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Zora was no stranger to injury.
Well, its Paradise City. Of course you’d have to know how to deal with some blood spilling out. It happens more than she’d like it to. From the occasional scrape of a knee to a high fall that she was shocked she survived, Zora thought she knew her way around harm and treatment for it well enough, even with her own experience. But those pests from the bus sure didn’t.
She’d watch them run around aimlessly, tripping on rocks or taking hits that could’ve easily been a dodge, wasting precious materials on injuries that were never that bad in the first place. It’s moments like those where she’s glad she’s not trapped with a group. She doesn't want to feel restricted like that anymore, all of those bothers would just end up tossing her aside when they run out of use for her anyway, surely. Zora wondered if any of them were going to survive past a week, before they died from either the infection or her own hands. She'd certainly prefer killing them, she doesn't get a real rush of anything in this city anymore. Can't a girl find some way to entertain herself?
She knew those buses tend to carry around 20 people or so, she had the pleasure (maybe more of a misfortune) of being on one herself. That's not too many to knock out, right? They all certainly had a hell of a death wish, willingly coming along here. Why were they still offering trips to this city, anyway? Most of the stragglers who come along here either seem to pass on, or go just as mad as she has.
And Zora knows she's been in Paradise City long enough for her mind to turn on itself.
Her brows furrowed as she watched a group she was fixated on run into an area where she couldn't follow, and she sighed. It'd just be so much easier if she had a gun right about now. A girl like her can't be getting her hands too bloodied, obviously. It'd ruin her chances at stringing people along when needed. That horrific scent of that you just can't wash out no matter what… It's good that she wears gloves all the time, or else the red under her nails would disgust her at each reminder of it. Isn't it just sickening? The overwhelming desire to take another's life, to cut their story short… To treat each and every insect in this city as they deserve to be. Trying to ignore her own personal attachments, of course. It's easier said than done.
Zora blinked, quickly remembering where she was in the moment. She could've sworn she heard footsteps, not sure if it was a human or an infected, and promptly darted away from the area. Each dash sent a cold breeze her way, and each breeze gave her a sting somewhere she didn't want to think about. Once she assumed she was far enough from any sign of others she quickly pulled out her notebook, jotting down the appearance of those she saw in that group. Though, one of the only striking details she could put were two individuals with blonde and black hair. Specifics wouldn't matter soon enough, they're going to die soon enough. All of them. She slowed her pace as she walked about the city, recovering energy which she'll probably have to use to clear out any foliage in her path. In consideration, the amount of greenery in the city is pretty until you have to walk through it yourself.
She kept her gaze upwards, squinting, trying to remember exactly what building had her base atop it. Zora always was bad with directions, and it doesn't help when a lot of these buildings look the exact same. A small part in the back of her brain would like to lie in that tent forever, if she could. It's better than staring down the edge and wishing she could fall. It's better than the repetivity of waiting for new prey to fall into her hands, that she can squish like nothing.
What was she even doing anymore?
Zora stopped in her tracks, idle in the middle of the street. It was too quiet around, which was the perfect environment to let her thoughts get to her head. Is this what thrills her now? The mere idea of killing someone? This can't be what she's reduced to. A killing machine, she called herself. Was she really only capable of spilling blood? Others, or her own? Obviously there's not much to do in the literal apocalypse, but there has to be more than this. This can't be all there is. This can't be all she has. This can't be all she'll ever be.
"Cut the shit," she thought in an instant, saving her from reverie.
It's not for her sake. For the loss of her, and the rest of them. Enough with senseless thinking, she's never been one for weakness such as this. Not intentional weakness, obviously, she has to get people to trust her somehow (surely any other girl in her predicament would understand). Zora felt the smile return to her face. Of course, once she finally kills enough people, however many that may be… She'll finally feel that sweet revenge, won't she? For her and everyone else. They're more deserving of it than she is. If only they lived to see the day. Maybe this is what it was all for, maybe this will make all the scars and self sabotage finally worth the pain. Zora was sure that all of the bus-goers have never felt what true pain feels like.
The silence in the area was slowly interrupted by the sound of her soft laughter, which in time turned fuller and louder. It didn't matter if anyone heard it. At least, if they did, they'd know the kind of person Zora turned out to be. A girl who's a cynical mess, a girl who'd prefer to throw all else away, even if what she'd be throwing out is a chance to change, to help others like she once did. The past year she's spent destroying herself and everything else will not be in vain.
And everyone will know, everyone will know all that she went through. Hopefully some will feel it first hand.
She is the "savior," after all. With her own, brand new definition of the title.