Man's Folly Will be the Death of Us All - (Peregrine/RaccoonGoon)

[RaccoonGoon]

It was just too tempting for Julian to overlook. The roll of bills hung half-hazardly out of a man's back pocket, free for the taking while the owner was so engrossed in his chat with a shopkeeper. His target leaned with one arm in the doorway of what was once a proud grocery store, but now stood dilapidated with only a fraction of the building still standing. It wasn't too out of place on the street - what could be salvaged as resources were stripped out of non-essential structures. Some areas of the city were used and abused a little more than others, however. It wasn't too hard to imagine that 'non-essential' eventually meant areas that had less money to circulate than their neighbors.

Money - the name of the game. If it was a banknote, it was worth something. Dollars, pesos, yen, anything that once had any semblance of symbolic value was fair game regardless of place of origin, with ever-changing levels of desirability. The long, dead pause between society's ruin and desperate recovery did little to snuff out capitalism - at least not in Stockholm.

Coins, on the other hand, were scrapped with other metal for resources. While they were hoarded much like paper bills early in the settlement's life, it didn't take long for the nickel and copper in them to be sacrificed for fixable technology. What couldn't be recycled was simply smelted down with other bits and pieces of scrap. As Julian realized, that was likely the first and only action put towards actual practicality for survival. Everything else circled around an economy that no longer served any purpose other than to stroke egos and keep those in power on top. The animals and crops farmers toiled over meant nothing if they didn't catch a good price, and craftsmen were only as respectable as the money their trade sold for.

And thieves? Thieves just had to play the right games.

Julian's fingertips just barely grazed the roll of bills - and he suddenly found himself shoved against the wall with his arm twisted behind his back. In his enthusiasm to claim his prize, he failed to recognize his would-be victim as an off-duty guard.

Taunts from the shopkeeper and other witnesses followed him down the street as he was dragged to the jailhouse. Julian didn't try to struggle; it was all the same song and dance. Lecture, threats, and sleeping on a hard bench for a couple days before they let him loose to do it all over again. It was nothing but something for Julian to do, and job security for the officers too swooned by bribes to stop more than a poor man's petty theft.

Before an officer sat him down in a separate room, she had him turn all his pockets out to show he didn't have any stolen goods on hand. She yanked his hood down, revealing his shaggy brown hair, and attempted to get him to take his hoodie off. Julian loudly refused until she dropped the matter with an irritable grunt. With that, the officer left him alone to wait. There wasn't a clock, so all Julian could do was guess at the minutes that passed.

The man was looking well past his prime, judged mainly by his wrinkles and the growing bald spot on his head. Julian humored the thought that Sheriff Baker lost another clump everytime he had to book the younger man into custody.

"This is getting real old, Julian."

Julian bit back a smart remark about Baker's age. Something about the man's tone was off from the usual script. It lacked the normal annoyance and instead seemed calm, like Baker had already settled on a decision. Rather than stand for the usual lecture, the sheriff sat in the chair across from Julian.

"How old are you now?"

"Twenty-four."

Baker nodded with a knowing grin. "And what job do you do?"

Julian shrugged one shoulder. He wanted to be a soldier when he was a boy, but that ship sailed a long time ago. Now he was little more than a street rat, drifting along without a trade or higher purpose. He'd rather have that than fall into the collective illusion the rest of Stockholm put themselves in - the old ways of society were gone, and clinging to worthless currency wouldn't bring it back. "Never got one," he finally said. "It's not my style."

"So what is your style? Making life harder for the hardworking, good people in this city? Or is it causing just a little more pain in this godforsaken world."

"I'm not like you."

"Come again?"

"I see what the guys on your payroll do. That guard isn't good, yesterday he turned the other way when he saw two of your officers gang up on his 'friend' for half the shop's weekly profit. They wanted more than he had, and he tried to refuse…They pushed a shelf over and ruined a lot of his stock." It was a pattern Julian silently witnessed all too often. Without those items, the shopkeeper wasn't about to make next week's payment either.

"That's just how the world works, Julian. My people get their fair share."

"Your people are thugs. Survivors come to Stockholm for the safety that's promised, but all they get is abuse from you and all the other assholes who run this place." Julian's hard stare met Baker's eye. "Everything they earn goes to someone else."

"Well. Are you putting the money you steal back in their pockets?"

