This city has no spirit. No life. If you come here you are alone, a pilgrim in an alien and desolate place. Don't be fooled by the others here. They look like you, sure, but they're little more than shades. Cars buzz by with one or two at a time all pretending to be real. Pretending to be alive. You can't call this living, though. Wake up, get in your car, listen to a blur of sound, go to the office, leave, sleep, and do it all over again. Forget what makes today unique from yesterday and how tomorrow will even be worthwhile. Sobriety is a commodity too. You keep the flask in your pocket and the pills locked up when something important comes up. Otherwise, nothing's wrong with having your head in the clouds. Doesn't make you any worse than the others here, right? They're just shades. You? You're passing the time until something worthy come up. Until you have a reason to be sober, to be on point and really give your all. Until that point you indulge. A sip here, a puff there, all to shorten the trip and muffle the noise.

Tonight feels different. Just a feeling, no proof really except your hand hesitating as it reaches for the bottle. You stand at your window a while and look over the street below. Everything is lit, cars are parked in front of store-fronts and apartment complexes, but something is missing. Something is different. After a while it hits you like and your stomach sinks. There is no life here. Not the way you describe after a drink, literally. The streets below are completely empty. Street lights blink, but nobody's waiting and nobody's going. You look across the way to other windows. Maybe a dozen floors, maybe hundreds of windows, maybe thousands of faces -- all of them looking out just like you. Suddenly you feel dread. What have you missed, and worse, what did everyone else miss too? A smaller feeling bites at your conscience too. The countless nights demeaning everyone else, your shades, and here you are in just the same place.

National Public Radio is your first choice. Once you realize Vice News was your second, you wonder about your politics. The voice is wrong for the time. Every word is more chaotic and confused than the last. You never quite catch what's wrong, but something is. Something is very wrong. You are used to wordy, calm conversations paired well with chamomile and a bit of pot. This exactly not that. Buzzwords like evacuation and ground zero have your heart beating like you'd ran a mile. With all this happening you wonder about your friends. First, and you are fully aware most selfishly, why didn't they call you? Second, perhaps to make things right, if they're well enough to even call. Your hand falls to your hip. Nothing. You reach into the pocket of your hoodie, also to no avail. When you retrace your steps you find the thin, black little thing flashing. With a tap the screen brightly displays You have 6 Missed Calls, 6 Unread Messages, and 6... The screen blacks out before you can finish. You're ready to slam the thing against the table, but lucky for the phone, the screen turns a deep green. White text appears across the screen with a simple instruction.

Staring at the glowing screen you feel a great pressure. A powerful throbbing begins behind your eyes, your thoughts simplifying as the pain leaves room for only a single thought. The realization that you face the greatest challenge one can -- a choice, a decision, the very essence of life. This city might have no spirit, but you do. You can choose. You must choose.

”Monsters are real, and ghosts are too. They live inside us, and sometimes they win.” –Stephen King

Chessa lay slumped across the sofa, tangled up in her duvet. A nearby window was pushed wide open, and a nourishing cold drifted into the room. It was raining heavily, and she could hear the not so distant pitter-patter of raindrops on the streets below.

“Chessa?” a hushed voice called out to her from the far side of the room. Kyle stood in the doorway, a dark silhouette illuminated by the gentle spikes of golden light that drifted in from the hallway.

“I’m up.” She replied, rubbing the haziness from her eyes. He flicked on the lights and she dived beneath the covers to get away from the ensuing brightness.

When she re-emerged a few seconds later he was standing by the sofa, wearing the same nervous smile he always wore of late.

She had tried to open up to her brother, to show him the side of her that no one else had seen, to guide him through the darkness that festered in her brain, but he hadn’t liked what he’d seen, and had retreated back behind a guise of false courtesy’s and pretend concerns. Perhaps it was for the best. Some dark places are darker than others.

He sat down next to her on the sofa, slowly sinking into the cushions.

“Sleep well?”

“Eh.”

Some time passed before he spoke again. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” He asked, a look of thinly disguised worry crossing his features.

“I’ve been ready for a lot longer than you’d like to admit.” She said icily, knocking a strand of dark hair out of one eye.

It upset him but she didn’t care. She was beyond caring.

Chessa clambered out of “bed” and went to go get dressed, eyeing herself up in the apartment’s single full body mirror.

She was a short and stocky girl, with more softness to her than she’d like-not that boys ever seemed to mind-. She had long tresses of black hair that were spruced up with purple highlights, and flowed elegantly down her shoulders like water. Her teeth had a yellowish tinge to them, and in recent weeks an unwelcome amount of acne had started to creep across her face.

She washed and dressed, and then the pair of them headed off to the meeting point, walking briskly and trying their hardest to keep out of the rain. Kyle was nervous and jittery, casting suspicious glances at every passer-by and slightly-out-of-place looking lamppost. The pale light of the early morning sun broke tentatively through the thick blanket of grey clouds that loomed above, flittering down onto the grimy streets.

By the time they reached the café they were practically soaked through with rain, and Kyle made a fuss about getting inside as quickly as they could. Chessa strode in leisurely, dark hair plastered to her face by the rain, in order to annoy him.

There were only a few patrons in the café at this hour, and it was easy enough to locate the men they were looking for.

Ben, Jack, and Edd sat around a table on the top floor, seated by a window the overlooked the narrow streets below.

Ben was halfway through spinning a tall tale to the rest of the group, in-between messy bites of a pastry. “So, I woke up the next morning with a fuckin’ men’ol hangova’, in bed with dis peng blonde with –MASSIVE- tits, you get me? I snuck outta there prompto, and was like ‘eadin’ back down tha’ canal, when some lil’ prick comes at me with a knife an’ is all like ‘Gimmie you shit, dickhead’, so I was all like ‘say nothin’ blud’, an I fuckin’ pushed ‘im inta’ tha’ canal. He gets all pissy and cryin’ an’ shit. Funniest thing I eva’ saw. “

A good ninety-nine percent of what Ben said was completely horse shit, but it never failed to make Chessa laugh. She couldn’t quite decide if she was laughing with him or at him, but either way he was fun to be around.

Jack started laughing but Edd did little more than half-smirk, apparently unamused.

Ben and Jack were of roughly the same stock, but Edd conducted himself far more elegantly. He dressed smartly, spoke properly, and held himself in higher regard than the rest of them. Despite his masquerade of sophistication, Chessa knew him for what he truly was: an up-jumped thug.

Chessa and Kyle pulled up a chair each, joining the rest of the group at the table.

“Ah, if it isn’t the Tegan’s. So nice of you to join us.” said Edd.

“You A’ight mate?” said Ben.

Jack slapped Kyle on the back, shooting Chessa a quick glance of recognition. He never spoke much.

“How was the party?” Kyle asked, addressing the group. There was a nervous quality in his voice, a slight-not quite faint enough-tic. Something about Edd intimidated him. Chessa couldn’t for the life of her imagine why.

“Yeah, it was alrigh’.” Ben’s voice was easy and relaxed, a stark contrast Kyle’s. “Although, this benda’ kept tryin’ to cock-block me.” He stuck a finger accusingly at Edd, wiping the last few pastry crumbs off of his mouth.

“All’s fair in love and war.” He responded coolly, gazing out of the large glass window in front of them.

“Smackin’ some bird on the arse, and grabbin’ her until she screams ain’t love, mate.” Jack declared, smirking to himself. Edd shot him a look and he went back to being silent.

Edd turned away from the window, locking eyes with Chessa.

“How have you been, little one?” Little one. Edd needed to demean her in order to assert his own dominance. It was sad really.

“Good, thanks.” She responded nonchalantly.

“How’s that dark haired boy I saw you with?”

“I’m sorry..?”

“On Friday. I saw you with a dark haired boy.” He arched one eyebrow, and something mischievous flashed across his features.

“What was his name?” He asked her.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“That’s what I said.”

“My, my, my. You seemed to be getting awfully intimate with him for someone you didn’t know.” He said with a poorly disguised sneer.

Kyle screwed up his face, as though he’d been physically hurt, but he didn’t say anything.

Chessa felt her fists clench beneath the table, blood pumping violently in her ears.

eAt hiS hEarT Whispered a voice in her head. She ignored it.

“We can’t all be as virtuous as you.” She replied, forcing a smile.

