My quarters, a privilege of my station in this shattered society, afforded direct outside access—a meager 'convenience' these days.

I stepped out into the biting rain. Decrepit buildings loomed, their shattered windows a sobering view of our reality. The town's usual damp, smoky tang was tainted; a new scent twined through the air—the stench of anarchy and a creeping despair. Recent raids had gone poorly, with heavy losses. Grief hung over the town like a shroud, almost tangible if not for the clinging fog.

I stared up at the leaden sky, met with more disappointment instead of hope. The rain fell heavy and straight, like tears - the sky, too, wept today. Our mother mourned us. Lightning split the sky, and thunder clapped through the alley.

A procession of emaciated figures shambled past my threshold, their plodding march aimed toward the communal dining area. I tracked their cautious steps, following the arduous path they forged through the skeletal husks of former dwellings. The skyline presented a haphazard jumble of precarious structures and crumbled façades; the ravages of strife and nature's fury manifested everywhere.

As my focus shifted from the architectural carcasses to their haggard inhabitants, I observed the serpentine queue winding down the road, a congregation of collective misery juxtaposed against a shattered world. Some countenances bore the unequivocal marks of anguish, crystallized tears carved into their flesh like glacial rivulets.

Dignity had crumbled, eroded by the unrelenting tide of time and hardship, leaving only the primal urge to survive etched into the weathered faces of the downtrodden. Existence persisted, but the spark of life had long since been extinguished, snuffed out

Without a flicker of hesitation, I thrust myself into the serpentine queue, displacing the haggard man and woman who had occupied the spot moments before. The man ahead seemed to comprehend the unspoken hierarchy, and after all, it didn't affect his place in line.

But the woman, a feeble mewl of protest escaping her cracked lips, dared to voice her objection. I silenced her with a withering glare, my eyes twin shards of disgust that pierced her very soul. Recognition of who I was dawned in her sunken eyes and she recoiled like a whipped cur, shrinking back into the anonymity of the crowd. A derisive snort rose in my throat but I quashed it, instead turning my attention forward as my scuffed boots scraped against the cracked concrete.

My gaze landed on Martin, my sole confidant in this blighted hellscape, standing several paces ahead. His skin, a patchwork of scars and weathered lines etched by years of unrelenting toil, stood out in stark relief against the sea of wretched faces. He craned his neck at the woman's feeble protest, his eyes seeking out the source of the disturbance. When his gaze met mine, a broad grin split his face, the lines around his mouth and eyes deepening with the effort.

"Alec!" he called out, his booming voice tinged with a forced joviality that rang hollow in the oppressive gloom. "Up with the sun today, eh? Already putting the fear of god into the rabble?"

A guttural sound, more growl than greeting, rumbled in my chest as I shouldered my way through the press of bodies. Indignant squawks and muttered curses erupted in my wake but I paid them no heed, my eyes locked on Martin's approaching form.

As I drew near, Martin's hand shot out and clasped mine, his grip strong despite the gnarled fingers and callused palm. The handshake seamlessly transformed into a rough embrace, his arm snaking around my shoulders and pulling me close.

"Damn good to see you," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "Been awhile. Had me worried."

I extricated myself from the hug, my eyes roving over his battle-scarred face. "Been scavenging. Nicois has me hunting for scraps and baubles."

Martin nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Find anything worth mentioning? You'd have said something if you had, yeah?"

"Mmm. Speaking of, I'm heading out to the aquifer later. Gonna clear out the filth and muck."

Martin's face contorted in revulsion, his lips curling back from his teeth in a grimace. "I'll never understand how you can stomach it. Out there, alone, with those... things." He shuddered, his head shaking slowly as if to banish the thought.

"Someone has to do it," I said with a shrug, tilting my head back and feeling the icy sting of the rain on my face. "We need the water. Can't live on boiled rainwater alone."

Martin hesitated, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. His fingers dug into my flesh, the pressure bordering on painful. "It ain't right, you going out there solo every time," he said, his voice low and urgent. "You come back looking like a corpse, more dead than alive. Maybe... maybe take someone with you next time?"

I flashed him a thin smile, offering no response. Better he remain ignorant of the true horrors that lurked in the depths.

Martin sighed, a heavy, weary sound. He pressed his arm against mine. "I worry about you, you know? In this godforsaken place, you're the only friend I got."

The corner of my mouth twitched, and I clapped him on the shoulder, the gesture more forceful than necessary. "Don't get soft on me now, Martin. I'm harder to kill than I look." I arched an eyebrow. "And who said anything about friends?"

Martin barked out a laugh, the sound jarringly bright against the oppressive misery that saturated the air. He dug an elbow into my ribs, the pressure playful. "You're a real bastard, you know that?" His nostrils flared and he sniffed the air. "Hey... you smell that?"

The stench hung in the air, a miasma of putrefaction and roasted flesh that clung to the inside of my nostrils like a viscous slime. Martin sucked in a greedy breath, his eyes alight with a feral hunger as he turned to me, lips peeled back from his teeth in a parody of a grin.

