Fusion and Iron

3. A Scientific Nightmare

One of earth's mightiest bases worldwide had now become a shell of its former self. Enveloped in a dark green sky that swirled over its remnants ominously, Sector V was slowly sinking in the near-endless sea of green all around it. The blades of grass beneath it died out as the ground itself cracked and chipped into steaming fissures of fusion with bulbouses of pussballs slowly filling up each day like unpopped zits.
The sky itself was like a toxic bile that never ceased to end. It was hard to see any ounce of sunlight, making everything look pale. Only an eerie haze remained, blocking out any positive signs of life. Far beyond, across the horizon, nothing was visible–only the thick, impassable fog that swallowed the entire sector.

The ground itself also seemed to struggle, withering away into just bland patches of dirt. It was a bit early for fall to arrive, showing the signs of bare bushes and trees to the summer breeze. Their leaves had already perished, melted away by the fusion micro-bacteria infecting them. To the side of them, the once proud rows of suburban houses had now collapsed in on themselves, taken away by the sinking land rot all around them. The foundation was gnawed at from the overgrown termites, hollow at the core.
As for the rain (if you could even call it that), it was barely water anymore here. A single teardrop was thick and flaccid, splatting on the ground to leave a slow-oozing splat of paint.
Once-proud skyscrapers which were marveled as great human achievements were hunched over or mangled into ruin, barely recognizable, as the weight of the fusion corruption warped everything around them.

Armageddon chose its favorite color: green.

Standing in one of the crumbling remains left of a suburban house, Niles stared out toward the horizon. The structure, once another family's home, was now a phantom of itself. The garage was barely intact, walls slightly caving in on each other. On the contrary, the young man was actually cleaned up well with a fresh shave and a new trim to his wavy, untamed hair. His teeth were brushed well and shimmering white despite the grim surroundings, indicating he took time to take care of his hygiene after being stranded for so long. Oh how he missed being clean and presentable.

It was evident that he tried to display some sort of normalcy compared to this grim setting. He wore a simple jet-black t-shirt and pale gray sweatpants, having snagged a pair of sneakers that were worn and battered but still functional. His body, still slightly patched together from medical tape, had healed him enough to carry him out of the medical wing. Only a week had passed since he'd been put in a hospital room, but he was still exhausted based on the dark circles under his eyes.

There he stood, his fists buried tightly in his chest as he tried to push all of the stress away. The memory of Jack's death, bleeding out in his arms, was still new. No matter how hard he tried to keep it off his mind, he just couldn't. A bulwark like that samurai, reduced to a bleeding husk in his arms, was still unbelievable. Not even to mention the many faces of the fallen, too many to count too. They still haunted him, nearly every day. By this point, the funerals just felt like routine. Day by day, it was just going through the motions and counting those who lost. Everyone nearly gave up on their emotions, at least until it was somebody who hit them the hardest. Nobody knew it was going to be this bad.
Each day was a cruel game of chance, teetering on who would be the next to go. Even Grim, who had lingered on the battlefield to reap the freshest souls, gave up and left when he too knew the earth was doomed.

Niles shut his eyes, trying to block out the images by focusing on a lighter note. Every single opportunity lost, every ounce of regret, just circling from second-guessed decisions. This whole ordeal scarred him, inside and out, leaving barely any raw emotion left in him.

"Hey, Niles," came a soft, familiar voice.

He turned his head and looked back. Blossom had hovered toward him, beaming as a wholesome anchor in a storm of absolute struggle. She landed beside him quietly as her military boots hit the pavement. Dressed in a black tight-fitted jumpsuit, she looked more like a seasoned warrior than a superhero. She had lost that charm of her a long time ago, relying on skill rather than show. Still, she seemed just as tired as him. The woman eyed him up and down before asking, "How do you feel?"
"Better," he began with a small shrug, speaking lighter now that she was around. "I hate lying in hospital beds."