User:Zolxen
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A dirty and unkempt creamish colored Husky in a charred firesuit sits alone, back against a sturdy wall. An axe is gripped tightly in his paws, his teeth are bared in silence against his pain. A thick plopping is heard from his direction and he looks at his axe, which is covered with thick black congealed blood. Grimacing, he turns to the zombie he just felled, and cleanes the axe head on its tattered and filthy shirt. He climbs shakily to his paws and starts to walk out the front doors, which somehow this thing had been able to open. He nods his head to the sun rising over Vinetown, and starts off back to his home base a few blocks away. A fur's job is never done, is it, Zolxen?