“Evidently. Although, I suppose you aren’t entirely to blame.” He turned to face Kyle “I would never allow any sister of mine to let every Tom, Dick, and Harry shove their tongue down her neck. “ He turned back to face Chessa “That said, if it was just your neck that they were putting their tongues down, then there wouldn’t be an issue.”

She started seeing red. Maybe eating his heart wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

Before she had time to react, Ben stepped in.

“How’s about we get down ta’ business, innit?”

“Yes, lets.” Chessa replied, through gritted teeth. Edd shot her a quick wink, before addressing the group as a whole.

“Pete wants to take care of some business with the Halin brothers,” He begun, rising out of his seat. “I’ll explain on the way.”

***

The gang had given Chessa a new outlook on life. Now, every house she passed was a wonderful new opportunity-ready to be broken into, every passer-by a fantastic new prospect-ready to be exploited-. The rows and rows of semi-detached houses that they passed, coupled with the sheer number of bystanders, made Chessa giddy with excitement. She managed to control her urges, and stuck with the group.

They walked side by side down the street, Ben and Jack on the right, Chessa and Kyle on the left, and Edd in the middle. Kyle had neglected to speak to Chessa since Edd’s little speech at café, so they moved in silence.

They’d stopped off at Ben’s flat on the way over, and stocked up on gear, which they concealed discreetly beneath their clothes. When Ben had handed Chessa a switchblade, it had taken every fibre of her being to stop her from sticking it in Edd’s throat, much to the self-proclaimed leader’s obvious amusement.

She could hear the switchblade calling to her from her jacket pocket, begging to be let out. cUt hiS sCraWNy neCk, AnD wAtCH hIm blEEd. bEAutIFul, swEET, GORGeous blOOD.

She stuffed her hands miserably into her pockets, and tried her best to ignore it.

After a short while, they reached the Halin brother’s place of residence, an ugly mound of brownish-grey brick that sat at the edge of a street corner.

“Can you smell that?” Edd asked, motioning for them all to stop.

“You what?” Asked Ben, Edd’s eccentricities lost on him

“Opportunity, Ben. Ripe for the taking!” He exclaimed with a flourish, his dark eyes sweeping over the building.

Jack sniffed the air “Just smells like diesel to me.” He proclaimed. Chessa laughed at that.

“My intellect is wasted on the lot of you.” Edd declared, striding up to the buildings front door, the group following suit.

He rapped his hand ferociously against the door.

“Derek! Bill! Open up!” He called out to them.

No answer.

He tried a second and a third time, and when they didn’t answer Jack-being the biggest of them all-kicked the door down.

The room they entered into was small and dark, so much so that they could barely see a few feet in front of them. Chessa just about made out a tacky looking chair, and an old mattress that was dumped in one corner, stained and worn-out.

There was a loud bang, and a bullet went whizzing through the air and burst out of Jack’s neck. He coughed up thick bloody red bubbles, gurgling something incoherent, before collapsing to the floor, his muscular body crashing to the ground with a loud ‘THUD!’.

“Holy Fucking Shit!” Edd exclaimed, lacking his previous elegance, before diving out of the body’s way, vanishing into the darkness.

There was another bang, and a second bullet shot past Chessa’s ear, prompting her, Ben, and Kyle to follow Edd’s example.

“Fuck off and go back ‘ome, ya pricks!” Bellowed an unseen figure.

Someone pulled open a door, and the room was flooded with light, temporally blinding Chessa. Some more gunshots went off, and something big and heavy knocked her to the floor.

When Chessa’s vision cleared, she found Ben slumped across her, the left side of his head a mess of dark red chunks, his dead eyes starting lifelessly down at her. She forced his body off of her, grunting with the effort.

She heard shouting and more gunshots coming from wherever the opened door led to, and went to go investigate.

She ended up in an extremely narrow hallway, and found Edd lying in a corner, blood dripping slowly from his shoulder, his face contorted in pain. swEEt, seXy paIn.

“Fucking cocksuckers got me.” He wheezed, letting out a sharp cry.

“You don’t say.” She said distantly, transfixed by the stream of red that was pouring out of him, and his vulnerability.

“Your brothers gone after them. He’s a fucking dead man.” He scoffed, letting out something that was halfway between a cackle and a whimper.

“That remains to be seen.” She placed her hands delicately on either side of his head, savouring the moment.

“The fuck are y-“She twisted with all her might, his neck letting out a crack that echoed throughout the corridor for several long moment. She reached into the breast pocket of his blazer, fishing out his razor-edged hunting knife, before bolting off down the corridor.

She entered into a large bleak stone room, with crumbling brick walls, and a smattering of unkempt ivory clinging to the celling.

Derek Halin was sprawled across the floor in a bed of his own blood, a razor sticking out of his chest. Her brother was a few feet away, clutching at his leg-in visible pain-with Bill Halin standing over him, pointing a gun at his head. Neither of them had noticed her.

“I’m gunna enjoy this, you piece of shit.” Bill cocked the handgun, grinning to himself.

Chessa pulled out the switchblade, and hurled it across the room, its blade tearing through Bill’s gun-hand, slicing off two of his fingers.

Bill screamed, the gun falling from his hand, and Chessa went racing towards him.

kIll. KiLL. kiLl.

Bill pulled a machete from his belt and went veering towards, slashing wildly. “I don’t need my fingers to burst yer fuckin’ ‘ead, ya stupid bitch!”

She blocked his first swing with Edd’s hunting knife, before narrowly ducking beneath the second. He stabbed madly at her, and she forced his weapon down with her own, punching him in the side of the face with her free hand, sending him staggering backwards.

“You’re gunna regret that, ya filthy whore!” He barked, taking another stab at her, which she sidestepped.

Suddenly, his leg shot forwards, kicking her feet out from under her. She fell to the ground, and only just managed to raise the hunting knife in time to block his next attack. The sheer force with which he struck sent the knife spinning from her hand, and she had to roll out of the path of his next swing a few seconds later. Chessa leapt to her feet, and within seconds she was stooping out of the path of his machete.

She tore off her belt in one fluid motion, and when he took his next swing she snared it around his arm, gripping tightly. Whilst she had him in her trap, she kicked the Machete from his hand, the mental blade clanging to the floor and skidding across the room.

However, he was the physically dominant one, and it did not take him long to break from her belts hold, followed swiftly by a rock-hard fist slamming into her face.

She stumbled backwards, her head ringing and her vision blurry, and was promptly punched in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

SwEEt, SENsual, SEXy, paIN

He struck her again, splitting her lip, and sending a river of hot blood into her mouth. She felt the buzz flow through her, a rippling effect that bounced off of every cell in her body, igniting something buried deep within her, making her stomach flutter with delight.

gOto thE daRk plAcE. UNlEash tHe bEast

His fist came flashing forwards, but before it could reach her she bolted to the side, catching his arm in a death-like grip, and forcing her nails into his joint. She let her demons be her guide, pushing until she heard a tear, and his arm was soaked in blood. He screamed, and knocked her to the floor with a wild swing of his arm, cursing and bellowing and crying.

He leapt on top of her, but a firm kick knocked him back off again, and within seconds she was back on her feet.

Both of them were tired now, gasping and wheezing for some brief respite, but Chessa had the voices on her side, and they’d never let anything bad happen to her.

She bounded at him, hissing and spitting and clawing, and forced him backwards, weaving and bobbing out of the way of his punches. She gripped hold of his arm and bit into it, her mouth filling with gooey red nourishment and chunks of ripe flesh. He screamed and fell to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, his body shaking, blood dripping from all of his wounds.

A flurry of movements and she was on top of him, ready to finish it.

“CHEESA! STOP!” iS thAt mY nAmE?

She turned, and saw Kyle pulling himself across the floor towards her, gritting his teeth through the pain.

“Pete’s gunna want words with him. Let him be for now. He’s not going anywhere.” He pleaded with her with his eyes.

She gazed back at the snivelling mess on the floor in front of her. dO iT, dO iT, dO iT, dO iT, dO IT dO iT, dO iT, dO iT, dO It

Fighting against the primal lust within her, Chessa pulled herself off of him, going over to give her brother a hand.

***

The King’s head was closed for the evening. Pete had made sure of that.

