Arc 1 - Epilogue

(Quintiles 23, 59 / 2:50AM)

‘Guess I’ll have to build up my militia again. And this time, I’ll fill it with soldiers that won’t choose to fuck each other.’

A young man walked up a steep hill, clutching his stomach with his right hand.

Looking back at the shimmering lights of the city, he took note of the high rising buildings. Seeing them try to replicate the same skyline heights to how Clastine looked, he felt a pang of anger rush around his stomach.

‘The changing of times huh… how I despise change…’

And tiredly walking, with his boots barely able to cling onto the patches of dirt below, he felt shunned, outcasted even. Throughout all the running, all the pain he took, the only thing he ever wanted … was to do it all again.

Once he reached the top of the hill, a large abandoned factory building appeared in front of him. Noticing the door was wide open for entry, and the roof looking like it was torn, it made it so the moonlight from above shone into the dark building.

Meaning it wasn’t all pitch black.

‘I guess I could rest here for a bit.’

Entering through the door, the first thing he did was inhale a year’s worth of dust. Coughing and gagging at the lethal amount he intook, he balled his fist and pounded his chest twice for the air to push out. Slowly breathing in and out, regaining his lungs the ability to work properly, he continued to walk.

And the more he walked toward the center, the more his breathing returned to normal. With a fog of dust circulating around the entrance and edges of the walls, it made him feel more … alone.

Standing right in the center of the building, he looked up at the single single full moon.

‘I’m too exhausted to deal with this dust. At least the moon’s out, so I could sleep soundly without obstacles’

Placing his bottom on the floor, he laid on his back, letting the dust contract into his clothes and skin. His eyelids feeling like anvils, he let his exhausted body feel the weight of iron.

Slowly, he felt the cool summer air hit his face. Spreading his arms and legs wide, a small smile spread across his face.

‘Reminds me of the old days…’

—“You know that floor is dirty right?”—

He shot up like a bullet, fluttering his eyes open as he glanced around the factory. His breathing irregular, he brought out his handgun, waving it around as he couldn’t detail the direction of that said voice. It sounded old, but not rustic, as if there was a hint of youth and vigor within it.

Even if the voice was filled with curiosity, every pore from his body relieved his sweat. The cold breeze unable to satisfy his swelling state, he continued to pant.

While having his finger steady on the trigger.

“Where and who are you?! Whoever is in here, please come out now!”

“No, no, no, the question in hand is why are you here? You came in here and decided to lay down on the rusty and dirty floor? You’re going to have to shower or bathe after that.”

He heard the voice dawn in front of him, leading him to wave his gun in the said direction. Feeling every hand muscle and tissue squeeze the grip of the gun, his finger twitched and jumped.

“Just come out now! I won’t shoot you, but I want to know who you are?!”

“Hehe … You don’t want to know who I am. I mean, it would be too complicated to explain things to you right now…”

He saw a little silhouette, his eyes trailing the tall figure. Taking a couple of steps back, the iron of his gun shook violently, because not only did he feel an immense aura coming at him…

He felt like he was at the bowls of death.

“Show yourself! Or else I’ll—”

“Do what, shoot me? Believe me, you’ll never hit me with that.”

—A voice spoke to him from the back—

Twisting his body an 180, he felt his eyes blank white for a split second, before his vision returned back to normal again. Blowing through his nostrils, he was finally face to face with that old voice.

The man wore circular shaped glasses, his irises being shaded in dark hazel. Having a sharp nose, his eyes were small and slanted, along with his face containing many wrinkles. No scars, no cuts, not even a shade of facial hair sprouted from his face.

He was a few inches shorter than Maverick, and his weight was lean. Wearing an all white robe, and with his hands encased inside of his sleeves, he had sparkly white sandals that didn’t suit his attire. Looking to take the part of a priest, there was one thing that stood out…

He had light green hair.

“You seem rather tense. I take it this is your first time seeing someone different than you yeah?”

“What do you want?!”

“Come on, you’re supposed to be crazier than this. You’re making me feel like I’m the bad guy.”

