The air reeked of rot and damp metal, a smell that clung to everything in the ruins. Keir adjusted the collar of his tattered trench coat, its once-pristine black fabric now dulled and fraying at the edges. The coat hung heavy on his wiry frame, weighed down by grime and the concealed weapons strapped inside. His boots crunched against broken glass as he navigated the remains of what was once a bustling city street.
His reflection caught in a shattered window—a gaunt face with pale, weathered skin stared back. Brown, greasy hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat and dirt. His eyes, sunken from decades of sleepless nights, still burned with a simmering hatred. It wasn't hatred for the creatures that roamed the wasteland, nor for the world that had crumbled around him. It was hatred for the chains that kept him bound to this rotting planet—a world that refused to let him die, even as it killed everything else.
Keir turned away from the glass, disgusted. His reflection felt like a mockery, a reminder of the man he no longer was. Sixty-seven years had passed since the virus had ended civilization, and he was still here, looking no older than thirty. His mutation regeneration that kept him from aging or dying had once seemed like a blessing. Now, it felt like a slow suffocation.
Ahead, the street opened into a clearing littered with rusted vehicles and collapsed buildings. He paused, scanning his surroundings. Mutants were common in these ruins, and even with his abilities, he had no interest in wasting energy on a fight.
The sound of shifting rubble broke the silence. Keir's hand moved instinctively to the revolver holstered beneath his coat. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, as if violence had become second nature. He crouched low, his coat brushing the ground as he listened.
Then it appeared—a hulking creature that crawled from the ruins of a building. It moved on all fours, its elongated limbs twisted and malformed. Its skin was patchy, stretched over muscle and bone, with tumors pulsing like grotesque hearts across its body. Keir could make out the faint traces of humanity in its face, though they were long gone, swallowed by mutation.
The creature's milky eyes locked onto him, and it let out a low, guttural growl.
Keir sighed, standing upright and drawing his revolver in one fluid motion. He rested the barrel against his temple for a moment, muttering to himself, "You're all the same. Just a waste of space."
The mutant lunged with surprising speed, claws tearing into the ground as it closed the distance. Keir didn't flinch. He raised the revolver and fired. The first shot ripped through its shoulder, black blood spraying the ground. The creature staggered but charged again, undeterred.
"Persistent," Keir muttered under his breath, firing a second shot. This one hit its chest, causing it to stumble. It let out a wail of pain but kept moving, claws swiping wildly.
Keir sidestepped the attack with ease, his movements precise and efficient. He aimed again, this time at its head. "Stay down," he said flatly, pulling the trigger.
The gunshot echoed through the ruins, and the creature crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap. Black ichor oozed from its skull, pooling around its malformed body. Keir stood over it for a moment, lowering his weapon.
He crouched beside the corpse, his trench coat sweeping the ground as he examined it. The stench was overwhelming, but Keir had long since grown numb to such things. He pulled a hunting knife from his boot and cut into the creature's flesh, removing a chunk of mutated tissue. The black, tar-like substance clung to his gloves as he held it up to the dim light.
"Maybe this one's different," he muttered, though he doubted it. The tissue might hold some clue about the mutations or the virus itself, but years of scavenging had yielded little of value. Still, it was better than doing nothing.
He wiped the blade on his coat and stood, looking down at the corpse with disinterest. Killing had become mechanical, a means to an end. There was no triumph in it, no satisfaction. Just another step toward his ultimate goal: escape.
Keir looked to the horizon, where the remnants of the city stretched out like a graveyard of concrete and steel. Somewhere out there, buried beneath the rubble of humanity's hubris, was the technology he needed. A way off this planet, a way to finally be free.
His tired eyes narrowed, the hatred within them flickering like dying embers. If it took years, decades, or centuries, he would find it. He didn't care what he had to destroy to get there.
Freedom wasn't just worth fighting for. It was worth everything.
Without another glance at the corpse, Keir adjusted his coat and walked on, his figure blending into the desolate ruins. The world was silent again, save for the sound of his boots against the broken ground.