Pete was a well-built black man, cleanly shaven and smartly dressed. He took a steady sip from his glass, his eyes scanning the room.

Chessa and Kyle were sat around the same table as him, with Bill Halin sitting between them-his hands bound-a mess of scars and cuts and bruises, his clothes soaked in dried blood.

All of the other tables and booths in the pub were abandoned, and Pete’s men were dotted about the room, as more of a display of power than anything else. Pete had been an underground boxer back in the day, and was more than confident of his own ability to protect himself.

“Four men dead.” Pete began, his voice thick and deep. “How unnecessary.”

Bill remained quiet, but the fight was still there in his eyes, a roaring flame that couldn’t be extinguished. He might have looked majestic, were it not for all the blood.

“Not talking?” Pete asked, downing some more of his drink.

“Go fuck yourself.” Bill replied.

“Is that the best you could come up with? How underwhelming.”

“You’ll get nothing out of me.” He spat, spraying Pete’s crisp suite with red-flecked spittle.

Pete laughed, a dark, dreadful laugh.

“Dutch, Harry.” He called

Two men, dressed casually, came over to the table. One of them had a Polaroid camera hanging from a strap around his neck.

“Am I supposed to be scared?” Bill sneered.

“You will be.” Pete promised him.

Suddenly, one of the men grabbed Bill by the scruff of his neck, hoisting him up in the air, before slamming him down on the table. Bill cursed loudly, but otherwise said nothing

The man moved behind Bill, undid his belt and unzipped his jeans, pulling them off and then his boxers. He took hold of him firmly with both hands. The second one begun fiddling with the camera.

Bill heard the sound of the zipper being undone, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure of himself. “You wouldn’t…”

Pete turned to address Kyle and Chessa, who were watching the scene unfold with varying levels of shock.

“Thank you for your service, I’ll see that you are paid appropriately.” He turned to address Kyle. “You may want to take your leave now. There are certain things that big brothers don’t want their little sisters seeing.”

They left.

***

Chessa couldn’t sleep. She’d been back and forth to the bathroom countless times. She’d started drinking and eating out of border, and now she just felt stuffed and a little tipsy. She brushed some pizza crumbs off of her bloated stomach, and reached for the TV remote. She turned on the television. Nothing.

“Weird.”

She clambered up off of the sofa, and went to go look out the window. Chessa often gazed out at the city, sometimes for therapeutic reasons, and was used to seeing as sea of bright neon lights, tall buildings of steel and glass, and streets full of people and cars and life. The lights were out. Apart from the occasional flickering street lamp, Chessa could barely make out any of the usual tell-tale signs she was used to seeing. No cars, no booming club music, no police sirens.

“That’s odd….”

The door burst open. Chessa screamed.

Kyle came rushing in, panting frantically, fear plastered across his face. He slammed the door shut behind him, made sure that it was locked, and went rushing over towards her.

“Chessa! Thank –FUCK- you’re alright”. He pulled her close to him, hugging her more tightly than she’d ever remembered him hugging her.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She asked, confused and more than a little nervous.

“Something’s going down, something really, really, -REALLY- fucking bad is happening.” He was still hugging her, and she could feel his body shaking. She’d never seen him like this before. Not since Dad.

“What’s happening? You aren’t making any sense.” She heard herself speak, and was surprised by how frightened she sounded. “Kyle, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m not sure.” He admitted “I was filling up the car, then I started hearing weird shit on the radio, then-”

‘BOOM!’

Somewhere, out in the darkness of the streets below something bad was happening.

Kyle rushed over to the window, and whatever he saw stirred something inside him.

“Chessa, get your things. Now.”

“What the fuck is going on?!” She screeched, her heart beating faster and faster and faster.

“Chessa-“

“Answer m-“ His hand flashed forwards and struck her. She fell to the ground, mostly due to shock.

“Do as I say.” He glared down at her, and she saw something she’d never seen in him before, something determined, something defiant, something dark. In that instant, she was more certain that she’d ever been that they were related.

She dressed in ripped jeans that were a little too tight, an Avenged Sevenfold t-shirt that was a little too big, and a superdry jacket that was just about the right size.

Kyle shot about the apartment frantically, stuffing all their canned food, portable appliances that didn’t need electricity, and their alcohol into an old Dofe rucksack.

He met her by the door, armed with the Pump-action shotgun he kept under his bed.

“Ready?”

“Ready”

“Then let’s go.” They stepped out of the apartment, and into the world beyond, and whatever awaited them there.

Name: Mark 'Scrapper' Winters
Location: Thug Hideout, West part of town
Time: 7pm

Mark and several others in his gang sat around the TV though they weren't really watching it. Beer bottles and junk food lay across the table. Mark had identified a few profitable houses and they would need to go stealing tonight, but for now there was nothing to do. Including the boss, there were five in the gang. One was drunk, another on a high and the third was nowhere to be seen. Mark was boringly flicking through all the channels, as if trying to put on a light show for himself.

The boss however, looked concerned as he stood by the window, staring out on the streets. "Something's wrong. It's too damn quiet down there" said the Boss.

"Well, from the looks of it, the city needs to evacuate...!" said Mark as he stopped on the news channel. Mark and the Boss looked at each other for a moment before both of them bursted into laughter. Yeah right. Thugs evacuating at a time like this. This was the best time for raids!

"You know what? I bet's it's one of them net hoaxes gone wild!" scoffed Mark. The phones all went dead before they flashed that strange message. Mark stared at it for a moment before shrugging it off. "Looks like the hackers are in on this too. Hehe, sounds kinda fun" said Mark, amused by all that was going on. After all, it's not every day chaos happens right in front of your face.

"Nah. It's a reason for the cops to bust all of us. Kill us too if they want. Scrapper. Go check on the box" said the Boss, throwing Mark the container keys. The 'box' contained all their stolen wares and if the cops got to it, then it would be bad for business.

"Sure thing" said Mark as he caught the keys. He grabbed his Desert Eagle as well as a spare clip, tucking them into the pocket of his pants. Next was his Kukri - a weapon that didn't rely on ammunition. Tying the final knot on his bandana and then zipping up his jacket, Mark gave his Boss a back wave before heading out the door. He smiled at his Ducati as he started the engine - it would be a fine night out. Plenty of pickings.

As Mark tore down the streets, an uneasy feeling started inside of him. It was unsettling to see traffic all going in the opposite direction. People seemed panicked for some reason. Heh, stupid fuckers. Looks like they fell for whatever prank some kid's playing. Well let them continue their own chaos. Mark had a job to do. The container wasn't far - it was at an old lot, buried between other containers. There were a few barricades along the way, so Mark just swerved and took an alternate route.

Mark then heard a familiar sound - one that he should dread. Police chopper overhead! Dang those snipers in the sky. What were they doing? Following him? Mark slowed down on the road before he stopped and watched as the chopper flew off into the distance. It seemed to be circling? No wait. There was another... two more. Three police choppers in total, not counting the news. Mark scanned the skyline. There wasn't any signs of fire or explosions. Just what was the hoax about anyway? Why did everyone seem to be so in on it?

Eh whatever. It's all about the pickings. But before that - the box. Better make sure no cops were crawling all over it. Mark continued down the road, turning into the quieter streets. Hey, if everyone was leaving, then it'd mean he would be able to break into the mechanic's shop and steal some free parts for his Ducati! This is going to be great night! Freeee bike parts! Well okay, so maybe the hoax might not be a hoax. But whatever it was, it was to the gang's benefit. After all, they could always loot the entire town and then leave! A win-win! HAH!

An explosion seemed to go off far in the distance. It made Mark stop in his tracks, frowning as he tried to discern what it was from. Air bombings like the movies? Can't be. Feh, maybe just other looters going about their business blasting shops apart.

Selena lay in the dark hotel room, tired to the bone, staring at the ceiling. It had been a long day; she had traveled here for a work conference and decided to go to a kingdom banquet after the conference. Stupid idea. The previous day had been spent on various planes, all freaking day. The next day was the confrence and the banquet. It meant she had to be awake and alert to listen to the lectures and then she had to go home, change, spend an hour dressing and dealing with her hair, and then stand around during court. She had forgotten how tedious court was on the mainland. Finally she had a chance to eat, but once again ettiquette was so intense she had to be always alert for fear of making an error. She was reminded more than ever why some barony's were less desirable than others.