The old man walked slowly toward him, even though Maverick’s height dominated his. As if a cloud of death hovered over him, not even Gwen or Luna could compare to the beast that smiled warmly.

Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Since you’re here, and I know you can fight, I’ll give you two options. You could work and serve under me, no questions asked, or you could decline. But be warned, I prefer it if you don’t decline…”

He sharpened his face and looked directly into Maverick’s eyes. Stopping right in front of him, not even silenced boomed, almost as if he took away the background solace.

—“It's your choice … Maverick Keegan.”—

He began to hyperventilate.

Collapsing onto the ground below, he placed his hands on the rustic floor, as his legs lost the will to stand. His face ghostly pale, he felt the old man looking down on him, as his eyes were glued to the cold hard ground.

All the while the old man cocked his head and placed his hand along his cheek.

‘H-H-H-H-H-H-H-How… How … How does he know my name?’

“If you do decide to serve under me, you might have to end your never ending game of tag with your older sister. It’s your choice, so choose wisely.”

“P-Playtime?”

“Everything in life has drawbacks. Say for instance you want more money, then you’ll have to sacrifice entertainment and solace with hard labor. Vice versa, etc, etc; this same logic applies to working under me.”

His face already soaked with sweat, he remembered the past playtimes with Gwen and her group. The raids, the barrage of bullets, the amount of men and women he used to fulfill his selfish desire of fun…

He was a criminal, not because he was evil, but to garner him attention. Those days of running from bullets, the cops, authorities, authority itself; he didn’t want it to end.

“And you’re so young, and I don’t take pride on killing—”

Using the last bit of strength that wasn’t withheld with fear, he aimed the pistol straight at the old man.

He couldn’t stop sweating, he couldn’t stop breathing heavily, and he couldn’t aim properly. And yet, he sharpened his eyes and clenched down on his back molars, whilst tears began to build up on the corners of his eyelids.

“You really wanna do this huh?”

“I don’t care if you know me … b-but if you won’t let me have my fun, then I’ll fight for it if it’s the last thing—”

The old man was behind Maverick.

Without shedding a squeak on his old sandals, no trace of noise spurred, leaving Maverick to remain frozen in place.

“As a leader, I thought you would’ve been a lot smarter, despite having good Eyehawk.”

Maverick felt his stomach burn. His breathing turning drastically slow, he glanced down at his abdomen, seeing …

---An arm, wedged out from his liver region.---

Pulling out his arm, the old man looked at his skin that was drenched with blood. Guts and pieces of intestine stuck in between his nails, he was considered grateful that no feces stuck to his skin.

Wrinkling his face, he used his other hand to pinch his nostrils.

“Crap, my robe is soiled. Jason or Pedro, I don’t care who, can one of you bring me a towel, and an extra robe while you’re at it.”

He slammed chest first onto the floor, as blood pooled toward his neck and face. Feeling like he was burning and freezing at the same time, his legs and arms twitched relentlessly like a fish out of water. Trying to speak, trying to push his vocals to squeal or yell, his own pool of blood soon assaulted his own mouth.

Using the last bit of strength to keep his eyes open, his vision faltered once he saw a figure dressed in black. It was no devil, nor death, but a young man pretending to be one.

The young man walked right up toward the old man, as his hoodie shadowed his face.

“Also check up on Ryan, Gemma, and … what’s his name … Cameron as well.”

“Are we commencing the attack now?”

“Not right now, but in the next week or so. We’ve barely reached Lagefor, so we should take it easy.”

‘G-Gwen…’

He felt numb.

His life flashing before his eyes, every memory being played out in front of him was only him and his sister. Just those two, escaping the cruel fate of reality, was enough to shed a tear drawn with blood.

But he saw another figure…

‘I don’t want to be touched…’

“Check on Mia and Kenichi too. And please keep an eye on Sidney as well. Because under this single full moon … we’re about to …”

Taking his last breath, the last of his body heat froze out like a dog shedding its fur. All four of his senses ceased to function, the only thing that he could do was hear.

And even then, his hearing echoed, long and rattled before it soon ceased as well…

“Start this Genesis.”

END OF ARC 1