. Fuck, she's such a fuck up. ] Do you think you can run? [ If not, she'll find a way to handle it. It's not like she just as a pipe at her disposal—fire has been pretty effective, and given her current emotional state, it shouldn't take much to get her powers going. ]

[She practically yanks his scrawny arm out of its socket, getting him on his feet. Once on them, staying upright is more difficult than it usually is; though his back is hunched over and he looks like a stiff breeze would probably blow him over, his balance is usually very good. The ground seems to tilt and sway under his feet as he registers the young woman taking firm hold of his hand. He stiffens and almost withdraws violently at the contact, but again... he probably needs the support more than he needs to topple over into a hoard of zombies.

He can deal with the discomfort for now, he decides, even if her excuse doesn't even begin to approach good enough to make any of what's happened up until now OK. When she asks if he can run, he gives her a withering expression, because it's asking a lot.]

If it turns out I can't, you'd better be able to fight.

[Just because he knows that people do come back from the dead here (not just as zombies) does not mean he's anxious to experience death again, in any way, shape or form.]

[ He sways, and she already knows that, even if they do manage to run some distance, he won't be able to keep any sort of steady pace. Panic blossoms in her chest, and she sucks in a breath. ]

Or I can fucking leave you. [ She snaps back at him, not entirely (but mostly) opposed to the idea. It's not like it would take much effort, throw him backwards maybe, let him hit the ground, and once he was down, she's certain it'd take just moments for the zombies to be upon him, ripping at his clothes to pull at the skin beneath. She slams a nearby shuffler with the pipe in her hand, not quite enough force behind it to do much other than throw it off balance, but it gives them ample room to get by, and avoid it's needy fingers.

Despite the threat, it's clear she's made up her mind to keep with him, grip on him never loosening. The few undead still before them crowd together, stumbling forward to reach them. God, they stink, but she's almost used to the smell by now. There's a little room on either side of the beasts to squeeze through, but it feels risky—is risky. There's really not time to take each of them out individually, not when she can hear the awkward shuffles and groans of the creatures behind them. ]

You want me to fight? Or do you think we can make the squeeze? [ The waver to her question is the only indication of her fear. ]

[Though L's eyes are, as a rule, cold and dark and glassily removed from the human condition, something like resentful anger flashes behind them at her almost-threat. It skips right past the incredulity resulting from someone doing this to him in the first place and then holding him responsible for his own fate in a crippled condition... but it fades just as soon as he senses that it's not genuine. She's exasperated, but less at him, and more at the situation as a whole. Her grip on his arm only cements this as a certainty in his mind.

That means that accurate risk-assessment is crucial in these few moments they've been afford to make a decision. Her voice is wavering, just like his footing; he has to be steady in at least one of those arenas.]

The gap isn't enough, but the nearest one on the left... if you took him out, it would be, if we were quick.

[ His response is quick, and her actions, in return, are just as swift. She moves him with her, letting him go just a moment long enough to really hit that fucking zombie, both hands tight around the cool pipe; it staggers to its right, giving them enough room to squeeze by, even as the creature clumsily attempts to right itself. She returns his hand to her own, linking their fingers as if they were lovebirds, and continues on. The other zombies clamor for them, groans raspy and hard, their broken, greying fingers just shy of reaching either of them.

The moment they've achieved some distance, she slows. She has no goal, no destination in mind—at this point, she's moving purely for the sake of survival, and no longer just for her own. ]

Tell me how you're doing. Should we head for the clinic? [ She needs to get him somewhere safe, get him looked at. ]

[Fortunately, his companion of the moment listens well. It might as well have been choreographed, for the speed and grace she moves with, even with his uncoordinated and clumsy body in tow. She keeps a tight hold on him as if she's motivated by more than guilt and obligation, and he staggers after her, nearly toppling on multiple occasions. Rotting hands grasp and swipe at his loose clothes, and every time they escape seems more narrow than the last.

By the time they're clear, at least as clear as they're going to get anytime soon, his legs give out. His vision spots as the world tilts and shifts under his feet and the gravel rushes up. His bleeding isn't slowing down; he'll probably need stitches.

His hand tightens around hers. Even though he found her touch distasteful a few minutes ago, it's vital now, because he's relying on her not to leave him as he nods.]

Clinic. Is it barricaded sufficiently?

[His words are slurring. Time is of the essence.]

[ He's sinking to the ground before she knows it, legs collapsing beneath him like some shoddily constructed card tower. She can tell he's not good. Sure, he didn't exactly have a healthy pallor before she struck him in the head, but now it's gone from sickly to worse. There's no way they're going to make it.

His grip tightens, and she gives a squeeze in response, a poor attempt at comfort. It's difficult to keep her gaze from landing to his wound, the blood reflecting the faux sunlight. Head wounds bleed the worst, she tells herself, but it doesn't ease her guilt, or her worry, or the new sense of hopelessness and dread that fills her.

They're not going to make it. ]

I-I don't know. [ The clinic may be gone now, for all she knows. Hell, if infected people went to the clinic for treatment then it probably fell a long time ago. But they don't have a lot of options here. ]

We'll head for it, anyway. [ Perhaps luck will find them, and take pity on them, but Sharon knows better than to rely on something as fickle as luck. If she can't get him to the clinic, she'll have to find a place for them to hole up, take care of the head wound as best she can, and call someone for help.

She tries to pull him to his feet, swallowing back exhaustion and panic. The distant groaning of undead seems to rise around them. ]

Come on, we can't stay here.

[It's Mello who finds them, not luck. He has already been through a couple rounds with this crop of the undead, and once he learned that L left the house, he wasted no time in tracking the other man down. L may be highly capable in many areas, but fighting off monsters isn't one in which Mello has much faith his mentor has the necessary skills to perform well enough to survive the city's current state.

He's acquired an axe from Rage's armory, which provides better distance than the knives he normally carries and better repeat usage than his pistol. Even if it's not sharp enough and his swings don't provide enough force to cut clean through a zombie's head, it should still provide enough damage to make a difference. Said axe comes down on the head of a nearby walking corpse with a sickening thud, and the zombie goes down, spurting blood from its skull.]

The air out here really isn't all that fresh, you know.

[Mello's voice is taut with worry; every nerve in his body is on edge. He wasn't trained for this kind of hand-to-hand combat.]

[Mind over matter only works so long before the physical overrides even the strongest will. L's attacker-turned-rescuer clearly doesn't want to abandon him, which is currently the best thing he has going for him... but it might not be enough. In fact, it's unlikely that it will be. The plan in place, as uncertain as the status of the clinic is, he plants a foot under him, with every intention of propelling himself back to a standing position. It only has to be for a little while longer, one more push of exertion, a final sprint...

He can't do it. His leg buckles under him as the world tilts violently again. This time his cheek socks against the ground, gaining a scrape in addition to his already bleeding head. For the way things have gone and the temptation that sleep currently represents, he's almost content to stay down. And that's the state Mello will find them in, with Sharon in the hopeless and futile position of defender and L struggling to push himself upright. Since this is the first time he's met Sharon and they haven't been properly introduced yet, he's unaware of the connection between her and Mello.]

Edited 2016-10-17 01:38 (UTC)

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Event Log: Dead Men Walking

Sharon da Silva | Closed

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