Now she was one aching muscle; so tired she couldn't actually sleep. She eyed her court clothing hanging over the door. It would have to be cleaned and there were some mends she needed to make, a few alterations. She had a kit with her she could do that and watch TV. Maybe the tedium would help her relax so she could sleep.

She flipped on the TV: Nick at Nite. Very boring. Very perfect. She tossed back three Advil, she never traveled without a veritable pharmacy of pain relievers...getting old had its consequences. She was soon lost in the complicated hand stitching required to keep her costume in perfect condition. It took her some time to realize that the TV, even though on, was blank. The screen was empty.

She frowned and flipped the channels looking for something else. It was news that caught her eye and ear. She stopped and stared, not really believing what she was seeing. She frowned as she heard people slamming doors upstairs, followed by raised voices and running footsteps. She couldn’t catch what they were saying but the tension was contagious. Little by little the sounds increased as more and more of the hotel guests followed suit.

Selena didn’t believe what she saw, what she heard, but she couldn't stop herself from stuffing her stuff into her suitcase. She convinced herself that she was just doing it now to save time in the morning, but in truth she hadn't planned to check out until noon, which left plenty of time for packing in the morning. She was pretty good at lying to herself though so she kept at it and packed everyting up. That done she sat on the edge of her bed, uncomfortable and edgy.

The buzzing on the bedside table spurred her to action. Check the phone. That would give her something to focus on. The simple text message shook her far more than the TV broadcast had. She quickly dressed, shrugging on jeans, tossing a t-shirt that read “stand back! I'm going to try science”, shoved her feet (sans socks) into her sneakers, and yanked her long black hair up into a pony tail. She shoved her phone in her pocket, grabbed her bags, and left.

By now the hotel was weirdly empty. It was eerie, like haunted house eerie, and Selena quickened her pace. She found her rental car untouched and hopped in. She wasn't sure where she was going...the airport maybe? She had to fly out tomorrow. Didn't she?

She felt overwhelmed. She wasn't sure what she was doing, she just didn't feel she should do nothing. Something made her pull her long dagger into the seat next to her. Normally it was just for form, part of her costume, but it was a live weapon and she could use it with some skill.

“Ah hell” she muttered under her breath and turned around and reached for the rest of her weaponry pulling it all into the front seat beside her.

She still had not turned on the engine, though she knew she ought to. She just felt so lost...like trying to solve an equation full of variables but all the conditions were unknown. There were simply too many possible answers. She grabbed an apple, one of her 'on the plane' snacks and started munching on it as she tried to think through this logically. She would have said she was being stupid, except that so was everyone else. That was nothing new but she felt like they all knew something she didn't. It was not a comfortable feeling and the only thing she could think to do was leave.

With a sigh she tossed the core out the window, rolled up the windows, locked the doors, and drove off. She wasn't sure where she was going, but she was heading generally towards the airport.

“Alright, everyone. Essays are due next week. Double spaced, Times New Roman. You know the routine. Have a nice weekend, everyone,” Arthur Collins made the announcement to his Literature class as he shut the Power Point down and gathered his things into his leather briefcase.

The students wished him a good weekend as they left. Arthur smiled and thanked his students as they passed him on their way out of his class and back into the hall beyond to go about their lives. With his briefcase in hand, the middle-aged professor made his way out of the classroom and to his car. Arthur tossed the briefcase onto the passenger seat and sat down with a sigh; it had been a long day so far. He had already been to the museum to examine the new books they had gotten in for an exhibit and then left there and made his way to the university to teach the two Literature classes he was the professor of, and now he was heading back to the museum to continue examining the books.

As he pulled out onto the main road, his stomach grumbled at him. To stop his stomach’s angry outbursts, Arthur steered his car down a one way street and through the drive thru of one of many fast food establishments across the city and ordered himself lunch to quiet his angry stomach. Arthur hastily ate his food on the drive to the museum as there was no way he could eat while examining the text; the museum took the preservation of such artifacts very seriously, to the point of making the examiners wear white gloves while working. The book collector pulled into his designated parking place and turned the car off, rubbing his eyes and leaning back in the driver’s seat before he got out.

He was exhausted already and would rather take the book home with him to examine through the night after he took a lengthy nap, but he would have to get authorized to do so first, so when he entered the museum he veered left instead of right and made his way to his boss’s office on the first floor. When Arthur finally reached his boss’s office, he tapped gently on the partially opened door before entering a second later. The auburn-haired woman sat at her desk, looking over what appeared to be forms for incoming exhibits and looked up when the dark-haired man in a suit walked in.

“Hey, Arthur. How are you?”

“It’s been a long day. Thanks for asking, Linda. How about you?”

“Not too bad, long as well. Been sorting through these new exhibits coming in. How are the new books coming along?”

“Great. I’ve only got one more left to look over, which brings me to why I’m here. I was wondering if I could leave early and take it home with me and work through the night at my place?”

Linda looked at him for a moment, clearly debating whether or not to allow him to take the book home. On one hand it was an extremely rare book, but on the other hand Arthur was such a stickler about the books he worked with that he barely let anyone look at them let alone touch them or come anywhere near damaging them. After staying silent for a few minutes, Linda finally made a decision and approved Arthur to take the book home. With many thanks and a smile, Arthur made his way to his own office, where he swiped his ID card from the museum to get into the room where the books were held. After slipping on the white cotton gloves, Arthur grabbed the book and slipped it down into his briefcase and left, slipping the gloves down alongside it.

After he managed to fight his way through the afternoon traffic and get back to his flat. Arthur entered his empty flat and threw his keys down on his coffee table and gently set his briefcase down on his couch. With a lengthy yawn, Arthur made his way to his bedroom and collapsed on his bed after tossing his phone down on the nightstand. In a matter of minutes, his eyes shut and he drifted off to the land of sleep.

Vvvvvvvvv… vvvvvvvv… vvvvvvvvv

Arthur woke up to the vibrations of his cellphone on his nightstand; he groped around in the dark room for a moment before his hand closed around the shaking phone. He inhaled deeply and rubbed at his eyes with his free hand before looking at the phone through his slightly blurred vision. He had just missed the call, and it changed the number of missed calls to six, and as he examined his phone screen closer he saw that he also had six unheard voicemails and six… the phone screen went black. In frustration, Arthur hit the lock button the turn the screen back on, but the phone had apparently shut off. That was strange; he could have sworn it had plenty of charge before he fell asleep. Suddenly, Arthur got a cold feeling in his stomach that crept up his throat and over his entire body, as if he had just dove into a pool of freezing water. This chill quickly turned into a feeling of foreboding that sent Arthur to his feet, waking him in a matter of seconds.

He rushed to his window and looked out to the streets below; no one was there. The streets were void of their usual bustling of people and cars going every which way to get somewhere. The only thing Arthur saw was a man on a Ducati fly by underneath his window. The feeling increased as he turned from the window and went to his living room. He grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, hoping for some sort of light to be shed, but the screen was blank. Arthur stared at the screen with his mouth fallen open in surprise when his phone vibrated again. Arthur pulled the phone up to see that the screen had come back on and turned green with white text scrolling across it. He barely comprehended what the words meant with his mind in its current state of panic, but what he did take away from the words were that he had to get out of here, the city, and now.

He threw the phone down on the table and ran to his bedroom, where he started throwing clothes and books into a backpack he had since college. The thing could hold quite a bit, but he soon ran out of space when he managed to fit a few cans of food down into the bag. He grabbed his briefcase and slung it around his shoulder by the leather strap and then made his way to his office. There, he unlocked the top drawer and pulled out the Taurus Model 941 snubnose revolver he kept there out of fear of a robbery; the handgun had a black rubber handle, a two inch barrel, and a black metal finish. Arthur stuffed the revolver into the waistband of his jeans after securing the safety was on and the gun was loaded and then threw the ammo down into his backpack.

After securing everything, Arthur made his way over to his door and peered out into the hall. He heard muffled voices beyond the closed doors of his neighbors and the sound rushing about and hastily packing. Halfway down the hall to the elevator, one of the doors opened to reveal an older lady, whose name Arthur couldn’t recall, but he did remember she worked at the ban downtown. The blonde woman stared at Arthur, with his backpack stuffed and his briefcase slung over his shoulder.

