𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙙.
𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙙.
𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙮 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨.
𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙚𝙢𝙥𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣
𝙎𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙪𝙨.
𝙎𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙪𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙡.
𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚, 𝙨𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙪𝙨-
...
𝘗𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳-𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳.
𝘗𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳-𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳.
𝘗𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳-𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳.
Underneath the gray, crying sky was a dim city in ruins.
Tall buildings-skyscrapers some would say-dot the city. The smallest being several meters high, they reached far into the sky, like fingers reaching towards heaven.
Yet heaven is illusive, and those who reached up to it can never grasp it.
What was once a prospering city was now a land for the scavengers and animals. From the cracks in the cement or from just a simple random hole, vines, branches, moss, leaves, and many other plant life grew without check.
Perhaps bits of various colors of green mixed between gray and black made the city look a bit livelier, even if the desolation couldn't be hidden.
Underneath the crying sky, a figure sat on a fallen pillar in a hanging, wide-open shelter of one of the many buildings.
The man wore a cloak that covered his shoulders and extended all the way to the ankles of his boots. Connected to the cloak was a hood that covered the top and back of his head, and on his face was something similar to a plague doctor's mask.
A crow mask.
It goes without saying to fit this theme, the color, from head to toe, was all black.
The sounds of scribbling softly resonated with the sounds of rain. Holding a pencil shaped tool in his leather-gloved hands, he looked to be writing something in the leather-bound book.
After several minutes of continuous writing, he stopped. Tucking the pencil-like tool back into the pockets of his cloak, he quietly stood up.
Dusting whatever was on his shoulders and deeply breathing in the earthy smell that comes with rain, he took a look around him.
Despite being in a wide, open shelter, it looked so lifeless and desolate from his point of view. With small and large debris littered here and there, rubble, litter, and large standing white-gray pillars, it looked incredibly empty.
Here lies the remnants of an age of civilization that has long since passed, now only remembered with word of mouth, pictures, and stories.
What a sad world to live in.
With another deep breath, the man slowly began making his way out of the building. Footsteps on hard concrete slightly rang out in addition with the rain as he trotted seemingly with carelessness.
Just as he came into view of the entrance where he had entered the ruined building, he suddenly fell back into one of the many shadows.
Amidst the pitter-pattering of the rain outside and the somewhat howling wind, there was now a growing, more noticeable noise that sounded very alien in the lifeless city.
Slowly, the man tilted his body slightly forward, peeking around the corner.
Under the rain and stepping on another puddle, a hooded, humanoid figure swayed left and right on the open, asphalt road. Although the brown pale hood shadowed the face, the rags that covered the figure's body showed a different story.
Scars upon scars covered the body like criss-crosses. Not including the scars, the skin of its entire body was colored a burning crimson red, as though their skin was peeled away, revealing the bulging muscles underneath.
The disorienting, disgusting color was not what the man's eyes were drawn to first, however. It was the figure's hands that his eyes focused on.
Claws as long as four inches grew out of the fingernails; sharpened as though it was made to maul and tear apart weak prey.
"A mutant..." the man murmured. With slow steps, he began slowly sneaking back further into the shadows. If this was a mutant, then-
Suddenly, the mutant looked towards his direction.
'...then it would have a sensitive nose,' the man finished his thought. Then, with practiced and experienced movement, he scurried away like a rat, his black cloak billowing behind him.
The roar of an animal screamed behind him.
...
Despite ducking under wires, sliding under close to near fallen pillars, and jumping over whatever obstacle was in front of him with ease, the crow-mask man hardly made any sound.
Dim light repeatedly casted on and off his body as the man ran past several broken windows and thin, long, large holes in the ceiling or on the walls.
Meanwhile, further behind him, a distinct noise of growls and whatnot crashed towards him like a nonstop running train.
And judging by the growling noise behind him, it seemed-no, it 𝘸𝘢𝘴 growing closer and closer as it was growing louder and louder.
Fast.
So with a deep breath, he spun around, only to find the red eyes of the mutant gleamed in the darkness, and its claws stretching outward, its dreadfully sharpened tips mere centimeters away from the glass eyes of the beaked mask.
Time slowed to a crawl as the claw closed the distance. Closer and closer it came, until it's only a millimeter away from the mask's glassy eyes.
Then, as sudden as a flash of light, the man suddenly tossed a purple dust-like substance onto the mutant.
Growling like a rabid animal, it turned left and right, swiping here and there in an attempt to clear it all away.
In just a few short moments, gravity did the job as the purple mist faded away. As it calmed down, it soon found itself alone.
It howled once more, shaking the foundations of the building.
...
In a place far from the mutant, the hooded masked man hunkered down in a building.
Sitting on a nearby chair, which creaked as he sat on it, the man took out the diary he tucked into the pockets around his chest within his cloak. Taking it out, he unfolded a somewhat small square paper into an outstandingly large map the size of a meter in length and width.
Spreading it out on a nearby table, he took out his pencil-shaped tool and crossed an "X" on the spot.
"Not here too...were the rumor's fake after all?" he murmured. With a sigh, he folded the map back into his diary. Closing it with a soft snap, he tucked it back into his cloak.
