[There are thirty days until the apocalypse begins.]
A voice loudly rang in Ryne's ears. He turned, mid-vault over a low wall, to figure out who spoke, and crashed into the wall of the building before him.
As he fell from the second-story building, Hank's hand shot out from the corner of his vision and grabbed his shirt. He felt the threads threaten to come loose. With one large, strained motion, Hank pulled him up onto the roof behind him.
"What was that? You never make mistakes, even in the dark."
"Well, if you didn't say something to distract me, I—"
Hank looked back at him. In the glint of the moonlight, Ryne could see his furrowed brow.
"What do you mean? I didn't say anything."
Not willing to argue with him, Ryne bounced from one ledge to another while gravity brought him to the ground. Hank gripped the edge of the roof before sliding down after him.
[Your first task is to save Melody from being hit by a truck outside your school tomorrow morning.]
Since calming down, Ryne realised the voice sounded nothing like Hank. It felt deeper and a little distorted. He couldn't place the point of origin.
"There it is again! Who is it?" Ryne spun around, scanning their surroundings like a bird of prey, but only the two of them stood in the street.
"What, man? You're freaking me out."
Freaking you out? What about me? Melody? Isn't that the loner girl from his grade at school?
"I... must be hearing things. I haven't been sleeping well lately. Maybe I'm losing my mind."
That felt all too real to be something imagined...
"None of us are really sane. At least, that's what my pops used to say. Well, you can crash at the apartment tonight. I'm sure Brad won't mind."
"You know I can't. If I leave Cassie there, who knows what he'll do."
Are you okay, Cassie?
"True. You two really need to get out of there. Like, soon."
"Yeah, but I need more credits before I can support us."
"Well, if my art picks up, we can look for a rental in the city together."
I don't think anyone in Nova City will give you a place to rent. Not as an artist, anyway... And your physical strength isn't as necessary with access to labour Shells.
"Maybe..." Ryne sighed. "Let's keep moving. We can figure that out later."
Hank and Ryne scampered across the rooftops, using the various obstacles to propel themselves forward with ease. Ryne leaped over the gaps between buildings effortlessly, while Hank followed suit, his lanky form trailing slightly behind.
As they approached their home base, the voice spoke once more.
[Accept the gift from Brad. You'll need it.]
Ryne pushed the voice aside and focused on the task at hand.
"We did good today," Hank laughed.
"Dude, when you lost your balance, I thought that was gonna be it. Splat!" Ryne clapped his hands together and made explosion sounds as he imitated an explosion with his hands.
"Hey, you almost died too, and that's not a pretty picture you're painting..."
They laughed and exchanged a quick embrace, a silent reassurance of their friendship.
"Race you?" Hank asked, his body tilting forward, ready to take off at a moment's notice.
"You're on!"
Hank quickly began scaling the left side of the building while Ryne tackled the right. Using ledges and pipes, they hoisted themselves up multiple floors. Ryne cautiously edged around the building, then took a bold leap to a veranda across the way. Landing in a crouch, he surveyed the surroundings just as Hank thudded down beside him, landing on a mattress.
The veranda, an extension of the group's living space, hosted an assortment of potted plants and makeshift gardening containers. Their lush greenery offered a vibrant contrast to the urban landscape beyond, a reminder of life's persistence in even the harshest of environments.
The neighbouring verandas had their walls removed and makeshift walkways were fashioned between them to extend the gardening area to another ten apartments.
"I just can't beat you..." Hank said, trying to catch his breath.
"You'll get better. You just need more time."
"And while I get better, so do you. It's a never-ending game of catchup."
"Fun, though. Right?"
"Definitely."
Hank laughed, and Ryne joined him. Hank had been his best friend for three years now. Even if he was an airhead, there was nobody better. The glass door to the veranda slid open at such a speed it threatened to shatter. A tall man with glasses and dark, messy hair stepped through the door and loomed over them, a murderous fire in his eyes. His face was gaunt, and his steely blue eyes lightly obscured his ferociousness as he opened his mouth.
"And what do you two think you're doing!?"
"Sorry, Robert..." they said in unison.
"No, not 'sorry, Robert'! I told you to use the stairs. These old buildings can't handle both of you jumping around like idiots."
"Leave them alone, Rob. You know, we both used to get up to quite a lot of mischief when we were younger." Another man said, stepping into view.
"But now we know better, Brad."
Brad, with his lean, muscular body and shaved head, should have looked more menacing than Robert, but they all knew the bottomless kindness behind his fearsome appearance.
"Do we?" Brad asked, smiling back.
"Probably not." Robert laughed and walked back into the apartment. "Whatever, Brad. I'll leave them to you."
"Come inside out of the cold, you two. I got hold of some extra rations today!"
A few of the goody-two-shoes philanthropists of Nova City set up a rations station by the main gate. Every day, hundreds of people from Fracture lined up to get their tasteless packaged nutrition blocks and powdered artificial milk. And hundreds more missed out because of the limited supply. Not that they were any good. They just helped them survive.
Hank and Ryne swayed to their feet and walked into the apartment. The well-insulated apartment warmed Ryne's cold body. The smells of a mixture of familiar body odours caused him to smile. He unzipped his jumper and tied it around his waist.
