Want to learn about this world through the eyes of people surviving it? You can read the introduction below - a teaser in the form of a roleplay exchange. It presents the aesthetics, ambiance and some world building and backstory specifics in a hopefully engaging format.
Don't have time to read the teaser? Watch the video one here!
Lore synopsis should give you the gist of this setting and don't forget to check the guidelines! All this will help you decide if this place is a good match for you.
The last day...
BENJAMIN MOORE
His knuckles bristled white when his thick-boned fingers tightened around the helve. Fat biceps flexed, drawing bent arms above his head. Until they hammered down, thrusting the metal bit of the old-head ax into the center of the log, splitting the season-dried timber into halves and a million splinters.Another chunk, another swing, another grunt.Fatigued by the morning brain fog of a drunk, Ben sobered up with the quick pulse of a hard body going through familiar motions. Not like he wasn't going to kvetch about the aching joints later. Too much, too soon.Whatever.The burly man took a break, pushing the mess of the usually straw-brown, now darker-looking strands off the wet forehead. It's been goddamn weeks since mercury showed anything below 90 degrees during peak hours. Ben couldn't wait for the Fall to come and for the temperatures to plummet. To hell with that queer weather.The white noise of the insects swaying above the shrubs nearby was disrupted by a flock of birds. They lifted off in the area, bickering about their involuntary departure. It drew Moore's idle gaze to the forest and he watched expectantly until the Sheriff's vehicle rolled into sight. Bloody cop cruisers and their top tier mufflers.
HUNTER REYES
Gravel morphed into dirt, turning the road ahead into a dark, narrow path. It climbed and wound between the aged oak and maple trees that replaced the pine. Their broadleaf crowns formed a murky dome, overcasting the brilliant blue that peeped from above. The sifted light dappled Hunter’s fair complexion with amber, playfully twinkling in his vision.The young Deputy reached the clearing, squinching up his face when the strong sun hit his rapidly shrinking pupils while he watched the unkempt field before him unfurl. The dirt scattered into an easy slope, covered in shaggy, wilted grass. Road re-emerged in the distance, leading farther up the foothill, away from the rustic, run-down house. The roofing, abused by the elements, missed several asphalt shingles on the side.Wasn't his uncle supposed to fix the tiles a few weeks back? Surely should before the autumn gales arrived.Hunter parked the shiny vehicle beside Moore's beat up truck. The door clunked open, letting the cocktail of currents in, washing the AC-cooled air out. He inhaled, tasting the warmth of the late, stifling September tamed by the pure breeze flowing down from the mountains. It struck his nostrils with the earthy notes of steaming ground and the whiff of fresh sap that he knew Ben was collecting at that time of the year.The sun-bitten grass crunched under his State issued boots. Campaign hat easily fit over pristinely combed hair, the shade of its broad brim a relief to his doe gaze. He calmly surveyed the place he'd visited a thousand times, adjusting his duty belt along the waistband. Always disposed to look presentable when wearing that polished badge on his tan shirt."Good morning." He greeted with a shallow nod and approached at a leisurely pace. Like a dog whisperer coming to a rabid mutt.
BENJAMIN MOORE
He was back at it, crashing the tool down. Adding more firewood to the pile he glanced sideways with the usual grimace pulling on his rusty beard."What's good-" his last words came out strangled by the final exertion "-about it?"The ax stabbed into the chopping block with enough force to stay there.He patted his jeans before reaching for the red, wore-out rag slung over the bench - his hungry gaze on the half empty bottle sitting next to it. Full gold in the sun. Mouth dry.He beat the devil and wiped his face and neck. Mindful of the bruises he gave extra attention to his beard."What do you want," he straightened up and coughed, turning his head to spit. "Officer." The title rang of no disrespect. Sure, there was no admiration for that uniform in Ben's eyes, but Hunter had a special place in the man's heart. Where no other kid ever got to put down their roots. Not like Reyes' son did, no.
