;i can’t turn || levente-captain-levi
How long has it been? How many days has he been running from terror painted in the blood of other humans, turning them to monsters? A bite and you’re dead. That’s it, the end. And the dead don’t stay dead for long. What kind of virus can invade the nervous system like that and animate it like a puppet and set it against humans like that? The fear when confronted with them is as infectious as the disease. Mass pandemonium lead to traffic jams, to more conversions, and now it’s hard to find a safe place to hide for the night.
Locking himself in a public restroom at a park had probably been a poor choice, even if it were to get some sleep. It smelled like janatorial neglect, and the acrid scent had turned his stomach the whole night, until he’d finally managed to fall asleep on a bedroll made from things he’d stolen from an abandoned house. He hadn’t realized that a locked door was an invitation to the bastards, who’d been beating on the door, drooling, gurgling, hissing, for at least an hour. He can’t escape, now. There are no windows, and the moment that door gives out...
Eren curses his choice of hiding place. Somewhere with no escape, he was definitely the epitome of stupid after surviving a month in this hell. All that’s left now is to pray to a God that he doesn’t believe in that he’ll be spared. The moment he even considers it, it feels like the devil’s heard his prayer instead, because the door crashes to the floor and at least six of the sons of bitches pour in.
With an axe in a bloodied hand, he prepares himself for the worst; standing on shaking legs and swinging, sending a decapitated head flying into a urinal. That would’ve been comical to him -- he’s still a teenager, okay, toilet humor (literally) is still pretty funny -- had the situation not been so dire. Hissing drowns out his thoughts. Groaning echoes off the tile floors and walls. Resigning himself to his death as he’s backed into a corner, he charges forward. If he’s going to go out, he’ll go out with a bang. At least he tried for freedom. Shouting, Eren swung. Another head falls, but something terrible follows.
He’s bitten on the opposite arm. The skin of his wrist splits, agony radiating from the wound as he slams the axe down on yet another head. That’s three of six down. He’s nowhere close to done and he feels like he’s going blind from the white-hot pain. He’s not going to make it through this. He’d hoped that by some crazy miracle, he would, but luck’s just not in his favor.
All he can do now is scream and wait for death. There won’t be a savior now. Maybe someone will put him out of his misery if they hear him, though. He doesn’t want to be a human killing monster like the rest of these crazed beasts.