“Mr. Collins, what’s going on? I got a weird message on my phone. Some sort of PSA?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m going out of town all the same. I hate to be rude, but I have to get going. My ride is waiting on my downstairs.”

“But the message said to stay indoors and not to panic…,” her voice trailed off as Arthur made his way down the hall and down to the first floor in the elevator. There, Arthur left the building and went to his car, looking every which way. He could faintly make out the silhouettes of other people frantically making their ways to cars and toward the edge of the city. Arthur got into his car and started it, throwing everything into the passenger seat and backing out of his parking spot. He pulled out onto the main road, looking both ways despite there being no traffic, and made his way out of the city.

Doors are slamming left and right. If this is nothing, you can only imagine the messes people will find when they return. Messes left by their panicked rush or from looters. You figure the latter is unpreventable too. If things are seriously bad what in this not exactly dream worthy flat will you miss? Things turn out just fine, well, shit happens. A part of you considers staying and making use of that hand-cannon in your night-stand drawer. You haven't fired it and truth be told the thing's nearly useless to you anyway. That too big beast against some looter with anything larger than a steak knife. The headline would be embarrassing and your stuff would be gone all the same, except in this case is your life. You find yourself quickly loading a dufflebag, debating whether or not that hand-cannon should go in the bag or in your pants like some moron. After you decide, you go to the door and look back. Your loft looks like it's already been tossed and once again you find yourself right alongside those you criticize. Smirking, you slam the door behind you.

When you get down to the street your keys are already in hand. That quiet, empty street observation you made earlier seems to have changed. Changed very much, actually. Not a block down the road you see a line of dots, one after the other, stacking forward until the city lights blur together. Horns are blaring like no one's business. It's deafening, but some part of you -- the stupid part, probably -- thinks answers lie that way. You figure you'll get farther on foot.

Rain only makes things better. You lift up your hood, pull your pea-coat shut, and pop the shitty convenient store umbrella you've been meaning to replace. After a few blocks of walking you pass the seventh -- eighth row of cars. People resort to rolling down their windows and shouting. According to a man more that makes you feel skinny in comparison, 'fucking some of them fucking have fucking been there for fucking hours'. Funny, walking mustn't have come to mind. You're smirking again, you probably look like an asshole as you wave to fuck-man's car and walk by. There's a horn again, but closer.

You realize the sound is too close only after crumbling. Nothing hurts bad, not really, it's shocking. For a moment the world slows down and decides to do a full tilt. The lights bleed, streaking, then go dark. You go dark. You... go.

...

"Oh no," Edmund sighed, his eyes gaping. In a second the Prius was in park and the driver door thrown open. "Are you okay?"

Edmund rushed to the side of the man prone in front of his car. His long, wiry arms outstretched, Edmund stooped beside the man with worry lines cut down his face. The man lay on his side deathly still, but at first glance fine. The most Edmund had ever seen was a broken leg. He remembered how gruesome the reality of such pain was and how disturbingly close the expensive imitations at work actually were. This before him, the still, yet breathing man lying there, was not that. Not really even a scratch. Finally, the man rolled onto his back and let out a groan. He even spoke.

"Looked a proper ass. Got hit. Figures," the man grumbled. Clearing his throat, he stood, only lightly leaning on Edmund.

The man looked quite the opposite of Edmund. While both dressed well enough, under that pea-coat the stranger seemed a thick, dark mass. His arms and chest were half a hand wider than Edmund's and his skin two shades paler. Edmund thought to smile at him, but hesitated. He read the man's strangely calm expression as best he could. Under the man's grey hood he had long, dark hair now shuffled and a smooth, just shaved jawline. Handsome, tan, and stoic. A character right out of his marketing campaigns, Edmund thought to himself.

"Listen, I'm really sorry man. With all the yelling, honking, and fender benders I was crazy distracted. Can I give you a ride or something? I can bring you to the hospital, whatever you need," Edmund explained, his palms open and moving gently like waves. He knew how to calm a person. He knew how to guide them to a resolution, but it was easier when half the city wasn't panicking just behind him.

The man adjusted his coat, glanced at Edmund, then the car. He gave a crooked a smile, and laughed, "Piss poor offer when the only move you've made in the last ten minutes was hittin' me. Should carry me if we want'a get somewhere." The man's smile broke and his brow cocked sharply. Confusion painted his face, so Edmund began to turn. "Move!"

Edmund fell onto the sidewalk under the weight of the man. There were horns, the sound of shattering glass, and a sharp metallic slap. Then another. And another. When the men rolled onto their backs, they saw an armoured behemoth amongst Sedans. Cars moved aside as the massive military vehicle forged ahead regardless of those around. When enraged drivers looked out from their cars, they saw the cannon atop the beast and simply gasped. Edmund sat up. His Prius was moved by another that'd been directly hit, but he was fine. In fact, the Pruis had turned about so that his wind-shield pointed toward the clearing.

Without hesitation the man stood and held a hand out to Edmund. Words were needless. In a mix of trust, guilt, and fear, Edmund tossed them over and jogged toward the passenger seat. The Prius's headlights clicked off and the man had them following the cleared path in seconds.

"Tanks in the streets. I guess that proves it," Edmund sighed, looking back to mass of luggage behind him.

"Elayevee."

"What?"

The man glanced back at the luggage, then to Edmund. "Lightly-Armoured-Vehicle. Not a tank, but better than a truck. That cannon atop it was a twenty-five millimetre, much smaller than a tank's. Used to operate one. The Elayevee. What's in this direction?"

Clearing his throat, Edmund replied, "The bridge, I think. Do you think it's a blockade or something? Maybe we're being attacked or something."

"Attacked?" the man retorted, his voice suddenly octaves higher. "You think they drove bloody tanks across the country to attack your city? Right narcissist you are! Bloody American I'd wager! No, first thought's the best. Blockade might be right, which means we won't be gettin' over the bridge. And I'll be damned if I resort to the subway in this mess. Boat docks maybe."

"What makes you think we should leave? What if they're keeping someone out?"

The man gave a grim smiled and sighed, "You don't mash the people you're protecting on the way to meet the enemy. They're forming a blockade. This is a quarantine. Now, do you know any other ways off the island?"

“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.”- ― Friedrich Nietzsche

The city shook. Streets were crammed with people and cars, all bunched together in a claustrophobic mess. The frantic voices of the confused all tangled together, becoming one worried shrike that drifted throughout every walkway and back alley.

Chessa and Kyle scurried along a pavement, trying their best to keep out of the way of the disorderly mob of people that jumbled on by. No passer-by had drawn any attention to the fact that Kyle was holding a shotgun, which did little to calm Chessa’s nerves.

Up ahead a bedraggled looking man, garbed scruffily, was trying desperately to get the attention of anyone who was willing to listen, but so far his attempts were proving to be unfruitful. Kyle tried his best to pass unnoticed, but the man caught his eye, and came bounding over to the both of them.

“Please, you gotta help me, man!” He shrieked “My girl’s giving birth and I can’t get through to the hospital.” He waved a blackberry hysterically in Kyle’s face, the phone displaying the same message that they’d become accustomed to seeing these past few minutes.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t help you.” Kyle bowed his head and tried to move on by, but the man frantically grabbed at his collar, pulling him tightly towards him.

“I’m beggin’ you, man!” There was a shaky quality to his voice now, as though he were about to cry.

“There’s really nothing we can do for you.” Kyle said firmly. Chessa could see his muscles tensing.

“You can’t just leave me like this, man!” He cried, getting right up in Kyle’s face.

“I’m sorry, but this really isn’t our problem.” Kyle barged passed him, gesturing for Chessa to follow him.

However, the man persisted, rushing after them both, and tightly grabbing hold of Kyle’s shoulder.

“Please, man-“

“Get the fuck off of me!” barked Kyle, giving the man a sharp shove, sending him sprawling backwards onto the pavement.

A few passers-by turned to look at them, but otherwise they remained generally unnoticed by the confused mob.

The man scrambled back onto his feet, staring daggers at the both of them. “What the fuck sort of shitty people are you?!” He demanded, pulling himself up to his full height.