HUNTER REYES
Hunter didn't wince when thick phlegm hit the poor, sun-burnt grass not far from his boots. He knew the man his whole life so the gruff exterior didn't throw him off. His gaze skipped between the chopped wood, the cloth in the other's hand, and the whiskey bottle. A predictable sight. Didn't change the fact it never felt right, knowing Ben had to drink himself to sleep.Briefly inspecting the blood crusted at the edge of the tawny brow and a bruise spreading across the man's temple, he finally met his steely gaze."Mr Garner didn't file an official complaint so nobody will press charges, but he says you're no longer welcome in the Pony Buster." Which was a pity, judging, even when he was occasionally visiting that roadside bar his uncle's social life was already bordering that of a hermit.
BENJAMIN MOORE
The man sneered, whipping his arm in a scornful gesture. Little scuffle and they already ban his ass? What a bunch of cowards. Garner and his filthy nest. Ben wasn't going to waste his breath on that one. Doggone maggots.But there was clear tension in the way his bushy brow pinched and shoulders knotted. He turned to snatch the uncapped bottle, threw his head back and sluiced the flaming liquid down his throat.Something to spike the senses. Or dull the racing mind.
HUNTER REYES
"Hey..." Hunter's hand was smaller, paler against the big, worn palm. But his touch was as deliberate as his gaze was insistent. "How about you eat something first." Not an order but not a request either.The younger one coaxed the other to lower his drink but knew better than attempting to take it away from the stubborn ox of a man."I didn't eat breakfast either." He encouraged.
BENJAMIN MOORE
Their eyes locked for a few good moments. His stormy grays clashed with the depths of the boy's honest gaze. Moore was good at the staring contest and he was always ready to throw a punch.But not at this kid. Not this kid.The flat of the glass plonked against the timber top where it was previously seated."Don't you have your own fridge?" The man grumbled and so did his stomach. He shoulderchecked the younger one on his way to the front door.
HUNTER REYES
Hunter wrinkled his nose when the other bumped past him. Tang of old sweat and must, certainly didn't come from the stray wildflowers that dared to bloom among the weeds 'adorning' the front of the porch."Phew…" The boy chuckled and followed. "Don't you have a shower?"
BENJAMIN MOORE
Moore scoffed. That little brat was asking for an ass whooping and the man had just the right belt for it."Who am I trying to impress? The coyotes?” He glanced back. “You?" He froze but for his parting lips. The falling star was a heartstopping sight, because he knew it wasn’t a star. It wasn’t a plane either. He knew that sight, he remembered it from Vietnam. It was a missile.
HUNTER REYES
Hunter stared at him, taken off guard by the man’s expression. An awkward chuckle scratched against his throat.“What?” But Ben wasn’t looking at him, he was looking past him and Hunter followed that gaze.From their elevated position he could see it all. The blinding impact that stung his eyes. The eruption of billows of dust and fire where it hit. Growing and swelling, climbing higher and higher until it rose for dozens of miles and overflew the invisible glass, spilling. Kept spilling while the invisible force ravaged through the fields and forests, setting trees on fire in its impossible wave of rolling heat. It hit the town and kept moving like a translucent tsunami, punching through the windows and shaking the cars, incinerating people the same way it bent and scorched trees.His heart beat so fast against his ribcage but his body turned lead. He couldn’t move.
BENJAMIN MOORE
“Move!” Ben grabbed the kid and yanked him off place, racing toward the back of the house, toward the trap door. It was instinct, all of it. Muscle memory of a man who once fought fire for a living. Who fought and lost.“Get in!” He shouted through the wool of blood pounding in his ears, shoving the metal lid open.The boy didn’t move. He had to grab him and force him onto the ladder.“Move it, dammit!”He pushed his thick frame down after the kid and grabbed the lid. Last look at the world on fire, devouring the forests and rushing straight at his cabin.The last thought he had when shutting the lid and locking it was, you better make it Reyes. You better make it.
HUNTER REYES
Tomb-black.The whooshing screech was terrible but it wasn’t just the alien sound that got to him. It was the temperature. Summer heat turned into oven swelter. Was that why he couldn’t breathe?He wanted to fight the hands that found him in the dark for all of the two seconds it took to remember who they belonged to.His uncle grabbed him, sitting elbow to elbow. No words. Hunter had none either. He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until Ben’s touch made it to his back and rubbed up and down his spine like a farmer calming a steer. It didn’t help, he couldn’t calm down. His father-He jerked up. Wanted to run. To run up there and-The hands found him again and pulled him down to cold concrete.Ben clumsily held him, muttering something. Hunter realized it was a reply to his own cry that now rang in his ears like an aftershock. A single word he kept repeating that would haunt him for a decade to come.Dad.