The pause that followed was all Baker needed to hear. He chuckled, satisfied by the way Julian glanced down at the table. "I got my place. What about you? What use do you have?" He gave the young man a moment before he leaned into Julian's face. "Nothing. That's your use. Nothing. Just a mangy kid roaming around with all the judgment and none of the wisdom. We've gone easy on you all this time...But not anymore."

Before Julian could question that statement, two new officers barged into the room.

"W-Wait…What?" Julian's arms were pulled behind his back and tightly cuffed. He tugged at the restraint and tensed against the officer who dragged him to his feet, though all he got for the effort was a punch to the stomach that knocked the wind out of him.

"Take him outside the barrier. Let the wilds keep his body."

Onlookers were ordered to step aside as Julian was marched towards the city's entrance. The makeshift gate blocked their way, but it quickly lifted with a rusty creak. Beyond the walls was a barricade that encircled the whole city, standing as the only proof that Stockholm was safe from outside threats. Posts with flickering torches gave unreliable light as the sun set.

One man shoved Julian to his knees, back facing the officers and the rest of the settlement. Someone said something, but the ringing in Julian's ears made the words incoherent. Everything was so far away - Julian's world spun. The only clear sound was the click of a gun. One moment, Julian was kneeling in the dirt, the next he lay motionless on his stomach.

A split second flinch caused the bullet to graze the side of his head rather than hit the skull as intended. In the dying light, the officers couldn't tell if the shot had been fatal. One of them lifted his gun to prepare another shot. The other put a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Don't worry about it, he's not worth the extra bullet."

Both men looked on for a moment, watching Julian's body for any sign of life. When the only movement they saw was the trickle of blood into the dirt, they turned back towards the gate. A cold wind chilled their bones; night quickly approached, and they didn't want to be out of bounds longer than needed. Satisfied that the job was done, the officers headed back through the gate and let it fall behind them.

Everything was quiet. A tuft of grass waved against Julian's nose as another breeze came…

Go. Go!

Julian scrambled to his feet and bolted straight ahead. He had no idea what terrain awaited him, both from the growing darkness and the lack of knowledge of the world outside the gate, but he still ran as fast as he could. Blood pooled into his hoodie, making the fabric warm as it stuck to his frame. If he focused past the adrenaline rush, Julian could feel the awful pain blooming across the left side of his head.

Run. Keep going. Don't stop.

Julian didn't look back, too afraid to see those officers or Sheriff Baker behind him. There were no footsteps trailing after him, but every little sound urged him to run faster and faster. Eventually, he collapsed into a field and let his body rest as he lay on his back. His lungs burned and his head was in sheer agony, yet all he could do was stare up at the sky. Through the rotten air, Julian spotted a few stars.

The bleeding wasn't stopping. Julian felt blood mat into his hair, sticking it down against his neck. The stars grew blurry and tunneled in his vision. He might have given himself a few extra moments of life, but now that the adrenaline faded, the blood loss was about to put an end to that. He turned his palms down and felt the earth under his hands. This was the world beyond Stockholm…

Julian lazily combed through what small facts he knew while his fingers twirled into the dead grass. Farming anything but weeds was a hell of a task. Fertile soil was scarce, as any ground caught in the Ruined Lands' embrace turned dark and held a greasy-like texture that clung to the skin. If it wasn't the touch that turned your stomach, it was the occasional sway of the land - like it was breathing. Julian had heard tales of impossible biomes where nature ran wild. Abominations stalked the land, built by remnants of old magic and souls driven mad from being kept chained to the earth. Secure settlements were few and far between, though offered some relief to mankind's dwindling population. It was no overreaction to say that humanity had finally been pushed to its knees. And by a magical apocalypse, of all things.

His thoughts drifted over something his mama once told him: "Souls don't go to Heaven anymore. They're stuck here just like us."

Unfortunately for Julian, suffering didn't end at death. Yet, what else was there to do but lie still and wait for the inevitable? He felt another cool breeze flow over his body.

"Souls don't go to Heaven anymore," he rasped. "But they can't go to Hell either."

 

[Peregrine]

Life was a fascinating thing. Chaotic and full of passion, pointless yet persistent. Perhaps that was why there was nothing more tempting to the dead than the living, and nothing more fearful to the living than the dead.

That was why Death lingered on Earth.