“The kind who are gunna make your life really fucking brief if you don’t get out of our faces.” Chessa said, out of nowhere, calling on a confidence she didn’t know that she had inside her.

The man looked stunned, but then he took a sudden lunge at her, something hysterical and rabid flashing in his eyes.

kiLL

Before he could reach her, she snatched the shotgun out of Kyle’s hands, and blew a gapping whole straight through his chest, his body erupting in a fantastical spray of dark red. He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, a bloody stain on the ground.

”SHE FUCKING SHOT HIM!” People were certainly taking noticed of them now, screaming and rushing about the place. The mob quickly dispersed, panic-stricken onlookers rushing off in this way and that, leaving Chessa and Kyle alone on the pavement.

She turned to face her brother, stunned by her own actions.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what-“He raised a hand to her lip, silencing her.

“Better him than us.” He stated, matter-of-factly.

Kyle took the gun back from her, and they continued on their journey.

Mark sped along the highway in the opposite direction, silently laughing at all the suckers who were too chicken to stay. Looks like everyone was falling for the media. How bad could it be anyways? Probably just a flu thing were they'll give out vaccines. And since... if there was a bomb or something...uh...

Mark stopped. No, can't be a bomb. Those sirens would have blared by now. Or maybe something new was announced over the media and he didn't know about it. The fear was slowly surrounding Mark like a pack of wolves about to dine on their meal. It seemed more and more people were running. Was it better to do what everyone else was doing and leave as well? Leave whilst there was still time? Heck, if there was anything, first come first served. Mark looked back along the road. His bike would be really handy when it came to squeezing between the lanes. Maybe it would be best if he -

The loud screech of metal slamming and being crushed, made Mark cry out like he never had before. He didn't remember what he shouted but, damn he sounded weak. Where was the sound coming from? How fast was it? Was this it? Him turning into bloody roadkill? The gangster did all that he could - cover his head and hunch over, hoping that he wouldn't become a splattered mess. Then everything fell silent. Was he dead? Where was the pain? He could hear again... his heart beating rapidly, the sound of engines slowly moving away. Mark's other senses slowly came back to him. It took a moment for the gangster to recollect himself. He was scared shitless. His hands were shaking. Dammit! Stop shaking!

"... quarantine..." came the voice of someone in the distance. Mark looked up to find the tank moving along the highway, crushing and pushing cars away.

A quarantine? It sounded believable... but Mark didn't want to give in. He didn't want to become just another panicky member of the public. He was a gangster, a proud thug. He was not scared of stupid quarantines! He had to check on the container and report back to the Boss. Mark reached for his phone, only to curse at the networks being down. Maybe... That is... unless his Boss had also left by now.

Was this really a quarantine? Or was everyone scaring each other because they were scared? Then again... the switched off media channels... The tank. But a quarantine for what? Terrorists? Must be pretty big to call out tanks like that. Can't be terriorists... they'll let people out, not restrict them... Maybe prisoners escaped or something.

If this was a quarantine, the container would be the safest place. If this wasn't a quarantine, then the Boss would want to know if cops found the container! Mark throttled his bike again, going up to full speed as he went deeper into the town, in the opposite direction of everyone else. His heart felt strange and his hands were still shaking, but Mark hoped he was right.

---

Mark soon reached the gang's container, hidden deep within an old construction site. Good... the place was clear. He unlocked the huge metal doors, cursing as they were now rusted enough to be hard to push open. He wheeled in his bike and then closed the door, breathing a sigh of relief. Why did he just do that? Relief for entering a container? The crowd mentality must be getting to him. Mark flicked on the torch as he went to check the boxes one by one.

Jewellery 'n' cash - check. Drugs were somewhere else... Expensive electronics - check. Guns - check. Wine that he couldn't drink - check. A FREAKIN' 14C BRA? Getting distracted, Mark lifted up the lacy... thing and stared at it for a good moment for two. What was a bra doing here? Oh now he got it... heheh. Funny. Mark began to rapidly spin the bra around on his finger for fun. Well, not that he liked women much, but the bra was funny.

*spin* *spin* *spin* *flies off*

Arthur flicked on the radio as he drove down the street; nothing but static came across the radio as he flipped through each station in hopes of hearing something about what was going on. With a heavy sigh Arthur continued down the street until he came to a long line of traffic blaring their horns and yelling obscenities out of their windows at one another. Arthur rolled his own window down, letting the chill night air and noise into his car. He leaned out of the window and tried to get a better look down the street to see what was happening, but he couldn’t see a thing, just the tail lights of cars reaching into the distance down the crowded streets. At least he could be sure of one thing amongst the chaos of the traffic jam: he hadn’t imagined the message.

It seemed as though the entire city had received it and decided to get out as well, but a good majority had beaten him here, so he couldn’t help but wonder how hastily they all had left their own residences. Had they even packed clothes or food or anything at all? Then again, as he looked over his own luggage and the gun resting in the passenger seat he felt as though he had overreacted to the situation. There was probably a perfectly logical reason for what was happening and no need for the firearm at all. He chuckled as he looked down at the snubnose and shook his head. It just seemed so ridiculous to him now he had time to sit and think about it. He was sure after waiting in the line of traffic that he would reach a sentry in some sort of military uniform who would direct him to some sort of safehouse location outside of the city where he would be held until whatever “crisis” had befallen the city was resolved.

Only, Arthur never reached the front of the line because a tank came clinking up from behind, crushing the other cars on its way toward him. With reflexes faster than expected of the scholar, Arthur managed to grab his backpack, briefcase, and gun before jumping out of the car. A second later the armored vehicle rolled right over the passenger side of his car, crushing it into a twisted hunk of metal and broken glass mixed with some upholstery from the seats. Arthur sat on the cold, wet sidewalk where he had managed to tumble to, the seat of his pants and coat soaking up the water underneath him and his mouth gaping at the sight before him. He had to shake his head to steady himself again before he could stand. His mind raced with trying to wrap around the situation.

’What in the world is going on!? Why would they bring a tank in? Unless the situation is far worse than I thought at first. I have to get out of here, but where?’

Arthur looked around the street for some sort of route he could take to another way out of the city. He was brought out of his thoughts when a gunshot echoed around the street followed by screams; it sounded like it was a few blocks over from where he was. His curiosity fought for him to go and investigate the source of the gunshot, but his intelligence told him how unwise that would be. Instead, Arthur resigned to start walking down the street in the wake of the armored behemoth that had just destroyed his car. Halfway down the street, he finally got a decent view of the bridge beyond; the line of traffic continued on across the bridge, and the tank continued its slow approach from behind, but now Arthur could hear words coming from it as they drifted back to him on the crisp night air.

“Please exit your vehicles and remain calm. The city is under an immediate quarantine. Please exit your vehicles and return to your homes.”

Quarantine? Why would they be quarantining us? What is going on!?

Panic rose in him again at the voice coming from the tank ahead. Arthur turned and made his way back down the street away from the bridge. He had to find another way out of the city, but where? He quickened his pace to a fast walk and turned down an alleyway to get away from the people who had flooded the streets and were making their way toward the bridge with some shred of hope like he had. He walked halfway down the alley and stopped to lean against the brick wall of a building with his head slightly bowed. He made an effort to slow his breathing and to think. He just had to think about what was going on, but he didn’t have that luxury; someone walked down the alley toward him.

Arthur looked up at the sound of the footsteps; he could just make out the silhouette of the person walking toward him. They seemed to have a much larger build than Arthur did, with wide shoulders and were a good head or two taller than him as well. They walked along down the alley slowly with heavy footsteps right up to Arthur. They only stood a foot or two away from him.

“You alright, mister?”

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

“You sure? You look pretty pale and kinda sick.”

“I’m fine. Really. Thank you. I have to get going,” Arthur said as he tried to walk past the person and onto the next block beyond, but when he barely took a step the man pulled a switchblade from nowhere and held it up pointed at Arthur.

“Glad to hear you’re alright, but I’m afraid I’ll be changing that. Give me anything of value you got. I’m gonna take advantage of this chaos. Now, hand anything you got over.”

Arthur was about to hand him everything he had, but then he remembered the book from the museum tucked away in his briefcase and the gun he had slipped into his jacket pocket after the tank had nearly crushed him. The man with the knife visibly grew impatient as he shook the knife.

