Q_Q It did make an inkling of sense, apparently they already tried every helmet around and a skull

Suggestions:

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• The ability to tear apart most articles of clothing into rags. One would be able with minimal effort to turn a t-shirt into a pile of rags that would then be turned into bandages when unable to make it to a hospital or when raiding a clothing shop.
• The ability to break down guns such as assault rifles into scrap using pliers. One might find themselves finding a lot of these weapons and simply tossing them away.
• A craft-able crossbow with bolts, a staple of a survivalist's arsenal.

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Isolation takes its toll on everyone, even the buildings and streets. Crumbling structures with several layers of graffiti lined the streets of Serling, the gentle symphony of nature shredded to pieces by the combined chorus of moans, screams and gunshots that littered Serling.

The scraping noise of metal on metal was heard from an auto shop, an old neon sign barely able to sprinkle a spark out every now and then, displaying a wrench splayed across “Tweak’s Auto Shop”. “Junk, junk and more junk.” Were the words that echoed through its garage, a short and spindly figure moved about old toolboxes with its stubby arms, searching for anything that would be of use. A wrench was tossed aside, as were several objects, now piling at the feet of this scavenger.

They brushed next to an old, rusted out car carcass, its glove compartment opening up to reveal a bunch of old crumpled up papers. Shined under the dim light of a hand lamp, they appeared to be nothing more than someone’s old memories, a shopping list and a picture of a family. These joined the rubbish on the ground, their only use being that of a depressing reminder.

Such ruckus could not go unnoticed, the door of the auto shop swinging wide open under the hard soles of a brute of a man. “Say your prayers.” Said the brute, now seeking for the survivor. With such a threat, the survivor quickly went to hide in a cupboard, closing the door and breathing slowly, footsteps closing in almost on beat with their heartbeat.

“Come out and I’ll make it quick.” Said the hunter, holding a variety of weaponry, a gaze from the survivor confirming that this individual was an armored guard employed by Mantis, paid in cold hard cash to ‘clean’ Serling. Their brutish hands swung across the top of the cupboard that the survivor was hiding it, throwing tools, alongside rusted scrap metal to the ground.

“Fine, we’ll do it the hard way.” They chuckled out, only to follow up with “What the?” And a loud shot that shook our survivor to their core. Blood seeped through the cracks of their makeshift hideout’s doors, the slumped body of the Mantis soldier leaning against it. It was kicked aside, falling into a pool of its own blood with a loud thud, the door swinging open lightly.

Who killed them? Were they hostile? The survivor decided to stay inside the cupboard initially, all before a female voice was heard spewing out “You can loot his body if you wish.” Before that of footsteps leaving. The survivor came out of their hiding place to reach out towards the woman, uttering “Thank you.”

With a swift turn around, the female chucked the man a piece of paper, giving him a delightful wave. They lifted their lamp to read the piece of paper and to get a better glance at the woman. The paper was a makeshift greeting card, “Cairath, Wasteland Nurse.” She was a towering woman with a slender figure, a long lab coat draped over her and stained by blood, both old and new. Her pockets were overflowing with medical equipment, her hair a radiant blonde with blood splattered into it much akin to paint, her face displaying a twisted grin, a pair of glasses on her nose. On her back was an overly long shotgun, at her waist a long blade with a hook tip and in her hand a Lazarix case, clearly full of serum vials.

Cairath turned around, calming making her exit. Once outside, the woman looked up at the sky, releasing a “Perfect.” In the most sarcastic tone possible, a drizzle cleansing the land and drenching the woman to the bone, her hair flattened against her head for now.

Walking in the middle of the street was considered suicide, zombie runners often accosting survivors and vampires waiting on every corner to take hold of someone and suck them down until they were but a shriveled up corpse. She did not fear such a fate, instead trekking forth as the rain got worse and worse, delivering curses under her breath.

Her left hand held on to the case of precious vials whilst her right hand held the lab coat closed nearly in vain, the wind adamant on undressing her. While such a cold pervert would often find themselves being administered a more than lethal dose of fast lead, the woman found shelter inside a rather large building.

“Citizen One Bank” was the sign the woman walked past, old bank notes sprawled all over the ground, clearly hinting towards the initial bout of looting. A loud shiver went down her spine, the wind howling through the cracks in the wall. A few old chairs and a desk were still around, perfect for a fire, or at least in her mind.

Breaking these apart, she shoved them to the ground and created a camp fire in the middle of the bank, taking off her lab coat and setting it on the side of the fire, the woman now left in a pair of black lace undergarment, complete with a garter belt and stockings. Sitting down by the fire, she warmed herself, unaware of what was creeping in the darkness.

It was but a bloodlusting brainless Botox enhanced bride, a white veil still upon her head, her skin as pale as the moon and her claws reaching to the ground, scratching it lightly. With her red gaze set upon Cairath, it charged towards the near naked woman.

Cairath stepped to the side, tripping the woman with her blade, chopping off her left foot. A loud thud followed as the vampire fell to the ground, Cairath’s foot driven into the creature’s upper back as she took out the shotgun, holding it to the back of the struggling woman’s head. The green glow of her wristwatch painted her face, Cairath uttering “Time of death...”

The shotgun howled louder than the vampire did as it blasted into their skull, turning their cortex to pudding, Cairath uttering “9:05 PM” Before kicking the corpse aside, sighing and sitting down by the fire. Click and click went the locks of the Lazarix case, a vial shoved into an injector and then shoved into the vampire’s back “You’ll be sore in the morning, but you’ll thank me.”

Being just as twisted as the monsters outside, Cairath took the chopped off foot and held it over the fire, most likely with the intent to eat it, only to have a silly ringtone to disturb her. “I’ve got an infected friend at Mariners Hospital, please assist!”, the woman deciding to ignore it initially, her hand twitching as it reached towards the walkie talkie.

“Eaugh.” She said in disgust, tossing the leg on the fire and taking the still wet lab coat and responding “I’m on it.” Before packing up and leaving, not before writing her name in the blood on the ground.

Dreams never die. Speak your mind, act upon your words and show that you care, alongside some other useless word tat and spewed out quotes that are supposed to follow that generic happy line.

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Is all I have to say

Well, I was a Werewolf for a tiny bit, quite the lovely set of abilities, here's some of them:

Hibernate was very useful!

I've been killed by one of them and saw them as well, they're cute, little fluffy dog people! Hopefully we'll have the ability to turn into one soon.