One year later...
BRAD CARREIRAThe ethereal breath of glacial cold.Crystalline.Fresh snow topped bark-stripped branches like piped icing. Spiderwebs of frost cased everything once green, now scorched black beneath the biting winter. A perfect lay of white glittering under the first rays of dawn.Damn, he missed the sun. Gone for months then one day he resurfaced and drank its blinding light. Had to smear mud on his cheeks - got burnt so fast after forever living in the murk.With a powdered cloud of breath, he watched the expanse of the world stretched before him. Northern lights suspended in brilliant blue. Immaculate. Just him and the carcass of the planet coming back to life. No more and no less than air in his lungs and frozen earth under his belly. Fucking perfect.He dragged the scope across the valley, stopping on antlers swaying down range. Bingo. Large herd. All small, same-sized and albino. He didn't see deer in those parts often. Never saw a bleached one but no surprise there. He'd expect them to glow. Expected his own ass to glow but it didn't.Crosshairs drifted before settling on the closest head. White ear with tufts of pink fur flicked and the head moved. No, all the heads. Perfect synchrony, exact same direction and angle. An army of blood-pink eyes pinned him, halting his breath.Fuck. He exhaled and squeezed.Single echoing crack and the herd scattered. Turning in unison, leaping toward the vague safety of dead trees. But for one. The animal staggered, back legs giving. Floundered to its feet.He ran downhill. Fucking airborne.Rifle slung back, body thrown into unrestrained downward trajectory. Fresh powder kicked beneath sure feet, knife in a backwards grip.It fought to struggle away. Kicking with failing limbs, steam fast from a panting mouth. But so silent. It did not bleat or cry like rabbits caught in his snares, and it did not look away. Big pink eyes reflecting the sky turned in fear at the predator.He grabbed it at the neck. Strong, warm, yet oddly fragile in his hand. Hot splash of its pure life against his blade. Vivid arch, transcendent, across perfect snow. He didn't watch its body kick. He gazed into those eyes. Those big, bright-pink eyes reflecting the endless sky painted in alien colors. And him.He cast the carcass over his shoulder and paused. Listened.Shouting?Earshot away, he barely made the sound so wouldn't make the words. Didn't have to. The tone told him all he needed to know, excitement building in his stomach. It'd been a while since he met a human. He was eager for trouble.
NARI MOCHIZUKIBlood pounded in her ears, but despite this she could hear the shouts of the men who chased her, the crack of gunfire behind her. Her body burned with adrenaline, a desperate need to get away, get further. To hide. To be free. She struggled through the snow, the sharp frozen crust cutting at her bare feet, each step igniting pain up her calves . She was certain she was bleeding but didn’t have time to stop, to check.The cold pressed in and she struggled up a hill, frozen hands digging into the banks to give her leverage, to move just a little bit faster. They were gaining on her, they would catch her again and she couldn’t go back…At the top of the slope she screamed in surprise, a bullet’s ricochet sending bark and material spraying at her. She lost her step, feet slick with warm blood sliding on the sheer ice, sending her skidding and sliding down the other side. She stopped abruptly, her body crashing through the ice into the fluff of frozen snow beneath, the cold enveloping her body.She needed to move, willed herself to sit up; her strength was wavering as she gasped for breath, cold and wet seeping through the soft fabrics of her ill-fitted shirt and shorts; her body shaking. She rolled onto her stomach, pushed herself to her knees and stopped, wide eyes falling on a set of boots; it was too late. She’d been too slow.