"Smells like dinner's ready," he said, his voice a raspy growl.

I swallowed back the surge of bile that rose in my throat, my gut clenching with revulsion. We had argued this point countless times before, our debates always ending in stalemate. The thought of consuming human meat sickened me to my core, an abhorrent act that went against every shred of humanity I still clung to. But for Martin, it was just another meal, another way to survive in this hellscape we called life.

He caught my expression and smirked, hands raised in mocking surrender. "Right, right. Let's table that little disagreement for now, eh?"

The line shuffled forward, herding us into the cavernous maw of the mess hall. The air inside was thick with despair, the weight of it pressing down on my shoulders like a physical burden. People hunched over their trays, shoveling food into their mouths with mechanical precision, their eyes glazed and vacant. The so-called nutrients they ingested were little more than slop, a brownish sludge that oozed across the trays like congealed blood.

Guilt gnawed at my insides as I surveyed the room, a dull ache that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. I had the freedom to leave this place, to venture out into the wasteland beyond the walls in search of something better. But these people were trapped here, forced to endure the same miserable existence day after day, with no hope of escape. The burden of their suffering was a weight I could never fully shake off, no matter how far I ran.

We reached the protein line, and the stench intensified, the odor of charred flesh and rancid grease assaulting my senses. The server, a gaunt man with sunken eyes and an apron splattered with dark stains, gestured to a pan with the tip of his spoon, grinning.

"Fried fingers, fresh from last week, froze since," he rasped. "You missed the good cuts last night."

A flood of memories crashed over me, images of a time when I had been desperate enough to partake in such depravity. I had crossed lines since then, plumbed depths of darkness that made the consumption of human flesh seem tame by comparison. But the thought of revisiting those acts, of sinking my teeth into the flesh of another person, still made my stomach heave.

"Think I'll abstain," I drawled, locking eyes with the cook and mocking his accent. "Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer knowing who's on my plate."

He recoiled as if struck, hastily beckoning the next in line and dismissing me with a flick of his utensil. Whispers would undoubtedly spread, but I welcomed the scuttlebutt. Solitude was my refuge, a sanctuary few dared breach.

Save Martin. He trailed me to a deserted corner, plopping his tray beside mine with an insouciant grin. "Saving the crazy for your swamp dive later? Usually you've snapped at a half-dozen folks by now."

I fought a smile. "Careful. You might have the honor of being the first."

"Nah." He shoveled a forkful of grayish sludge into his mouth. "I'm too pretty. 'Sides, you'd miss my dazzling wit too much."

"Would I now?" I arched a brow. "Rumor is folks are betting on how long 'til I wring your neck."

"Pffft, not happening. I'm wise to your game." Martin scraped the dregs of his meal, brandishing his spoon at me. "Underneath all that doom and gloom you're always spouting, you're not half bad. Downright decent, even."

"High praise, coming from you." I shifted in my seat, unease prickling along my spine.

His words struck a chord, and I felt a sudden, instinctive urge to flee, but I held my ground, managing a calm exterior. "And what exactly have you seen?" I asked, my body tense, awaiting his response.

"This tastes like shit," he laughed off, nonchalantly dismissing his earlier remark. "Thought they served ass last night?" He jabbed at his bread, soaking it in the murky gravy and chuckling at his own stupid joke. Looking up, he raised his bread in response.

"Nope, no praise, just facts. I've seen you patch up folks in the med tent. Heard you philosophizing under the stars when you think no one's around." He fixed me with a shrewd stare. "What I can't figure is why you're so hellbent on everyone thinking you're just some crazed scavenger."

A chuckle slipped out as I relaxed. "What's this? You spying on me now?"

Martin shook his head, a snort escaping him. "Nah, man, no stalking. Just noticed, is all. It's kinda refreshing, actually – someone here still gives a shit about something other than themselves."

His smile waned a bit as he caught the look on my face.

I scowled at my untouched tray. "I'm no saint, Martin. Best get that delusion out of your head."

"Yeah, well, we'll have to agree to disagree on that one, buddy."

Shoving to my feet, I glared down at him. "

"Your optimism's misplaced. And this slop? Not happening, feel free to have it. Some of us have actual work to do." I grumbled, shoving my tray towards him, the contents sloshing over the edge. "You actually want this shit?"

"Hell yes!" Martin eagerly grabbed my tray, merging my leftovers with his. "What, no fingers? You vegan bastard."

Standing up, I lingered for a moment, eyeing him. "Later, Martin."

"Always a pleasure!" Martin called after me, waving his spoon in jaunty salute.

I strode away, unease writhing in my gut. His words had struck too close to home, unearthing a tangle of emotions I had no desire to confront.

This world had little room for friendship. When death lurked around every corner, what was the point in forging bonds destined to shatter?

No, in this blighted hellscape, connection was a liability.

One I couldn't afford.

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