A city lie in ruins after all that happened, leaving rotted and burned corpses lining what was once the streets, the veins of the city's populace left to no use after all had died. Buildings that once reached out to the clouds now sat in disappointing piles of stone, shells of their former selves, reduced to their base materials, never to reach the clouds again. What little food remained in what once was shops had long expired, either that or they were destroyed in the initial waves. A child wandered the ruins. No taller than 2 oil barrels stacked on each other, they wandered the ruins with a quiver stocked with makeshift arrows and an old bow. The cloak they wore was quite the protection against the sun's harmful rays, and the goggles perched on their head were good eye protection. Their skin was splotched by ash and soot, and the clothes under the cloak were tattered to no end. Yet they still survived, survived the land that they were trapped in. The crunching rubble under their tiny boots was not good for hunting, but they had no alternative to mask the sound. It was a necessary evil to surviving here. Animals are scared away by sudden noises, the child learned that long before everything went wrong. Suddenly, dust kicked up as the beating of wings rang through the air. A bird landed nearby. A large bird, with deeply purple feathers that seemed to glimmer in the sunlight. It was unaware of the child, staring empty-eyed into the distance The child ducked behind a large pile of rubble, taking care to be as quiet as possible. Loading an arrow into their bow, they took careful aim, trying to remember where father told them was best to shoot... And then they let go. The moment felt like an eternity steeped in suspense, the arrow flying through the air and towards it's unsuspecting victim. The bird toppled over instantly once the arrow struck, now soon to die. It's squawks of agony echoed through the empty city, yet they did not pierce the child. They had to have done this 1 million times over at this point, it was second nature to them. They had grown used to it, taking another life was simply survival here. The cries of an animal had become nothing more than ambiance, another sound besides the winds that bring piling dirt. Once the pained yells of the bird tapered away, the child walked up to the poor creature's corpse, kneeling to inspect their kill. A knife pierced it's belly, sliding until it's entrails spilled onto the dirt below. Those were junk, an unneeded part of the animal. That's always what father said, anyway. Hoisting the creature over their shoulders took a mountain of effort, and dragging it back to camp would take 20 times more. With the size of the bird, it could sustain the child for quite a while, so the effort would pay off in the end through their eyes. The bird was large, perfect to sustain the child for at least a week Dragging it through the wastes, it was a lonely walk. Nobody was left but the child, the loneliness was neigh unbearable. Father left long ago, he said he would be gathering supplies. He should return soon, he promised! You can't just break a promise, not out here... Through their own racing thoughts, the child dragged the bird's gutted carcass all the way back to camp. Empty were the streets they walked across, once so crowded by chattering crowds, not reduced to useless slabs of concrete lined against each other. They took those loud crowds for granted, they used to hate, hate,HATE them! Now, they want them back. It felt better with people around, they now realize. Maybe it's just blind nostalgia taking their mind, but it felt better. Camp was not much better than the rest of the city, but it was a kind sight in such a risky place to travel. An old tarp draped over stacked bricks, with an old steel beam keeping one of the corners of the tarp up. It was what father built back when this all started, he called it "our home for a while" when he first showed it to the child. Was he not gone now? No, he'll return eventually! The child hauled the fresh meat hauled over their shoulder over to the camp, careful not to dirty the flesh, it's not what father would want. He always said that was bad, and father never lied to the child. Careful they were to pluck all the feathers away, tossing them to the side haphazardly into an already growing pile of purple. Once the meat was revealed underneath, the child took out their knife once again, wiping the blade of any blood with their cloak. Tentative cuts sliced the bird into more manageable pieces, and the parts not eaten were thrown into a barely-running freezer for later use. The part that was ready to be cooked was tossed onto an old grate set over a makeshift fire pit, and the child lit a blaze underneath as to cook it to at least be edible. The kid looked out onto the empty horizon, one devoid of people. The only thing for miles was rubble and dust. The invaders had left the place desolate on their crusade. The only people left in the area were them, father, and a few others. Now though, they were left alone to rot. They remember what happened like it was only a few hours ago. Late at night, they were watching an old episode of one of their favorite shows. The screen suddenly flashed to a national warning about something, and the normal dialogue was replaced with blaring alarms and a hauntingly robotic voice. It spoke of disaster around the planet, but before they could get the full picture-- YANK! Father pulled them away from the TV and ran downstairs, into the darkest depths of the basement, where they waited while cowering and hidden away by boxes of old knick knacks and other things, knees to their chest as their arms were wrapped around. They felt like crying. Father told them not to. He said "they'll find us if we cry, so please stay