BRAD CARREIRAThe carcass hit the snow.He crested the ridge in four long strides, dropping to his belly at the lip. Boot toe pushed against a crag, elbow-shoved into a snow bank, scope up. Hidden with his Arctic camo, he took his time but nothing popped up in his vision. Just the two wolves and a cornered rabbit.Fuckers thought they could chase game on his territory? Big mistake.He zeroed in on the one approaching the girl and flirted with the trigger until the man stepped into his crosshairs. He squeezed it. The rifle’s butt jabbed his shoulder and the gunshot tore through the air. The bullet blew clean through the skull and tore out between angry eyes, fanning a mess of blood, bone and brain over the sheet of white. One of the dead man’s boots took another step before his body got the memo and dropped, disturbing the pure fluff with twitching legs.The next guy spun. Mmmm, that sweet spot. One and a half second before the guy would have gotten smart and ducked into cover. Enough time to rack the bolt. The action pulling on his loins. The familiar, heady thrill.This one he sent lower, hitting the fat man in the gut. Fucker clattered to his side, writhing and sqealing like a bleeding pig. By the time he’d climb down the hill the loser would be hardly conscious. Coherent enough to answer a few questions. Maybe.He swung his optic at the girl. Half naked and ghost-pale in the morning sun. Stained red. She reminded him of those pink moonstruck eyes. Almost tugged on his conscience. If he had one.He got up and let his rifle hang from his front as he grabbed the deer, slinging it over broad shoulders.His turf, his game, his kill. All his.
NARI MOCHIZUKIShe sat back on her feet in the snow, eyes travelling upwards to the cruel face that had kept her captive for … she didn’t even know how long. Cuffed in the back of their van, fed just enough to keep her living. He was speaking, but she couldn’t hear him, didn’t hear the words, only a warbled noise from his lips. Perhaps the cold would take her, give her relief from this.Her body jerked, a latent reaction to what she witnessed; in one moment he was speaking; the next, part of his face was gone. A red mist rained down on her, warm droplets splattering her frozen skin. He stepped toward her and collapsed into the snow.The second shot she heard echoed in the empty space between the trees. She jumped, not at the shot but the anguished scream behind her. Twisting, the second man clutched at his belly, attempting to hold in his guts as he slid down the same hill she’d fallen moments before.She wanted to move, but her legs wouldn’t refused; too long had she knelt in the snow, frostbite setting in; she realized too late she wasn't shivering any more. Noise in the distance, something, someone was coming. She whimpered, throwing herself over onto her belly, frozen hands scrambling to drag her away from the scene, willing her legs to work. If she could get back to the van, maybe she could be free…
BRAD CARREIRAThe man was dead by the time he got to him so he wouldn’t know if there were more coming until he’d hear them. Fun. He liked that game.He followed the red trail until he found her. Still crawling through the snow like the deer that tried to escape him.He dropped the animal and dug out a fishing line from his utility belt. Crouching to tie its legs. He’d carry his deer on one shoulder, the other one would be busy carrying something else.Hopefully she’d make it. He’d hate wasting time now to hang out with a corpse.
NARI MOCHIZUKIHer heart raced, thundering in her ears as a second rush of adrenaline filled her muscles, willed her to keep in motion. She didn’t know what was coming, who was coming, but she could hope that the dying man would buy her time, enough to get somewhere to hide. If she could hide and keep warm, maybe she could survive this.The sounds of crunching snow alerted her to someone behind her; there was only one possibility of who that was. She glanced back, the white camo-dressed figure had paused, dropped a carcass and seemed busy with something.With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet, legs still stiff, she staggered away, breath coming in painful gasps.
BRAD CARREIRAHe wouldn’t bother. She’d drop soon enough. But she was running in the wrong direction and they didn’t have time to play cat and mouse. He got up and looked at the deer. Don’t go anywhere.He tightened the rifle straps, strolling along her trail, and when she almost vanished from his sight, he let loose. Hurled his strong body into motion, sprinting after her like a big cat in full chase. Funny how the end of the world could strip all the extra fat and carve harder muscle. That is if you knew how to do it right.He didn’t want to break her so instead of pouncing, he outran her. Turning and throwing his arm open to let her momentum carry her into his grasp.