“Have it your way. I thought we could do this the easy way, but you clearly need some convincing,” the thug took a step toward the scholar, and then Arthur pulled the gun on the thug and pointed it straight at his assailant’s chest. The mugger stopped, a look of surprise plastered on his face for a brief moment before it turned into a smirk then a smile and finally an all out chuckle directed at Arthur.

“You’re not going to shoot me. You don’t have the - .”

The sound of the gunshot reverberated off of the alley walls and bounced away into the night away from Arthur and the mugger. Arthur stood there with the smoking gun raised and held in both hands, his eyes shut tight and his teeth clenched tightly. He opened his eyes and looked down at the mugger lying on the floor of the alley with a hole in the center of his chest with blood pouring out of it; he was still alive, but just barely. His breathing was heavy and slow. Arthur slid down the wall of the alley, breathing heavily himself. He hit the ground and let his arm drop to each side of his body.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t give me any other choice. I… I had to,” Arthur was saying to the dying man as he slowly slipped away from the chaos of the city all around them.

Arthur sat there, tears welling up and flowing down his face. He had just shot and killed a man, a man who had just tried to mug him yes, but still a man, another human being who had every right to live and maybe even a family he left behind.

Selena drove randomly, this wasn't her home, she had no idea where she was, so her route was as haphazard as a drunken monkey. She thought she was going to the airport, but as she drove around she kept running into traffic, human and vehicular. This was why she hated cities, and the more she wandered aimlessly the more she hated this particular city.

She was in fine mood when she finally pulled over into a mostly deserted parking lot. Grumbling and swearing to no one she sputtered and finally swore herself out with no one around to hear her. That was standard operating procedure for her; she was generally polite in public and swore like a sailor in private.

By the time she was ready to move on she had missed much. She picked up her phone from where it sat in the cup holder, hoping that it would have answers. It was still blank, the only thing it had on it was the strange message she had gotten earlier. When you don't know the answer what do you do...look it up, double check the math, and if that failed...well it had never failed before.

Finally she started the engine up again and headed out, this time in a much more focused manner. She would get to the airport, figure out what she needed to do, and go home. That was the plan anyway. The edge of panic was still there, but she had all but convinced herself she was being ridiculous. She didn't believe in mass hysteria, blaming it generally on the media and stupidity.

As she got close to the airport, this time she paid attention to the signs, traffic thickened again until it came to a standstill. There was a back up of cars. She almost pulled into the line of traffic, that’s what one did, the acceptable action, when she realized that some of the cars were crushed. Not just a little dinged...full out squashed. Her eyes widened as she scanned the area.

This was no ordinary traffic jam and suddenly sounds finally registered. Up till now she had been puzzling out things in her mind, to the extent that she was ignoring much of what went on around her. Now she caught the sound of panicked people, gunshots, and over it all the repeated announcement...

...quarantine. Please return to your homes. This city is under immediate quarantine...

Quarantine? She wondered. Without really thinking what she was doing she backed up and headed away from the cluster-fuck of people and more importantly away from the gunshots. She was not unused to gunshots, she used to live in the rat hole part of Honolulu, but it was important to get away. The idea of leaving the city didn't even occur to her, she was a law abiding citizen, for the most part anyway. Quarantines were for the benefit of all; she had never subscribed to the various conspiracy theories regarding quarantines and government control. Her home was so isolated anyway, most of the theories made no sense to her because they required masses of people and/or cities. What did bother her was the fact she had no idea what the quarantine was for, or what she should do. She had no home to go to and little money to survive off away from home. She flipped the radio on to the AM channels and set it to scan, hoping to pick up something that was news to explain what was going on, and more importantly why.

She began to wish she had never left the island, shit like this was why she lived in the middle of butt-fucking-nowhere. She was self sufficient, she never had to see another person if she didn't want to, and she could live on virtually no money for a very long time. She worked because she loved her job, not because she really needed the money. Now she was stuck in this god awful city, unable to leave, no money, no one she knew, and no place to go. She did know she had to get away from the mass of people, when people panicked little good came of it. Even as she thought it a woman, yelling incoherently, raced towards her car and grabbed the door, trying to yank it open. Thank the gods it was locked. Selena frowned and stepped on the gas, leaving the screaming-mimi behind.

Mark had finished checking the crates of stolen goods and was about to leave when he heard sirens blaring outside. "Fuckin' SHIT!" hissed Mark to himself as he bolted the metal doors shut and cocked his gun. He was trapped in here wasn't he? Were they going to shoot? How many damn cops are out there? He had guns alright. Enough to last him a while, but the cops would just gas him out. Damn cops!

The sirens then disappeared into the distance. Mark was left frozen for a good while, wanting to make sure that they had really left. He could still hear his own heartbeat loudly. A sigh of relief.

*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*

The sound made Mark jump into attack mode again as he pointed at the door from the shadows. Then came a loud voice from outside. "Hey Scrapper? You in there still? Open up goddammit!". Mark recognised the voice as Blade's - another member of the gang, the getaway driver usually. Mark threw open the doors, none too happy about being startled like that. Well, not that he was going to admit it.

"Why the fuck are you here?" questioned Mark as he sat atop on of the boxes.

"Here to get supplies. We're all being shoved back into the ditches. Patrols are gettin' denser" replied Blade as he rummaged through the boxes.

"What's going on? Terrorists loose? Them cops not trying to get us right?"

"Nah. They seem to be hiding something though. A few stores were burning down. No one even tried to help. No ambulance. Nothing"

"Hey. You know what would be good now?" said Mark as he slyly looked back at Blade.

"Drugs?"

"Fuck no. The license to loot. We steal some cop suits and throw people against the walls. Empty their wallets. Bam! Easy pickings! Maybe even get us into special areas!" said Mark as he locked up the container. The boss wouldn't mind a bit of a delay.

"Kill cops? Are you nuts?!"

Mark grinned as he started his bike. "Hop on"

The two gangsters speed off on Mark's motorcycle, travelling along the sewer lines and alleyways where few patrolled. Whenever they would hear the loud engine of a tank or helicopter nearby, they would take an alternative route. They circled the streets for a while before they went into the red light district and came to a stop behind a prostitute business with a cop car parked out front. They headed up the stairs and sure enough, loud pleasurable sounds could be heard from behind the door. Apparently some cops wanted a time out. And a timeout they shall get.

Bursting through the door, Mark and Blade caught the cops by surprise. It didn't help that the three cops were naked from head to toe and away from their weapons. The prostitute screamed and fled onto the streets, causing wild hooting from a few beggars outside. During that hooting, Mark was beating the hell out of the cops who were too tired to fight back. Melee weapons were enough for this situation and soon there were three dead, useless cops.

"Well now what?" asked Blade as held up one of the uniforms, not really wanting to wear it. "Want me to take the cop car?"

"Leave it for now. We'll ask the Boss that" replied Mark as he listened to one of the shoulder radios. Shame he didn't understand any of the cryptic cop codes. 101? 15? What the hell? Bundling up the clothes into a duffel bag, Mark and Blade headed back outside. Their hideout wasn't far from here.

” There are no heroes...in life, the monsters win” -George R.R Martin.

They moved quietly through the park, huddled closely together, the unbridled chaos of the city barely out of reach. A downpour of rain had turned the ground to brown mush, and the cold weather had frozen it solid, making the terrain immensely uncomfortable to cross. A thick line of tress ran around the park, their branches and leaves blocking out the moonlight, shrouding the area in an almost unbroken blanket of darkness.

Chessa pulled her jacket tightly around her body in an attempt to fend off the cold, as she shambled awkwardly across the park, fighting to keep up with her brother. Kyle soldiered onwards, the large rucksack slung uneasily across his narrow shoulders, Pump-action shotgun gripped tightly in both hands.

Her brother had set out with steely determination burning in his eyes, his body pumping with adrenaline, his one and only objective to get him and his sister as far from danger as he could. The unfaltering drive was still very much present, but his face was thick with lines of strain, bags hung beneath his eyes, and he was using every ounce of his strength to maintain the rapid pace he had grown accustomed to. He was tired.

“Kyle!” Chessa called out to him, fighting to speak through ragged breaths. She had never been particularly fit to begin with, and the seemingly never-ending walking was really taking it out of her. “Let’s just rest for a minute, yeah?! Neither of us can keep going like this for much longer!”

