Rand stood on the roof of the Tombs and looked out over the city. It seemed like the zombies had been loose for years instead of merely months. Looking down to the ground over the edge of the roof he watched the mindless corpses batter at the doors and windows. If he thought it would do any good he would kill some of them. There were hundreds if not thousands of those things in this neighborhood alone though. Shaking his head he walked over to a little target he had set up. The target was a small wooden box stuffed to capacity with old clothes that had too many holes to even be rags. Checking it once more to make sure the clothing was very tightly packed in it he nodded once to himself and turned away, walking twenty feet and turning back to face the target. Taking a folding knife (http://www.houseofrage.com/knives/Gunsite.jpg) from his left hip pocket he flicked it open and held up his right palm. There were many scars across the palm as well as one around his wrist and some on his forearm. Using the knife in his left hand he stuck the point into his right palm, pressing until his blood started to pool around the blade. The cut didn't really hurt, not anymore. Rand had done this many times by now. He wouldn't have been able to keep track if he had wanted to. Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket he wiped the knife blade and put it and the cloth back in his pocket. Rand activated his power of hemokinesis and blood started coming from the hole in his palm rising and forming into a sphere about 2 inches in diameter. Once the sphere was formed he compressed it until it was half the size.<br/><br/>Raising his right arm and pointing his palm at the target Rand launched the Blood Bullet at the target. The ball of compressed blood flew to the target in a flash. When the bullet hit the target it smashed through the wood side, spraying splinters, and continued through the clothes and out the other side where it continued for a little more distance before smacking into a metal heat vent and splattering all over it. That was one of the reasons he practiced on the roof, the blood could be washed away by any rain. He preferred to not think of the disgusted looks he had gotten the one time he had tried doing it inside. Some of his allies, hero and civilian both, thought his power was unsavory at best. Dismissing the thoughts from his head Rand walked over to the box and inspected it. Bending down some he could see clearly through the box and clothing. He checked the other side to see if the clothes were pushed out or what. Seeing nothing but some splinters standing out he smiled. He had finally been able to compress the ball the right amount to have twice the penetrating power than he had had before. Rand chuckled when he thought of what he could do with a bigger bullet. He didn't need to look at his palm to watch as he used his power to pull the blood that had oozed out onto his palm back into his hand and send platelets to the hole so it would scab over quickly. Grabbing his canteen of water from the table next to the box he unscrewed the cap and took a drink. It was important for him to stay hydrated. He learned that the hard way one day. That day his blood had thickened. When he went to use it he had a hard time controlling it for some reason. Since then he had been sure to drink about a gallon per day.<br/><br/>Satisfied with the results and not wanting to waste too much blood in case something happened today Rand headed to the roof access door. Holding the door he used his foot to push a cinder block out of the way. Going through the door he started walking down the stairs as the door banged shut behind him. Going down a couple flights he exited the stairwell on the floor with his room. Turning down the hall he walked at a steady pace until he came to his room. It was an old office or something. All Rand knew was it had four walls and a roof. Opening the door with his key he went in and left the door open about a foot, hoping he could get a breeze through his open windows. Inside there was a bare mattress in the corner, a chair by the window, a trunk with his clothes and possessions, and a box of books neat the chair. Sitting in the chair he picked up the book he had been reading and opened it to the page with his bookmark. Rand kicked his heels up on the windowsill and started reading. While in prison he had developed a taste for solitude and reading.