"It's time to return to the bunker."
With that said, he turned to leave out the broken doorway further behind him.
Before the man walked through the door, he couldn't help but glance to the side. He didn't know why he felt the need to look, but he felt the need, and so he did.
On the ground were three skeletons. Two were rather similar in size, while one was as small as a child.
They sat together, holding hands.
After looking at them for a while, he simply left.
'What a sad world we live in,' the man thought. The crying sky seemed to cry even more, as the once soft pitter-pattering became a terrible orchestra of a torrent of rain and wind.
...
=====
[The first day of January, 99 years after 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗮𝗹𝗹]
It has been 99 years since the end of the world.
Monsters and the insane still prowl the surface. The sane-or at least the one's not infected-became rats who scurried to the underground, where the dwell in man made homes called 𝗕𝘂𝗻𝗸𝗲𝗿𝘀.
As the sun rises on the surface, embracing the new day, in the deep underground, humans have probably already forgotten what the sun is. The large blue sky that is larger than any cavern ceiling.
After all, it has been a little more than three generations after all, it's no wonder many had already forgotten.
Only the brave and reckless venture out to the surface, but even then very few come back. Nowadays, it's only heard of by word of mouth, pictures, drawings, or maybe even a video if they still exist.
What a sad life humans find themselves in.
-𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘺
=====
...
The sound of soft footsteps rang loudly in a dark, long, tunnel-like structure as a masked man dressed in all black walked through the tunnel. The darkness embraced him, camouflaging him into his surroundings.
The tunnel was thankfully not so small-least the size of three or four average-sized humans spreading their arms outward to the side in terms of width and two or three average-sized humans, one standing on top of the other, in terms of height.
Although it is very manageable, some of the more "paranoid" ones might be claustrophobic enough to not even think of entering such a place.
Also, the soft sound of footsteps, boots against stone? Soft was an understatement.
One could hardly hear the sounds of it at all unless one had sharp ears, and even then they would barely see the man camouflaged in the darkness without a source of light.
Quietly, the man walked around and over large holes or grooves that can trip him in an experienced manner.
He would definitely not say he had tripped over one or two before.
Alas, the man couldn't help but think of the times of long ago. When it was so simple; when it was together with friends and family.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the stale, dusty air one would expect in a tunnel barely, if not never, used.
Now is not the time for thoughts. He had to quickly get-
Suddenly, the masked man heard a sound far behind him. Before he could turn around, he was introduced to a sound of a click echoing in the rocky tunnel.
"Hands up. Slowly. No sudden movement," a voice said after a moment. There was no tremor in the voice, as though they had done this many a times.
'A scavenger? A rich one at that,' he thought.
Still, the man complied, slowly brought his arms up from his sides. As soon as he did so, a source of orange, yellow light approached from behind him.
An easy deduction with the simplest of observations, for the darkness around the cave's walls, floor, and ceiling seemed to back off, and a shadow of himself stretched in front of him.
The length of the shadow grew shorter as the voices grew louder.
"Well well well, look what we got ourselves here, boys," said a snarky voice. "A person all on his lonesome. Eeeeeeeasy prey."
The sound of lips licking, very loud heavy breathing, footsteps, and multiple sounds of laughter echoed loudly and wildly behind the masked man.
'More than one. At most three of them.'
"Fresh food too," another said in a more distinct, nasal voice. "We might've hit the jackpot. See? That guy's clothes don't look too shabby either."
The man only took note of that voice's first sentence. He hoped it was the rations on him. He would give them the benefit of the doubt and forgive them because they live in harsh times. Not that the guy was an actual canni-
"I've been wanting some fresh meat ever since we ate that little girl," the same voice said with excitement and another additional unpleasant loud noise of licking his lips and gulping. "Man oh man were her screams delightful-"
All notion of compassion, curiosity, and mercy left the masked man as he simply sighed. The words of the scavengers had all become a distant noise as he began rubbing something unnoticeably with his fingers.
In the dark tunnel, with the only source of light being a torch held far behind him, they probably cannot see him making such a small action.
Just as he could feel the slightest sense of his arms being touched, he suddenly brought his two hands together.
With a clap of his leather-gloved hands, the entire tunnel instantly became filled with thick clouds of dust.
As abruptly as it came, there were several flashes of light in the dust clouds as several sounds of multiple bullets rang out, ringing out loudly as it clinked against the stone walls of the tunnel. Ducking underneath all of the blindly shot bullets, the masked man took a swift look at everything as he quietly rushed forward towards the flashes of light.
Following the sounds of noise in this tunnel was not guaranteed to lead him to the source of it after all, not in this tunnel.
A humanoid figure came into view. Wearing a ragged large hiking backpack and ragged, torned, and stitched clothing was a thin man, malnourished. Looking to be in his thirties, he had a sharp nose, a patch of brown hair, and an unshaven beard.
He was an unfamiliar face to the masked man's quiet, observant eyes.
There was a flash of annoyance on the scavenger's face, he smacked the handle of the handgun as though it was broken.
Without warning, he was introduced to a quick send off to his maker.