The mismatched furniture inside the apartment added to its unique charm. Beneath the furniture, an old and ragged carpet stretched across the floor from wall to wall.
In the centre of the living area, which they entered from the balcony, a well-worn leather couch stood proudly, its cracked surface telling stories of countless gatherings and shared moments. Especially the moments shared between Elliot and Sam, which everyone would prefer were shared elsewhere. Its dark brown hue contrasted with the pale beige of a nearby armchair, an heirloom passed down through generations, or so Brad once said, but everyone had money on whether that was true.
A wooden coffee table, its surface adorned with scratches and coffee stains, anchored the seating area. It served as a home for books, tools, mechanical parts, spray paints, and an assortment of odds and ends that reflected their differing interests.
Against one wall, a bookshelf reached from floor to ceiling, overflowing with books, both old and new. It was a treasure trove of knowledge, a testament to their shared love of literature and learning.
In the corner, a vintage record player sat atop a rickety wooden stand, its melodic tunes providing a soundtrack to their daily lives. The speakers flanking it were of different sizes and designs, but they belted out music that resonated with their souls.
A dining table, a relic from a bygone era, rested silently in a corner of the room. Its sturdy oak surface, marred by the passage of time, was surrounded by a mismatched set of chairs, each with its own unique character. Some were rickety, others surprisingly comfortable, but all had a place at their table.
Atop the table, a pile of sealed rations sat waiting for them to feast.
"Yay... Rations..." Ryne said.
"Don't be picky. I know you used to live the good life, but these rations keep most of Fracture alive. Not just anyone can secure work on the other side."
"Sorry, Brad..."
They sat around the table and nitpicked which ration went to whom, then dug in. Ryne chose the wheatless pasta and meatless protein balls. He read the description and stifled a laugh.
Spaghetti? All of the rations were tasteless. Might as well be cardboard.
"So! Ryne, Hank! Good day out there?" Brad asked, chewing the last of his tasteless, meatless burger.
"Yeah, I tagged the sweetest spot!" Hank jingled his backpack, now leaning against the leg of the dining table, full of spray cans.
Ryne chomped on his meal. The unflavoured sauce helped swallow the spaghetti-like abomination.
"And you, Ryne?" Brad looked at him and tilted his head while Ryne swallowed what was in his mouth.
"I'm a little... distracted, I guess? I think I'll call it a night and go home to sleep." He let a yawn escape from his mouth, and his eyes grew wetter.
"This early? Are you sure?" Brad's gaze wandered across Ryne's body.
Ryne felt as though he could see the bruises beneath his clothes.
Bruises not gained from practicing or while working. Bruises from... him...
"The earlier I head over, the sooner I can be done with it."
Brad slid off his rickety chair and turned away before rummaging through a pile of scrap and other items that a certain genius of the group used on her Shells.
"Here it is!" Brad held something up triumphantly.
"Old clothes?" Ryne asked.
"No. Well, yes, but no. Wear this under your shirt. Maira found it amongst the trash. It's one of those impact-dispersing shirts that World Technology Institute makes for law enforcement." Brad presented a dark shirt with bumpy grooves covering it.
"Isn't that expensive?" Ryne inspected the shirt.
"Consider it a late birthday present, considering I missed your eighteenth last month."
"I can't..." Ryne held his hands up in refusal.
"Ryne, just take the damn thing!" Brad grabbed his wrist and placed the shirt in his hand before forcing his hand into a fist.
It held a loose firmness that softened Ryne's touch yet conformed to the shape of his hands.
"And he won't notice?" Ryne asked, tapping his hands on the material.
"Maira told me that it won't feel any different for him when he hits you. But, to test it out, Robert put it on, and I punched him a couple of times. Quite cathartic, honestly..." Brad went off into a daze.
"Feels fucking weird, it does. But if it stopped me from feeling Brad's punches, his punches will feel softer than an infant's, I'm sure!"
"Thank you, Brad." Ryne said.
He removed his shirt and pulled the new one over his head. It was a snug fit, for sure, and it smelled a little musty, but he trusted his friends. He pulled his shirt over it and threaded his arms through his jacket before zipping it back up.
"Where is Maira, anyway?" Ryne asked.
"Down at the scrap heap, I'm sure." Robert replied, gesturing away from the building to the west.
"Well, say hi for me when you see her, and thank her for the shirt. And Elliot and Mari, okay?"
"Will do, but Maira misses you, so go see her before you head home, yeah?"
"I guess I've got some time to do that."
"You be safe out there, Ryne. The Busters have grown in number again, and they're expanding their territory."
Ryne exchanged an awkward glance with Hank, and they both held in their defiant grins.
"Thanks for the warning!"
"I'll see you out."
As Ryne stepped out of the apartment building, the cool night air greeted him, and the city loomed before him, a desolate and forgotten landscape. Without the adrenaline from before, his fatigue caught up with him.
The night cast a shroud of darkness over Fracture, transforming it into a place that had lost all signs of life. The once-filled streets were now hauntingly empty, illuminated only by the sporadic flickering lights coming from the occasional building.
The oppressive silence of the city broke only from the distant and unsettling sounds of chaos—yells, the shattering of glass, and anguished screams that echoed through the night like ghostly wails.