I wake up, dazed. I'm in pain, and my ribs are a mangled mess. My memory is mostly gone. I feel bone fragments moving under my skin. There are two men stitching my wounds shut and bandaging my body. I have a flashback to the fight with the colossus of all trolls.

I remember that a man needed my help, back at City Hall, but I can't remember his name. I try to get up, but the two men push me back down.

"Wait," the second man tells me. You are not ready yet to go anywhere yet." He seems to be an average sized man, late teens to early twenties. He seems very familiar. His name comes back into my mind as if a whisper....

Shelton...

I look back to the first man. I notice his Irish accent and his grayed hair. The name McCoy comes back to my mind.

I lay for two more hours, watching a giant black jungle cat, laying by my feet. Avenger is perched on the bar table behind, watching over me.

As soon as they finished stitching my injuries, they bring me to a room upstairs in the bar. They leave me to there to rest. I wait until night, and I sneak out of the bar after I pick up all of my gear.

As I get outside, I find a dead feral laying with a large combat knife. He has two holes through his back. I take the knife, walk over to a tree, and snap off a bench. I take out my roll of fishing line and fasten the end of the tree limb to the handle of the knife, fashioning a spear. Up ahead I see smoke and a faint glow. I realize that it's a camp, and I stumble my way to it.

Transfixed by the beauty of the flame, I lumber on, ignoring my surroundings. Suddenly I hear a low growl, followed by a hiss. I turn around and see a small. I look up and see Avenger circling overhead; he's obviously hungry.

"Avenger, dinner." I whispered. My falcon dove down at a speed of 150 miles per hour, which was slow for him. He was obviously starving. He picked up the hellcat, which was hissing like mad. He flew up high, and dropped it on the ground below. Avenger enjoyed a quick meal and we kept going onward toward the camp.

Stalkers and ferals start edging toward me. I pull out my lighter and a can of kerosene pepper spray from the police station, I create an improvised flamethrower. The ferals near me all flee, the stalkers charge, only to get their eyes pecked out by Avenger.

Using my spear as a staff to support myself, I finally stumbled into the camp. A man looked up from the fire at me. He pointed a gun at me.

"Stay where you are!" He shouted, "I can see your heat signature!"

"Easy there fella," I replied. "I'm the one that gave you that gun. Need a hand? I have extra ammunition."

well when i get time i will come for you

editing my last section

Dang lucky im not like that i have to plan it out and the short storys are about 30 minutes

go back and read the last part. I edited it

i did its cool

Oh no teller is a feral! *pulls out assault rifle*