[AgentZero]

End of Days

Forget the power of technology, of progress and understanding. Forget the promises of science and common humanity, for there is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter and the laughter of thirsting gods.


Oswald Alexander strolled absent-mindedly through the debris of a ruined city. Grey ash covered everything, swirling about his ankles, each step creating a miniature storm that raced ahead of him before exhausting itself and collapsing. His right foot brushed against something hard and he gave it a sharp kick, and a human skull burst up from under the ash and thudded dully down the road, coming to a rest face down in the depressing of a storm gutter. Oswald regarded it impassively as he continued on his way. He was a child of a shattered world, and the skull held no threat, no malice to him. It was merely one of an uncountable number scattered all over a city that once was home to millions, now inhabited by mere thousands.

He walked with his left arm held tightly across his chest, gripping the box of chocolates he'd bought for Ariel. He worked endlessly, trading whatever skills he had for a few meager coins to buy her presents, hoping fervently that one day he'd find the one that would make her better, cure her illness once and for all. He'd already bought chocolates before, and they hadn't helped, but they'd made her happier than anything else, and that was close enough, as far as he was concerned. Maybe one day he'd have enough money for medicine, or even a doctor, but until then he'd keep trying to keep her happy, or at the very least, quiet.

His grip tightened as a figure approached out of the mist ahead. The figure was walking with a pronounced limp, almost dragging his left leg behind him and Oswald's eyes tightened. There weren't many foolish enough so show any external signs of weakness outside, much less at night, and those who did were sometimes crazy, sometimes dangerous, and usually both. His right hand tightened on the gun in his pocket and he pulled back the hammer with his thumb. Most people took one look at his muscular physique and kept walking, but there were always those who felt lucky, or thought they could take him in a fair fight. Unfortunately for them, Oswald didn't make a habit of fighting fair.

As he approached, it soon became obvious that the figure wouldn't pose much of a threat. He was old, surprisingly so, gaunt and scraggly. Still, Oswald reminded himself, some of those old-timers could be mighty quick with a blade, and it was never wise to underestimate them. The old man suddenly veered towards him, holding out both hands, palms facing the dirty sky.

"Help an old man," he pleaded.
Oswald's gun was drawn in the blink of an eye, trained on the elderly man's forehead. "Nothin to give ya, old man," he said icily. "Keep walkin'."
The other man scuttled away, holding both hands up in front of his face, as if he could somehow ward off a nine-millimeter round. Oswald kept an eye on him until he'd disappeared around the corner, then tucked his gun away and quickened his pace. His gun hadn't held any ammunition in three years, and he didn't want the fact to become public knowledge if the old timer decided to round up a few friends.

Moments later, the shrill scream of an old man pierced the oppressive silence, followed quickly by an unmistakable snarl. There was a slim chance Oswald could have rescued the old man, frightened the attacker off by discharging a few blanks, but it was far more likely that he'd arrive in time to witness the grizzly sight of torn flesh being feasted upon, and would have stood a good chance of becoming a second course. He should still try, he reasoned, at least have a look and see what got the old guy. But it was a moot point. His body acted of it's own accord, and by the time those thoughts had made their way through his mind, he was already running.