This project has since been temporarily scrapped. I will get back to this, just not for a while.

So, I'm going to have to apologise for this, because I haven't been working on DAL:SS very much for the last few days. Not at all, actually :/ Instead, I have been working on my next story, as you can probably see. This new one is a completely original storyline, and as such, is a huge contrast form what I normally do, so feedback is appreciated as usual! I'll still be working on DAL:SS, and this new story is going to be updated a little less frequently than that story, so if you're only here for DAL and not Charlotte, then you're not going to see much of a change. However, hopefully you enjoy this new project anyway, as I've enjoyed planning and writing it so far.

Anyway, that's enough waffling, I'll let you see for yourself.

Please enjoy!

-Chapter 1

"Hmmm." I peered through the scope as it glinted in the midday sun, the dull metal of the rifle's barrel slick and the wood wet from where we had gotten caught in the rain earlier. I was crouched down in the loft of the building that we had taken shelter in, the hand guard of my rifle resting on an exposed wooden beam and poking out through a hole that had been caused by some long-forgotten shell. The town around us was in ruins, and what used to be a small-but-respectable french town was now nothing but rubble and ash. Sad, really. I imagine that it looked nice in the past, but that was no more. A vast forest was to my right, stretching on for miles towards the surrounding hills, and the air was still and silent, for once. It had been like this for three weeks now. We figured the fighting had moved on. How wrong we were...

Anyway, where are my manners? I'm John, John Parker. Below me is the rest of my group, and we're currently doing our best to survive. You see, when you're like us, no side is friendly, and every army is a threat; be it American, German or British, we can't trust any of them. "Why?" you ask? You'll see soon enough.

"John!" A voice called up from the darkness.

"Yeah?" I called back.

"It is time to switch now." It said. I knew that voice, it was Felix, the leader of our group.

"OK, I'm coming down." I hauled the rifle off of the wooden beam and took it out of my shoulder, and as I did so, Felix walked over to me and I offered it to him. He wordlessly accepted it and took up a similar position to mine, but he didn't look quite as comfortable. I shrugged and started descending the wooden stairs, but I stopped after the third step and looked back.

Felix. He's ex-army, if I recall. A Grenadier. He was always cold and analytical, I sometimes wondered if he felt at all, but I guess that's what happens in the German army. He was never quite as good a shot as me, but he had training that I could only dream of, so we were pretty even. He still wore his uniform, but he didn't want to, I could tell that by how he had ditched his rank long before I got picked up by him and his ragtag group. I sighed and made my way down the rest of the steps.

"Anything?" A girl a year or two younger than me came rushing over, a panicked look on her face. Her name was failing me, but I was sure that I'd remember it later.

"No, I didn't see anything." I replied.

The girl sighed and relaxed. "Thank God." She smiled and moved back over to the window where a scope stood on a small tripod, overlooking the grassy fields.

I smiled back and collapsed into a chair that leant against a wall. I was tired, and I hadn't slept for three days because of stress, mostly, but also because I found myself unable to whenever I tried. As I looked around at the group, some of the younger members huddled in a corner around a crackling fire, others cleaning their weapons, more resting and a few cooking something using whatever they had on-hand, I finally lowered my head and fell asleep.

It was dusk when I was forcefully awoken, and the sun could barely be seen poking over the hills.

"John!" My eyes shot open as my head was jerked up by a strong hand that sported an even stronger grip. "We need to move!"

I snapped upright. "What is it?"

"Panzers!" Felix, for once, sounded worried.

"What? Who's?"

"There is no time for that! We must move! Onto the truck!" He shoved me in the direction of the back door and tossed my rifle into my still-tired hands. He unslung his own weapon: An MP40 that he had stolen from the officer he killed when he escaped the ranks of the German Army, and cocked it. "Go! I will cover you!"

"R-Right. Of course!" I turned on my heel and sprinted through the open door, my boots hitting the thick mud and my hands scrabbling for the trigger of my own weapon: An M1903 Springfield, my Dad's old hunting rifle, as I raced towards the truck. I swung the heavy passenger-side door open and dragged my self inside with as much grace as you could reasonably expect.

"What about Felix?" A heavy french accent appeared from my left.

"He's coming, Sparky." Sparky was our chief mechanic, and he knew how to operate the truck better than the rest of us by a mile and then some, so we always let him drive. His name wasn't actually "Sparky", it was some obnoxiously long french name that no-one could pronounce, so, given that and his abilities with a wrench and a touch of grease, he quickly got stuck with the nickname. Behind me, along two rows of benches that made up the bed of the truck, was the rest of the group, including the girl who's name I still couldn't remember. Fifthteen of us in total: Fifthteen sorry-looking teenagers and worn-down early twenty-somethings, all soaked and dirty from years on the run.

"Go!" I looked back towards Felix who had just burst through the door of the house. "They are getting closer!"

I shuffled over to make room as he yanked himself into the front cab. "How close?"

Felix thought for a moment. "About a mile. But that is only the Panzers, there could be others."

The truck roared to life and hastily reversed, bouncing over the pockmarked soil. "Shit. That's within range."

"Yes, that is why we must go now!" Felix pointed down the road. "That way!"

Sparky wrenched the wheel to the left and reversed onto the road, before slamming the stick into first and accelerating forward, tires spinning as they struggled to grip the wet road, but they eventually caught and the truck spluttered forwards.

"Is everyone alright?" I shouted as I turned back to the bed of the truck.

"Yeah, just a little dazed." One of the older ones chuckled slightly. "Still better than my driving." Phil was English, and he quickly became the morale-booster of the group, never letting that big dumn grin be wiped off of his face.

I allowed myself to relax slightly as the truck rattled along the bumpy cobbled road and over a small bridge, a slight trickle of a stream underneath it.

It was then when I proved why I was the best shot we had.

A Willys Jeep leapt out from the trees at us and skidded across the road. It corrected itself and kept a little ahead of our truck, maybe fifty metres, when, a second later, I noticed the large machinegun mounted to it, and then the soldier operating it, a thick cigar protruding from his mouth and three chevrons running down the shoulder of his green uniform.

I also just happened to notice that the gun was pointed directly at me.

"John!" Felix yelled.

"I got it!" I shouted. I froze time and readied my weapon, the copper butt resting neatly in my shoulder as I lined up the shot.

I fired, the rifle kicking at my shoulder as I did so once, twice, thrice.

I didn't like killing a fellow American, but considering it always came down to me or him, I never once hesitated. However, I always made sure it was quick, refusing to lose my morals.

Time unfroze and I watched as three of my previous comrades dropped, lifeless.

"Nice shooting, Ja?" Felix laughed and patted me on the back. But I didn't laugh back.

Instead, I almost threw up as the the Jeep veered off the road and crashed into one of the many surrounding trees, the faces of those I just murdered staring at me.

At least they don't have to fight anymore, right?

I slowly eased my weapon to the ground and sunk into the seat of the truck, my very bones exhausted. The rumbling of the engine became distant noise as I drifted further and further asleep. My eyelids drooped and my weapon dropped to the floor of the truck, my hands too slack to hold onto it any longer, and I drifted into unconsciousness.

Do you see now? Why nowhere is safe for us? Why there is no-one to run to? It's because we are special, and we know what will happen if we are caught.

We have a disease. We don't know how we got it, we don't know when. We don't know why are abilities are different, or how they can be used. The only thing we know is: nowhere is safe, nowhere is home, nowhere is warm.

Nowhere, except No Man's Land.