He stopped and turned to face her, that same frantic look he’d been wearing since the apartment still dancing across his eyes “We keep going.” He told her firmly, an unspoken authority hidden beneath his words.

“We have to get out of here before-“

“Before what, Kyle?” A voice, thick and deep, boomed from the shadows.

They appeared seemingly all at once, figures of varying shapes and sizes all sliding out of the shadows, slipping into existence. Pete himself appeared last, tall and imposing as ever, surrounded by a small mob of his men.

Within seconds the group had surrounded them both, an impenetrable net, ensnaring them in its vice-like grip.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” Pete chuckled as he spoke, a dark and terrible laugh.

“Pete…how did you-“

“Find you? We just followed the gunshots.”

Chessa’s eyes darted from man to man, taking in the sheer amount of thugs that surrounded them. When her brain could devise no escape plan, she turned to address the mob boss.

“We did what you asked!” She pleaded with him “You’ve got no reason to hold us here!”

Pete raised one dark eyebrow at her, an amused expression crossing his likeness. “You mean he didn’t tell you? How very un-brotherly of him.”

“Tell me what…?” She turned to face Kyle. He was gazing meekly at the ground, defeated.

“I want my money, Kyle.” Pete said authoritatively, fixing him with a dark stare.

Kyle rested the gun against his leg, reaching into the rucksack and pulling out a large wad of cash, all wound up in a rubber bands, before tossing it at Pete’s feet. The money landed on the floor with a gentle thump.

The large man bent down and scooped it up with his thick hands, grinning broadly to himself.

“That’s everything.” Kyle assured him.

“I’m sure it is, but you see…I promised my boys some fun.”

The figures begun to edge forwards, and Chessa realised what they were holding; Pipes, tire irons, machetes, knives, and a whole manner of improvised weaponry.

Whirring to life again, Kyle fired a round into the nearest thug, blasting him backwards and turning his chest into red mush, the spray of the shotgun sending a few others sprawling to the ground.

Before he had a chance to fire again, a steel hammer slammed into Kyle’s leg, a sickening crunch echoing throughout the park as his knee cap was shattered. He screamed and tumbled to floor, dropping the shotgun as he clutched at his bloody leg.

Chessa wailed and went rushing to his aid, but someone tripped her, and she ended up face down in the mud, her mouth full of blood and earth.

“Please! Don’t” She looked up just in time to see hatchet smash into her brother’s face, biting through skin and bone, and knocking him into the dirt. He shakily raised his head, unrecognisable amidst all the gushing blood and ripped flesh, his breathing broken and raspy, but the hatchet swung again, and this time he didn’t get back up.

Chessa made a frantic dive for the shotgun, but Pete’s boot clad foot cam slamming down on her hand, crushing her fingers beneath its heel. She sobbed and spat, lying helplessly on the floor, gazing up at the large man as he towered over her, surrounded by his ruthless posy.

There was a flash of steel, and then suddenly he held a machete in one hand, glistening grimly in the darkness.

“It’s all fun and games, until someone loses an eye.” He lectured, that sickly broad grin plastered across his face.

“Or an arm.”

He brought the machete down in a vicious ark, still pinning her down with his foot, and sliced straight through her forearm, severing it at the elbow, blood pooling out across the floor as she shrieked and wailed, pain overloading her system, burning throughout every fibre of her being until it was all that she knew.

Over her own screams, she could hear the men laughing.

They left her there, screeching and crying and writhing in the dirt, slowly bleeding out, with her severed arm lying next to her.

”I’LL KILL YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I’LL RIP OUT YOUR FUCKING HEART AND EAT IT!” before too long she no longer had then energy to keep screaming, so she curled into a ball and wept, as the world went dark.

"You keep a bag of weapons buried in the park. Seriously?" Edmund laughed for the first time since his home. "Nice to see a bit of humour, but really, why'd you take the long way to the docks?"

The driver simply looked ahead into the dark before them. Since escaping the bustling streets he insisted on following only the city's light. Occasional street lights and a few close calls with stumbling drunks did little to deter him too -- much to Edmund's dismay. Despite claiming ownership and a rather sad attempt at a threat, nothing Edmund said made it through. He just continued on until finally Edmund agreed to the docks. Now this business about the some subterranean arms to ward off martial law. For a while it seemed the accident had put Edmund in this man's debt, but now, Edmund could only wonder just how dangerous a man so deranged may be.

When the Prius slowed to a halt beside the park entrance Edmund's jaw fell. "You weren't kidding. Just who are you exactly?"

"Not too important now, eh? Fine. My name is Cormac. I've a tad bit of experience with slaves of the Union Jack -- or rather, the Red, White, and Blue I suppose," Sean groaned as if the brief introduction proved too dull a chore. With that, Cormac shut off the ignition and tossed the keys to Edmund. He said nothing else before stepping out into the rain.

Between the rain and low settling the fog, the forest appeared nothing less than ominous. As Cormac made his way into the obscured wood his unwitting companion delayed. Edmund ducked into the back seat and, for a moment, looked blankly over the mess of his belongings. Finally, he pulled out a plump leather backpack. Glancing toward Cormac, who had nearly disappeared into the fog by now, Edmund unzipped the bag and reached inside. Simply feeling the grooved rubber proved a comfort.

...

After twenty minutes of the slow whiner, you consider murder. Not seriously though -- well, not really. True the rain has changed things and hidden a few of your markers. The city is still somewhat new to you and having to avoid too much exposure with the authorities isn't exactly the recipe for a well acclimated fugitive. That's when you see a glimmer through the haze of rain and fog. You squint and begin to jog forward. Edmund says something, but you neither can nor wish to hear. You slide onto your knees at the base of a tree marked with a blazing orange x at eye level. In little time you've pushed three inches of loosely packed earth and moss aside to two foot long wooden trunk. You take a deep breath, feel yourself smiling, and lift the lid.

"Holy shit," Edmund gasps. He falls onto his knees now too, then reaches inside. You snap the back of his hand with your knuckle before he can touch anything.

Silently, you retrieve two old friends: a nearly twenty year old Uzi with its well cared for wooden stock, and your beloved .45 calibre Smith & Wesson. Beneath the recently reunited, you find your old bug out bag, and sling it onto your back. This all feels rehearsed after so many years. Before the thought can progress, you feel the a cold metal mouth press against your cheek.

"Who the fuck are you? You're some kind of terrorist, aren't you? This is all about you!" Edmund shouts, his voice breaking between words.

You remain still. Thus far the whiner hadn't been a threat, so you'd placed your Smith & Wesson in the holster strapped to the side of your bag. Despite years of experience with your Uzi, the wooden stock makes it too unwieldy for a violent move. No guarantee of success. Not even a fair chance. Instead you just sit a moment and collect your thoughts. Taking in the feel of the barrel's mouth, you decide Edmund is holding a some sort of small revolver. Probably a low calibre handgun bought by a man otherwise without any means to protect himself. The barrel is relatively steady, but you feel some movement behind it. He's shaking. This wasn't you how you saw things going. You don't see any other choices though and if this is your out, so be it.

...

A gunshot rang out. Edmund fell back, dropping his revolver, as Cormac spun on a knee to face him. Three figures stood silhouetted by a tall park light. While Edmund squirmed on his back and checked himself for wounds, the man he'd so briefly held hostage shouldered their Uzi and fired. Cormac pulled the trigger for less than a second. The high pitched burp scared off two of the figures and fell the last.

Cormac stood with his weapon still shouldered. Approaching his target, he ordered in a low voice, "Off your arse, Eddo. Those men just tried to kill us, maybe if you back me up we can live to settle things, yeah?"

Shaken, Edmund arose and grabbed the revolver. He aimed at Cormac's back as the man sped toward the whimpering assailant, then promptly lowered the weapon. Without another thought the two made their way to the body. Like some action movie hero, Cormac kicked whatever the gun from the lying man's hand with his Uzi trained on their head. The man lay gurgling and grasping at the bullet wounds climbing from his naval to his throat. Unlike so many others he'd seen dying, Cormac noticed the man seemed to be pointing away from his own wounds.

"Cormac, there's somebody down the way. I think they're hurt!"