NARI MOCHIZUKIShe screamed, a guttural, hoarse noise escaping her throat, cut off by the wind being knocked out of her lungs. She crashed into him; somehow, he’d got ahead of her and created a wall with his body. She hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t seen him as the black slowly crept into her vision, blinding her to everything but her desperation to flee.“Please,” She breathed, his grasp held her upright as her legs turned to jelly beneath her. He wasn’t one of the ones that had taken her, one of the ones that had kept her, but why keep her alive? Why not let her go? She wouldn’t get an answer, darkness swept over her, and she went limp in his arms.Consciousness returned in fits and starts. A gentle sway as a snowy trail passed beneath her. A beam of light as warm liquid passed over her lips, she swallowed. The sting of pain over her legs and feet.Now, she woke, slowly at first, body sore and mind resisting the pull back to consciousness. Despite the near constant ache, she slowly became aware of her surroundings and confusion set in. This wasn’t the van; it was dark and cold, but too large a space. A single beam of light illuminated the space near her; beyond that was hidden by shadows. She was in a bed, covered in blankets. The air was cool, but not cool enough that she could see her breath, so somewhere indoors.She moved her arms, a soft whimper escaping her lips as her fingers brushed along the material of the bedding, coming to rest on herself. Still dressed, so not the van. It was a struggle, but she pulled her hands free from beneath the soft comforters, peering at them in the low light. Discoloured, pins and needles arched up her extremities, and she could see that small blisters had formed. Not good, but far more worrying was the throbbing ache from her calves and feet.A groan escaped her as she rose to her elbows, the room spun, and she squeezed her eyes closed, breathing deeply and slowly until it passed. As she pushed the blankets down, she paused, frowning at her shirt. It wasn’t hers, not the one she’d been wearing; it was three times larger. She shoved the blankets down further, breathing a sigh of relief to see she was still wearing the shorts she’d had on before, but her chest tightened at the sight of the cuff wrapped around her ankle.Not only that, but the colour of her skin worried her, a deep blue to purple shade. She hissed in pain as she struggled to move her toes. Not good, but it would have to do, she shifted as much as she could on the small bed, peering into the darkness for anything she could find to help free herself.There was nothing within reach, nothing of use, at least. Wherever she was it wasn’t a large space, but certainly inhabited; piles of supplies stacked around, and filled cupboards. But not just supplies, entertainment, and outdoor gear. This place was filled with a survivalist's dream list. Anything she could have thought of to find, to hoard, was here, stacked about.She couldn’t reach the light; whoever had left it made certain it was out of reach, casting enough light for her to see just where she was. She spotted the bottle of water and reached for it, body screaming in protest at the sudden movement, but the sight reminded her of her thirst. She was quick to twist off the cap and drink it back, letting her sight wander on the walls around her.Posters, very old posters, images of metal bands she probably had never heard the music of and … nude women, in poses that made her tug the blankets of the bed back over her exposed legs.Bottle empty, she returned the lid and leaned over the edge of the bed again to continue her limited exploration. CD’s, some matching the posters on the wall, admit stacks of porn magazines made her heart sink to her stomach. Whoever had her was certainly male, and her stomach churned at the knowledge of it. Not the men from the van, but maybe not better than them.
BRAD CARREIRAHe opened the hatch, letting in the sunlight and the blistering wind.He was used to coming back to darkness and groping for the torch hanging by the base of the ladder. Now there was yellow light weakly illuminating the space below once he closed the lid.He climbed down with little grace and dropped to the concrete floor in a pair of snow-caked boots. One gloved hand wrapped around the rifle, unslinging it, the other tugged the mask down his face. He wasn’t in a hurry to look at her, dropping the duffle bag and peeling off layers of insulated clothing.
NARI MOCHIZUKIEyes darted up to the hatch and she winched, the light burning her eyes, cold filled the air and made her gasp. She had to look away, look down to let her eyes adjust and when they finally did, she watched in horror as the massive man stripped off his outer layers.He didn't speak, didn't even look at her and she didn't know what to do, or say. Thank you? Please let me go? Instead of saying anything, she shifted down the bed, gathering the blankets around her, trying to put space between them. It hurt to sit up, her body still sore and the pressure on her legs was excruciating but she bit her tongue to keep quiet.
BRAD CARREIRAHe left his protective gear - clothes and kevlar - on the wooden hanger. Out of place in the crude space, like half of his shit. Treasure trove. That’s what he used to think of that place, back in the old Earl times. What, a decade ago?Now, a bunch of layers lighter, just in cargo pants and a gray t-shirt, he snatched the bag and headed her way. Keen eyes tracing her body, studying her expression. She wasn’t much younger than him but he had to look older to her. Closer to his 30s with that unkempt beard.
