6 years ago.
The both as occupied by a british officer. But he did not protect and serve He enslaved and enforced terror. He was checking everyone who passed wether or not they were part of his species. The gun at his hip had been used once today. He had shot a runner, someone who wasn't infected and tried to fight. The officer didnt mind. Every day, total dominance grew closer.
“FUCK YOU!.” A voice could be heard from somewhere in the darkness suddenly. He turned to see a flying, burning bottle.
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The perpetrators hair was a mess of colours; red and blue, green and black, white and pink. His nostrils were pierced. His eyes a striking green colour. The boy smelled like excrement and garbage. He had walked in sevage.. It threw off the the dogs, it masked his sense. IT was still shit thou. And he hated to hide in it. But he had to, as he had broken the law. He had brought war to the bastards that had taken his life. He idly flicked the lighter. Then two words came screaming from his vocal cords.
He pushed out from the pipe ran up the river bank. Adrenaline pumped trough his body, his heart was beating. His eyes were wide open as he vaulted over the fence and lit the cocktail He winded his arm bac like a professional pitcher. Babe fucking ruth incarnate as he threw. It was a burning, angry proclamation of war that flew across the sky and landed onto the toll both. The officer never got the chance to fire his gun. He had not been able to tell where the boy had come from. Nathaniel scream as he lit the bunch of them on fire with his Molotov was one of pure anger. The men with guns were all engulfed in fire as the gasoline splashed everywhere. They could only scream in agony as the boy disappeared down the Themsen riverbank again. The boy behind this? Nathaniel Lancaster ,age 18, self proclaimed street warrior and anarchist supreme.
The night lay heavy, like a blanket of silence. Around him people with flashlight searched for him. And just like six years ago there was the smell of fire and gasoline. The smell of burning flesh, burning worm. They screamed, trying to find the source of this vicious and seemingly random attack. The boy had hit a toll both that had been converted into a checkpoint. He had done it again. He had lit the fuckers on fire and dodged the cops once more. It was getting harder however. By know it was only a matter of time before they popped him in the head. Military was present everywhere these days. He trekked down the the river bank, disappearing in the darkness. He knew how to stay in the shadows, how to hide and move around under the radar. Never run groups. One got infected and you ere says gonna follow don the same path. Stick to alleys, the river and anywhere with sewerage pipes. Keep your cuts clean because if you get sick, you'll have to find treatment or raid a hospital. That was suicide.
Be dressed according to the weather was also important. That's why the young man wore the heavy warm clothes that he did. That and the coat covered his tools of destruction. He moved around the back of a car, seeing the last of the cops disappear in the direction of the fire. He was out of immediate danger for now.