strong" as he placed what tried to be a comforting hand on their shoulder. His hand was shaking too. The fear felt palpable as they waited for what seemed like an eternity, holding back waterfalls of tears in a desperate attempt to cling onto another day of living. So scared they were, so small they felt, so hopeless was the thought of living slipping through their hands. Then, father pushed aside the boxes and guided them out of the basement, keeping them close as they walked together. There it was, the world they live in now... The scent of burning filled the air. Too lost in thought the kid was to realize that the meat was starting to turn to ash. They swiftly flipped the meat so that the uncooked side had a chance to be eaten, and disaster was avoided, none more were needed right now. The child was more attentive towards the food, making sure to not get lost in thought. They didn't want to finish such a painful and potent memory anyway. Food was average, a bit bitter from the burned spot, but better than the taste of starvation. Father would surely be proud of their catch if he was here. He will be, the child swears by that fact and puts it upon their very life. They looked out to the horizon once again. The setting sun painted the sky such warm colors, reds and oranges replacing the usual slightly clouded blue of day. It was one of the few beauties of this wasteland, one of the few things they could appreciate among the battle to cling onto the coming day. They got up, it was a good time to find a spot to fully appreciate it. The ruins messed with the view of it all, a better vantage point was needed. They walked alone, boots crunching fragile bits of concrete strewn through the dirt. It was annoying, hearing it all the time when walking, but it was a necessary evil. They carried on walking despite the vexing sounds, seeing the sunset too it's fullest was their quest, and no matter what happened, they would get a perfect view of it. The ruins seemed even more depressing up close, now that they think of it. Skeletons and still rotting corpses, trapped in the last position they were in before joining the black parade. Their memory probably wouldn't carry on, because who is there left to remember them in life? The child stopped in front of what seemed to have once been an old music store to think... Father said mother enjoyed a band called My Chemical Romance. The child tried to listen to a few of their songs, but the only one that really stuck with them was one song: Welcome to The Black Parade. It reminded them of the few memories they had of mother, the few they had before she died so suddenly. They didn't want to remember, they wanted to actually be able to see her again. Father said that was a bad idea, you must move on from the past to keep moving through life. The kid thought that was an obvious fact. He'll probably be back at camp any moment, and when they return after watching the sunset, he'll surely be there to greet them! Tearing their head out of the cloud of memories, they kept walking. It was staring to get colder as the sun set further. The beauty would be gone soon, so the child would have to act fast to bear witness it. Twilight was beginning to rear it's head, a corrupting purple starting to form at the top of the beautiful, warm colors of the sunset they so desperately wanted to see in full. It reminded them of those occasions that they went on the roof to watch it, and it was kind of like what they were currently doing now. Upon their path, there was a familiar building. The child's old house, the one they ran away with dad from so long ago at the start of the war for survival. Though it lied in such a ruined in dilapidated state, they still entered, maybe they could find some old stuff still in tact to add to the pile of trinkets back at camp. Entering in was not a pain, but having to dig through rubble to only come up empty-handed felt disheartening to them. There was nothing left intact, their very nostalgia was destroyed in the disaster. It felt so changed, yet still the same house it was when they first moved here. Changed to such ruin, the memories still lingered like stains in cloth.  Exploring, there were so many differences, yet it was still that same house. It was still there, still (mostly) standing, but scarred and wounded. It was just like the other buildings in what was once the city, everything that happened except the scars. The stench of rotting corpses suddenly hit the senses of the kid as they continued to explore the house. It came from the basement, the place they had always feared. It was eternally veiled in darkness, and the stairs that connected this to the rest of the house creaked with every step. Taking a moment to swallow their fear, the kid walked over and stepped into the veil of dark. Creaking steps punctuated every step, just like before. Fear loomed in there, wishing to swallow the kid whole, yet they still went down... Father was in there, lying on the floor with a pool of blood around him. There was a gaping hole in his chest, the kid could see that through the black that surrounded them. Father was dead. The kid let out what can only really be described as a mix between a horrified gasp and a shriek. Father was dead, father was truly gone. He was missing for so long because he was a goner, bled dry on the floor of the old basement. A single note loomed beside the corpse. The kid pulled out a small light to read it. "I'm sorry, Taylor. If you're reading this, it's too late for the both of us." The handwriting trailed off near the end, still barely legible. Taylor gasped, and suddenly, there was a looming sense of doom filling their dread-filled mind. Something was in the basement. It growled like a great beast as it towered behind Taylor.  It was too late to run.