NARI MOCHIZUKIWhy did you save me? She didn't want to know the answer. Why am I cuffed? Another she couldn't bear to ask, the fear of the answers enough to keep her silent, to stop her from speaking. He watched her now, looked at her, over her and it made her heart race. She didn't have the strength or resolve to fight again, to try and flee.Her chest heaved a sob, and she leaned over, laying on her side. “W-who are you?”
BRAD CARREIRAHe watched her. Watched her for days. Sleeping, incoherent, mumbling things. He didn't know he missed it until he realized how much he enjoyed the company of another breathing creature. Those he usually brought served as dinner.Dismissing her question, he paused a step away from the bed and dropped the bag between them. He crouched and dug through it, easily finding what he looked for. A couple of photos. He held them up, color facing him, not her. Looking one over, he cocked his head. Then flicked the picture. Holding it between index and middle finger he showed her her own smiling face.
NARI MOCHIZUKIShe flinched at the sound of the bag hitting the floor, the noise echoing in the small space. She didn’t move, didn’t attempt to get further away from him as he crouched down beside the bed. He hadn’t answered her, hadn’t spoke. Was he deaf or mute? Did it matter?She waited, watched as he pulled out photos to look at them and then the first was turned for her to look at. An image of her, smiling and happy and posing in an mostly empty dorm room. An oversized maroon t-shirt with the white letters of MIT. She was swimming in it, but it had been the smallest size available at the school gift shop.
That girl was long gone, gone before the men in the van took her. The end of the world had done it, killed her enthusiasm, killed her hope . A shaking hand rose up to brush her fingers against the figure. Then moved to the second, still facing him. She didn’t speak, figured he couldn’t answer anyways, but she gently tapped the edge, wanting to see what else he’d found.
BRAD CARREIRAHe showed her each photo in the same manner, giving her time to study every memory before exposing the next one. Then dumped them all to the edge of the mattress, ignoring one that slipped and fluttered into the bag he’d left open. He’d filled it with whatever looked useful in that van, keeping an eye out for anything girly.
NARI MOCHIZUKIEach new photo dug at her heart. She didn’t know the men had kept any of her personal belongings, what little she owned, what little she had managed to save from her life before. Images of her, her family, the places she’d visited, but the final one made her sob. It was a picture of herself as a child, standing knee deep in the turquoise waters of her home. Next to her was her cousin, the same age as her. Her brother, really, they were raised together after her mother had passed away.Were they affected by all of this? Once, she’d believed it was only here, in the US, but after no help came from anywhere.
BRAD CARREIRAFuck, he was hungry. He sprung up and made a beeline for the kitchen, to fire up the stove. Quick hand into the cupboard and he was tearing into a bag of cheap brand jerky like a caveman. Took a few bites before throwing another cupboard open, showing her an array of canned soup and chowder.Watched her, munching.
NARI MOCHIZUKIHis sudden movement made her flinch, scramble back on the bed and press against the wall as he loomed over her momentarily before departing for the kitchen. She watched and waited, the quiet hiss of the stove the only noise for a long time as they surveyed one another.“I’m glad you killed them,” Her voice broke the silence. “Thank you,” It was pointless to say, but she felt she needed to; she had no other way to communicate to him how she felt. Despite the situation, he’d saved her. Healed her and, so far, hadn’t laid a hand on her. That deserved thanks, in and of itself.
BRAD CARREIRANo preference? Alright.He swallowed the last bit of jerky, grabbed a random can and shut the cupboard.He set the pan down and stared at it. The can in his hand was clam chowder. Clams. Potatoes. Modified corn starch. Contains: Milk, Clams. No shit.I'm glad you killed them.Yeah. It was fun. But something told him she’d freak out if he said it.He popped the lid with his knife and dumped the contents. The glutinous slop hit the heat and he worked the spoon through it, watching the pale chunks of potato and clam loosen and break apart. One time, long before the world went to shit, a girl had looked at him across a fire and said thank you in that same broken voice. He'd been seventeen. Didn't know what to do with it then either.The soup bubbled at the edges. He killed the flame, grabbed a chipped bowl from the shelf above and poured. Crossed back to her. Held it out.She hadn't picked.So he'd picked for her.
Twelve years later...
WIP - TBA