Messengers of Mankind

First Impressions (1)

It was towards the end of the 22nd century.

Tall forests of oddly concocted trees shadowed heaps and mounds of rubble that was once glorious skyscrapers and business towers. Vines and wild greenery poke out of the shattered windows of those that are still miraculously standing, proudly inhabiting the homes of the people who had once banished them. Overgrown plants and flowers have squeezed themselves through the cracked cement, thriving in packs along what used to be roads and sidewalks. Clean, icy-cold waterfalls poured from corroded pipes that had long since stopped working.

There were only a handful of them left now. Countless were killed upon the first invasion, followed by many more dying of starvation and illnesses, or simply the lack of will to survive. That wasn't even the most of it. When the real apocalypse began, the real threat became humans themselves. They resembled wolves in their ways of moving in packs, scavenging whatever can be found and leaving destruction in their path. An encounter with them meant death as they were as hungry for supplies and food as those terrifying mobs were for utter destruction.

What must it be like to live in a society where 'every man for themselves' is the dominant, unspoken rule? Where you have to fear your own kind? Where you cannot let your guard down for even one second? Where trust is just a death wish?

The crunch of cement and gravel under George's boots were evident as he strolled along a long sidewalk that was overtook by plants and greenery, just like all other roads. In his hands were a sturdy bow, already strung with one arrow. The bow was one of his proudest creations that he was glad he had. Crafted carefully with a type of high-elasticity yet strong plastic, it had a springy yet lightweight feel in his hands. Strung with modified graphene thread, it was not easily broken. The arrows in comparison were perhaps a bit less exquisite, as he had crafted them himself hastily on the run - but it was nonetheless functional and did what it is meant to do.

He treasured the bow dearly. Not only because it was his most prized possession, but it was also essential for his survival. He couldn't count the amount of times an arrow had left his drawn bow and had pierced one of those giant mechas fatally, saving his life in return. Technically speaking, his life depended on the bow. It was the reason why he had survived for this long... Well, perhaps his partner was a part of it too.

George snuck a glance at the tall, masked man who leisurely walked beside him, A raven black war axe was held loosely in his hand, swinging carelessly from side to side. Wisps of dirty blonde hair peeked out of his hood, wavering precariously in the breeze. Though his features were hidden, George could tell that his eyes were darting across the ruined street, searching for any signs of danger. That's just the type of person he is - reckless, nonetheless insanely observant and cunning - the type to take on several mechas with just his axe and would still win. Not the kind you'd want to cross paths with. George knows him long enough to have learnt that. Still, he doesn't trust him despite everything he has done.

He could have just left that mecha creeper to blow me to smithereens, then scavenge for whatever I had. George thought dubiously, his mind temporarily wandering to that day. Why had he saved me?

Perhaps he was just waiting for a chance to backstab me. After all, trust is just a weakness, isn't it?

The tall, blonde man stopped and looked back at George. A tilt of his head showed confusion.

He hesitantly spoke. "Aren't you coming?" His voice was raspy, deep. A hint of playfulness rang out underneath that coarse tone. George hadn't even realized that he stopped walking, and now that he sees it, he was several steps behind his partner.

"Sorry." George muttered, taking large strides to catch up to him. "I was thinking."

"Thinking about what?"

"You needn't to know."

"..."

The two lapsed back into silence. It's rather troubling, George thought. Despite the two days they had spent together, none of them had gotten each other's name, let alone even getting to know each other at all. All that they had learnt about each other comes from observation. George had only been resting for the entirety of yesterday, but he'd witnessed, in horror might he add, how powerful his partner was.

He'd been situated in a grand skyscraper with half of its body missing that day, to rest and to not strain his wounds excessively. His partner had gone out to scavenge for supplies, and out of the broken window of the skyscraper, George could see the little green-and-black dot that was his partner. That man was going to town on two mecha creepers that were more than ten times taller than him, slashing and tearing apart their mechanical insides with ease. George watched with stricken fear and awe as the crazed man finally yanked his axe out of these creepers that were no more than a heap of fizzling wires and broken metal pieces, slowly disappearing into the mecha infested city. That day, George had wondered if he'd been rescued by a kind story-book protagonist or a crazed maniac. Probably the latter.

George let that disturbing memory swill around his head, quietly walking on. His wound was throbbing again, despite the painkiller his partner had given him a few hours ago. It brought a dull pain that somewhat subdued the memory from yesterday, which George was neither relieved nor unhappy about.

The pair walked on, unaware of the pair of eyes that were silently watching them from above.

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Thank you for reading the first chapter all the way through! Much appreciated. :)

(ROUGHLY REVISED)

Published August 3rd.