A perfectly normal moon burned in the perfectly normal sky, its craters also a perfectly normal shade. Beneath the moon bathed a dark geometric-based city. It was once called Chicago. Now it was a federal label, a province; Chicago only in name. Known for its underlying notoriety, the province appeared deathly quiet as if it was holding its breath for whatever happened next. Whilst the pristine moonlight shards pierced the faded look of the city, it looked strangely forsaken. The entire city was ominous like a painting gone wrong. A painter who had run out of paint for the last, deepest strokes in the world. A mocking irony of what used to be a day of patriotism just decades ago, the last thing any sensible person was doing was showing little relationship to any bold men intending for their death within thirty minutes, much less any patriotic symbolism. Whereas people would have been celebrating such a day decades ago, all sensible people were hiding, ducking, and trying to stay as anonymous as possible. That was what mattered in such times, staying as invisible as you could. Only that would let you survive.
Quite strangely, there indeed was a man, crazy enough to be on the streets. He wore a white suit with equally bright buttons and was shrouded in a dark cloak. His face's upper section was masked by the cloak's hood, only his eyes gleaming from beneath. He slowly ambled down the alleyway, cloak gently flapping in the wind. Though in one of the poorest provinces of the state, a sense of fading light followed him as he weaved through the community, looking for something. The dark alleyways of the Province of Chicago were dimly illuminated by four flicking yellow lamps, one scoured after the world had gone dark. Each block of houses were identical; black, blocky, each a product of the Province of Chicago Design Company. The houses were lined with muck, mud mingled with whatnot from the bustling city. Weak parchment-yellow lights shone through the cheap apartments, merely giving silhouettes to the darkened streets, already so eerie.
Presently, the man stopped at a run-down pizzeria with boards patched up in places where robberies had occurred. A weak neon pixelated light barely reading the words, OPEN. Squeezed between two malls, it looked like the last place to be still operating in the hyperinflated world of Chicago. A whiteboard sign scrawled with the restaurant's opening hours had been fiercely torn apart, pummeled, then viciously punched or so it seemed. The door, without a base to sturdy it, swung precariously with the rushing winds. It quietly creaked open, its bell tinkling quietly but muted, a flag of defiant surrender. Despite its run down appearance, the pizzeria apparently appeared a popular destination. Groups mingled around the tables, eating greasy slices of pizza most probably recycled from previous customers. The brutal fact, everybody faced with the least care for health.
Throwing back his hood, anyone could clearly see the man's facial expression through the cheap plastic windows. Not savage, yet not particularly friendly either. His head was masked by long strands of white hair gently blowing in the wind. He looked like a crazed monk on drugs but people knew to only think that as a death wish. His eyebrows were knit close together as if in confusion or skepticism. He followed a green strand that seamlessly floated through the alleyways, defying all laws of gravity. It was surrounded by a light halo of cryptic green and faded into the molecules of the atmosphere. The strand stopped abruptly at a green stub inches from the door.
He murmured, a smile lingering on his lips as he approached the pizzeria, "You led me here...of all places?" His steps crisply found its way on top of the carpet as the man swung open the door of the pizzeria.
Hearing the doorbell attached to the door ring, a man labeled 'Tobias' waltzed over, not looking up but staring at a menu as he furiously scratched out prices, scrawling even higher ones onto the board. Typical of restaurants.
He announced, still unaware of the recipient, "Welcome to the Pizzeria, please have a seat in any of the open booths-" He finally glanced up, expecting to see a jovial customer. Instead, he looked into the deep black eyes piercing through him.
YOU ARE READING
Lost Legacy
ActionAn epic thriller detailing a masterplanned world falling into the hands of a lost Creator. These first few chapters will have you clinging to the book as you follow Hako into a vivid world.
