... 7th of September 2047 ...
Fluttering his eyes open, his gaze would meet a discomforting visual. The wooden ceiling above was rotted and accompanied with loose wiring and holes that allowed insulation to leak out and grasp his eyesight, The dim light projected by a slowly spinning ceiling fan would also meet his gaze and repeatedly flicker from time to time showing off it's broken state. Dust illuminated itself in the shallow light seeping into this uncanny room giving him more details of it's unclean state, it was almost like it was unfit to live in but he rested anyway.
Sitting up on the mattress he rested on, the sleep deprived raccoon's eyes would gaze cluelessly around the room as if unfamiliar with his surroundings, he would grunt and scratch behind his twitching raccoon ear idly and gaze back up at the flickering lightbulb and spinning fan, showing off his features as his green eyes would glimmer in the light. However, his red fur was stained and dry. It is safe to say maybe being sanitary and clean was the least of his problems.
The room he rested in was damp, dark and dimly lit. The air was thick to breathe in and the shallow sunlight would bleed in and greatly outshine the brightness of the light sources inside and show off the repulsively stained furniture as well as the other decorations and appliances that littered this rotten apartment room that now proved to be unsafe to even reside inside of. The rumbling of a generator in the ceiling that was exposed by the missing panels that made up the ceiling would dim out the eerie silence in this cold awakening that the raccoon seemed normalised to. The few windows were fitted with weak and rotted wooden boards nailed into place and reinforcing the windows as if trying to stop something from getting in while the raccoon had his restless sleep thanks to his insomnia.
The Raccoon in question was unfashionably dressed in a brown colored gambler hat that instead of sitting upon his head it was laying at the side of the cold mattress he found peace on for the night, the bags under his eyes suggest he got little to no sleep at all despite laying there, his paws would be clutching a loaded 9mm handgun for his own safety against the dangers that may lurk in this new world. On his torso was a similarly coloured trench coat, fitted with long worn jeans and no shoes to be found on his sore, rough soles. He had a red fur in colour that would be a much brighter red if he washed it, to top it off he also had oddly alluring lime eyes to give sympathy to his uncanny appearance.
Sluggishly getting this day started he would shift from his lazy state and stand to his feet, another light grunt would exit his dry lips and would echo in the quiet yet spacey room, moving towards the boarded up window now. The sun beamed in and ran along his long dirty and worn red fur as he gazed around outside, nothing but a quiet abandoned town awaited him outside; his narrowed eyes could briefly make out a bar across the street from the apartment he resided in, from his perspective it appeared he was at least two floors up.
Breaking the immersion that this town was mysteriously empty and abandoned, two normal people dressed in an ill manner would stroll down along the street, the raccoon was unchanged by the appearance of civilisation, their sheer presence bothered his troubled self as he began backing away from the window and sighing, starting to walk back past his mattress and destined to a dusty kitchen counter where he laid his gun inside of an empty cookie jar to store for now. Two cans of gasoline would be sat neatly beside this counter unaware if they are full or empty.
Grabbing a nearby stool the legs would creak nosily along the floor as he positioned it into place. Climbing up onto it with ease, balancing himself easily showing off his raccoon agility. It was now clear what he was reaching towards, into a severed ceiling panel, leading into a gaping hole in the ceiling where the source of the noise was located. His paw would reach up and with a soft click he would power off the generator, a tube would be provided lazily laying through the hole in the ceiling where it is now obvious how the fuel reaches the generator. The room would go deafeningly quiet and the light would flicker off almost instantly for a long deserved rest after the dark, dark night.
Climbing down he would sigh again, showcasing his own stress from whatever was really bothering him. Picking up a rug-sack from behind the counter, from here some shouts and even chatter would be heard echoing from the almost silent streets, a soft wind would shutter the building causing it to creak almost being unsettled. Throwing the rug-sack over his back he would start his typical day off.
Moving back towards the bed he'd grab his hat and apply it to his dirty hair covering it up with the peaceful and comforting serenity of the nice material sat upon his head. He liked it that way, to be almost unrecognisable from the public outside, to be covered up and hidden away from the prying eyes of the few that awaited him, to judge him or to hurt him. His entire thought process of strangers was pessimistic and he preferred keeping to himself.
Feeling comfortable now that his features were partially covered up he headed back to the counter, pulling out a tea-bag packet that was labeled "Lime Tea Delight". Setting it down he looked over towards the kettle and then grunted realising he turned the generator off too early. After quickly powering it back on again the rumbling noise disturbed his room again as he aggressively slammed the canteen full of water onto the table, throwing his rugsack to the floor for now as he topped the rusted and stained kettle off with the water. It began to boil slowly but surely, at least something in this place worked for him.
Opening the cabinet the door would fall off and almost hit him direct on in the face, slamming against the floor as his narrowed and annoyed eyes fixated on it with a silent rage for this inanimate object. Picking out the cup that looked the most clean, it had a label on it stating "World's Best Dad". Rolling it across the kitchen counter as the kettle began to boil, throwing in the teabag and starting to make himself some tea.
With no sugar or anything else to top it off, he simply took it and drank from it. A small smile extending along his face. Finally, he got some of the comfort he desperately needed this morning.
Leaving the apartment after around five minutes, his feet would smack along the dry steps of concrete stairs that has long been worn over time and improper treatment of cleaning, the door to the room he rested in for that night could be heard vividly closing behind him. Clutching the strap of the rug-sack that laid over his back pressed against the fabric of his trench coat that reeked of cigarettes and a touch of the raccoon's own scent, His vision felt weak, his limbs were sluggish and tired. He felt distant from his own mind as well as the restlessness of his body implying he was in fact suffering from an insomnia of some sort, Induced by something.
Reaching the bottom of the ancient cemented stairway that was as bitter as ice. His eyes would gaze upon a doorway. The door that used to provide a warm entrance to the apartment building was now laying on the floor, the etched words on the wood was written seemingly in chalk of some kind, appearing to be a threat "WHITE-HAND WANTS THEIR MONEY" followed by a strange undefined symbol after the sentence displayed, seemingly a threat to whoever was running this destroyed apartment complex. The presence of outlaw factions is to be considered now, clans or even gangs that would now overpower this vastly different society. However the chalks deterioration and the fresh dust laying over it implies this message was written quite a while ago.
Glancing to the counter we are now faced with an empty reception, a light wind would again shudder the building causing some paper inside the room to shift along the floor skittishly. The room other than the numerous pages scattered along the floor was scavenged for all of it's resources, nothing but an empty room and torn wallpaper left behind that was once pretty colourful and aesthetically pleasing was now rendered into nothing more than being sunwashed and torn indefinitely taking the colour out of it. On the desk was the biggest tragedy of all was a simple flowerpot containing dried and dead wilted flowers once full of life. This overall served as a brutal reminder to how much colour was taken out of life in this modern day crisis.
Still, Even in a world as decimated as this the raccoon would persevere with willpower greater than any other even in his fragile state he would stroll out of the apartment into the blinding light that shone into the small room, beaming onto the stairway and collapsed elevator that was missing one door, even the buttons were torn off and scavenged for the circuitry inside, Not even the scraps were left behind in this town. The raccoon set out to his journey, whatever that may be.