The pathway to Earth opened up by coincidence. The essences followed it on a whim. Because it was new. Because it was different. Because it existed. And the planet could not withstand their presence.

Most left as quickly as they came. The little planet full of countless living things held no resistance to their approach, warped to their whim. It was no more interesting than where they came from. So they left, with nothing but the echoes of their presence left to torment the planet.

But Death lingered.

Death lingered because, even after the passage of the Essences, leaving nothing but ruin in their wake, desperate life struggled on. Tiny microbes swam through the ocean, desperately trying to adapt to the transformed waters that were polluting the oceans. Yet still they lived, replicated, died, more numerous than the stars in the sky.

All across the world, a vast variety of life in all shapes and forms constantly engaged in a futile struggle to survive that would, unquestionably, end in inevitable failure.

Perhaps it was impossible for Death to ever understand what drove living things to so desperately resist the inevitable.

But that did not make it any less intriguing.

In one corner of the world, humanity had gathered into a large pocket. Of all the creatures on this little planet, humans seemed to live with the most passion. Even in a world that had turned on its head, they gathered, fought, struggled desperately to seize back their world from a force beyond their control.

Death paid attention to one city in particular, perched precariously on the edge of one of the Dead Lands. There, humanity fought an endless battle against the strange beings formed by an amalgamation of deadly energy and lost life, taking away those bits of dead essence that gave animation to unliving things and bringing them back to their city, at times leaving behind their own souls to form into the next monstrosity.

Did they know they fought against the remains of their own comrades? Even if they did, Death presumed they would continue. For what better act would represent the illogical nature of their struggle.

And then there was this man.

This man, who had never left the city, now ran with desperation from its walls, blood coursing down from his temple, wetting his shirt.

He was dying. Likely, a far worse death waited him out here than it would have had that small chunk of metal properly pierced his delicate brain. Yet he ran anyways, ran until his legs gave out, leaving him trembling on the cold, hard soil.

Why did he run? Why did he not welcome death, when its presence loomed inevitably in front of him?

For once, the temptation was too much to resist.

An amalgamation of shadow and soul rose up in front of the man, nothing more than a swirling mass of chaos. It stained the ground black, the grass and weeds that had tenaciously grown out of the dry soil withering. Green light flowed from them, swirling into the depths of the black mass until it was nothing but a pinprick in the endless darkness.

'Whyyyy.' The sound that emerged from the darkness was a strangled hiss of wind and breaking bone, the grate of metal against metal. Yet still words were discernable against the noise. 'Did you rrrun?'

 

[RaccoonGoon]

For a fleeting moment, Julian wondered if the bullet had done more than merely graze him. Perhaps it actually penetrated his skull, yet didn't strike his brain. There was so much blood flowing from the wound; maybe the bullet struck a major vessel. Julian almost wished he had the strength to feel his head for the wound, and to see if there was an exit wound too. It was a vague curiosity that floated through his thoughts. Not that it mattered, of course. Without the tools to stop the bleeding, there was no chance the young man would live to see the following sunrise. Arguably, even if aid was available at that moment, Julian had lost far too much blood for the effort to count.

Julian blinked - he swore it was just a blink - and found a swirling dark mass above him. In his blurry, delirious mind, he thought it matched well with the sky. Surely it was nothing more than the hallucination of a dying man, though he answered its question anyway.

"What else was there?"

Julian couldn't return to the place that just tried to execute him, where the man so tired of his existence held a high stake in the community. Even if he wanted to, there was no way to sneak back in once that gate shut tight. What else could he do but run? And now that he was too exhausted to run, what else but lay out in the open?

"I don't want to die," he added.

 

[Peregrine]

'Eexxplainn.'

Didn't want to die. But wasn't that the biggest mystery of it all.

But, rather than answering, the man simply twitched. His moment to be embraced by death was closing in on him, as inevitable as the setting of the sun, shrouding the land in darkness.

But Death… Death was not satisfied with this conclusion. There was something it wanted much more than welcoming this man into the infinite, endless fold.

'I shall take this death.' This cold death, as blood flowed out of a hole pierced by senseless metal. This still death, as the body slowly became numb before falling into stagnation and decay. This death would not claim him. Instead, it was drawn back into the eternal nothingness from whence it came.

And then it was gone.

So too was the wound on his forehead, the blood that had stained his brow. His heart beat a steady rhythm once more.

'Wwake up. Exxplain.