James Cooper
August 18, 2039, Approximately 10:00 AM
Central BrooklynJames picked over the contents of a musty apartment building rife with the smell of mold. Several stairs had broken on his way up and he didn't feel particularly comfortable with the way the floor kept squishing under his feet. Or the fact that the ceiling was dripping, for that matter. As yet another droplet of water that smelled of death fell from above and onto his head, James scowled and put up the hood to his grey sweatshirt. Then promptly sneezed it off. This floor's food had pretty much turned into lumpy piles of mold or dust, and it was really irritating his sinuses.
Pushing his hood back on, James began the trek back downstairs, hammer in hand. This building had been a bust. A shame, since it had taken him about as long to get there as it had to search the building. He wondered to himself if this perhaps meant other people had gotten there first, then if the floors above had contained anything of worth. Probably, but thinking about it was an exercise in futility as those floors didn't exist anymore, collapsed in rubble atop the thin ceilings above him. Whether it had been bombs or rot that caused it was anyone's guess; the area around it was similarly in disrepair.
As he reached the entrance to the building, James could hear the crackling in the distance again. Today was his lucky day! The more the crackles, the more the food. That was how it had always worked in the past, at least. Grinning broadly and with a spring in his step, James continued on. The next building over was a music shop. Useless. Nothing in there ever worked, and they never had anything edible. Plus he couldn't even read any books they had. Letdowns, every single time.
Hearing a rumble in the distance, he stopped. Rain? Or was it something else? That kind of rumble didn't happen very often, and hearing it together with so much crackling confused him. Was it a good sign or not? The popping noises were getting louder, too. For some reason, they seemed a lot less comforting now. More...dangerous.
For a brief moment, everything went quiet. No pops. No chirping of birds or rustling of plastic in the wind. Not even his own footsteps. Just the distant rumble and the sun creating the buildings across the street.
Then all hell broke loose.
The crackling, much louder than it had ever been before, assaulted James's ears. Bursts of light shone in the corner of his eye, coming from up the road. All he wanted was to run, flee, get away from them, but his feet remained plated right where they were. Trying desperately and hopelessly to block the sound from his head, he dropped his sledgehammer and shoved his hands over his ears. Eyes scrunched shut tightly in terror, the world became nothing more than a cacophony of explosions going off inside his head, bright stabs of pain burning his eyes and temples. His head pounded, panic flowing through his veins, and James did the only thing he could think to do. He screamed. As loud as he could. The loudest noise he had made in the last two years, still barely audible above the thunder-cracks of guns firing so close by. And then he could hear nothing. His eyes relaxed, still shut. His arms loosened at his sides. His hands unclenched. And his head hit the pavement.