Even the masked man was flabbergasted as a sickening sound of a crunch and a crack echoed loudly in the smoke-filled tunnel amidst the sounds of chaotic coughing and yelling.
As the scavenger's body just fell onto the ground, the man immediately began running towards the next target.
A taller, thin man emerged into his vision. He seemed to be rubbing his eyes with one hand, while with the other quickly waving his knife around and shouting words that would be best suited for a sailor's mouth.
Then, the thin scavenger had the unfortunate misfortune of swinging wide, giving an opening for the patient masked man to jump onto him.
The scavenger fell onto the ground with a muted scream, banging the back of his head against the hard, stone floor. The knife in his hands fell out, which the masked man grabbed.
Twirling it with practiced movement, he brought it down onto the unfortunate thin man's neck.
Although it was silent, it wasn't a quick death, however. While the masked man covered the slowly dying scavenger's mouth with a hand, who tried to scream, he kept pushing the dagger in his other hand deeper into the poor man's neck.
Struggling underneath his weight, the thin man's eyes spoke a thousand words that his mouth couldn't.
Anger, hunger, fear, regret, hatred, fear, and more fear flashed in his eyes one by one. Like a story being unfolded before him, it was astonishingly fast. Perhaps it was a flashback of some sort, seeing memories and regrets that he couldn't fix until finally, the light soon left him.
After another five seconds, the masked man shook his head as he quietly got onto his feet. He never did like looking into other people's eyes while they died. Perhaps those with sick tastes would, but he never felt such euphoria from it.
Only a dull ache and pain in his chest reminded him that he was alive.
The masked man stretched, rolling his shoulders and wrist as he took a look around. Well, at least today he would get some loot.
'Wait,' he thought. 'Wasn't there a source of light? Then wouldn't one have a torch-?'
He suddenly heard a scream of hatred and eagerness behind him. Just as he turned around, the last scavenger was already too close for him to dodge.
"Take this-!" a short man that seemed to be in his forties yelled, thrusting a knife into the masked man's chest.
The sharp end of the knife did indeed stab him onto his chest...well, the surface of his clothes at least.
Without a sound, it "clanked" onto his clothes, like pressing a stick against a sheet of metal.
The two quietly looked down at the knife before simultaneously looking at each other. Looking deep into the scrawny man's eyes, he could see his own reflection of the empty eyes of an emotionless, beaked black mask look back at him.
Including that, the man could also see the fear growing in the scrawny man's eyes as he slowly took a step back.
"...um, forgive me-?"
The masked man suddenly grabbed his throat and pushed him onto the stone-cold floor.
Wrapping his hands around the remaining scavenger's neck, he began strangling the man.
Once again, he looked into the short man's eyes. Like the other one, there were emotions such as hatred, fear, anger, and even more fear that flashed in his eyes.
His face reddened, and in desperation he clawed the masked man's arms. Perhaps he was regretting that he dropped the knife somewhere as he fell onto the ground, flinging it a little farther away.
Maybe the torch that was once in his hands could've been used to burn him, but it too was flung quite a distance away.
Perhaps he would've had a chance to escape, to reverse the situation entirely if he didn't drop the knife.
Alas, it wasn't meant to be, as the light in the scavenger's eyes began fading away. As it did so, the struggling slowly grew weaker and weaker.
Finally, as though it had taken an hour, the struggling entirely stopped, and the body twitched a few more times before finally stopping for the last time.
After giving another few seconds for the death throes to end, the masked man pushed himself up and staggered onto his feet.
Huffing, he wiped the sweat off his forehead as he looked at the carnage he had wrought, only to sigh as he realized the blood got onto his gloves, and therefore wiping with it got some blood on his forehead.
Ripping off a piece of a somewhat cleaner, unstained cloth off of one of the dead bodies, he wiped the rest of the coppery, smelly blood with it.
Throwing the now stained cloth, he began to loot the bodies.
Well, just the one with the large hiker backpack. That was where the loot was in most cases. Still, he made sure to give a look over with the other two bodies before heading on over to the one with the large bag.
Crouching down, with his two hands, he deftly unclasped the simple lock. With a click, it easily opened, and so the masked man pulled it away and looked into the bag.
Sifting through it, he found many dirty a cloth, a small amount of clean cloth, a rusty piece of nail, "jerky," canned food, a strangely clean roll of toilet paper, a somewhat usable pistol-a rarity these days-with no ammo, and a bottle of water.
After hearing what one of them said, he didn't try to discern if the jerky were actually properly salted rations or a certain type of meat, so he threw them to the side, where the dirty pieces of cloth were stacked.
A moment later, the masked man properly sifted through the junk that was somewhat useful, and the trash that was trash. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he took a look around once again before walking further down into the tunnel.
Before walking around a turn, he couldn't help but look behind him. There, a scene of carnage that is commonly seen these days remained.
Soon, the darkness would envelop the light of the dying torch near the carnage, and its embers inevitably died out like the flames of life that were snuffed out every so quickly.
'What a sad world we live in,' the masked man thought once again.
There was a strange sense of deja vu stirring in his chest, but he pushed it away as he walked deeper into the tunnel.