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Ever heard of DEVILS LOVE.
Among an ancient and forgotten tribe, there was a warning whispered through generations: Be careful with kindness, for even the devil may mistake it for love.
The devil, they said, does not know love as humans do. To humans, love is tenderness, compassion, care. But the devil has only ever known torment, sin, and hunger.
When it sees kindness, it believes it has found love. And it comes closer.
But what it offers in return is not warmth, only its own truth. A love of agony. A love of ruin.
To be loved by the devil is to be consumed by suffering.
Thus the tribe warned: too much kindness may not only invite friends, but the love of something that can only love through pain.
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Alan and Arin patrolled the ruined hallways, their flashlights cutting through the dust and shadows. Their feet creaked against broken wood as they cleared each floor, one room at a time.
"Still can't believe you tried to crack my skull open," Alan half-joked, swinging his light over a cracked wall.
Arin rolled his eyes. "Geez, man, you're being dramatic right now."
"Hey! Maybe you should learn better self-control," Alan shot back with a smirk.
Arin gave him a sharp side-eye, exhaling heavily.
"Maybe you should stop playing ghost, the time we're on a sweep."
Alan chuckled, giving him a nod."Sounds fair." He gave Arin a playful punch on the shoulder.
Arin smirked at the gesture and kept walking.
"So, Arin..." Alan's voice echoed off the walls, "—you married?"
Arin tilted his head, his face caught in an uneasy half-smile. "Why do you ask?"
"Just getting to know my buddy." Alan hopped over a broken floorboard and pointed down. "Careful."
"Guys actually do that?" Arin chuckled, hopping after him.
"Yeah, it's called being nice, buddy." Alan grinned as his flashlight landed on a metal sign ahead.
Records Room.
They pushed the door open, entering the room, dust spilling into their throats.
"Actually, no," Arin muttered. "Not married. Not yet."
Alan raised a brow. "Oh, so that girl with you on the bus—she's yours?"
"Maya? Yeah. She's my girlfriend." Arin's voice softened as he glanced around the room, stacked high with moldy files.
"Lucky bastard. How she puts up with your sorry ass?" Alan teased.
Arin let out a dry laugh. "What, got in trouble with your wife, Mr. Dad?"
Alan raised a hand in surrender. "Yeah, yeah. My bad. Shouldn't have gone there."
They wandered deeper between crumbling shelves, boxes labeled ration records and evac lists stacked like tombstones.
"Meant to ask you," Arin said, brushing dust off a file, "what's it like?"
"What's what like?" Alan asked.
"You know—being married."
Alan studied him for a long moment before smiling. "So you're planning to propose, huh?" He tapped Arin's shoulder. "Not easy, I'll tell you that."
Arin sighed and tilted his head toward the ceiling, just as a clump of old mold crumbled into his mouth.
"Pwah—ugh!" He gagged, spitting frantically.
Alan burst out laughing before continuing. "But you know what? If you've got the right person, it's worth it."
Arin wiped his tongue on his sleeve, glaring. "So what's it really like?"
Alan's expression grew distant. "Sometimes you feel tired. Overwhelmed. Other times… you just want to hold her like she's all you have left. No matter how hard it gets, you show up for each other."
Arin frowned. "Overwhelmed?"
"Yeah. You fight. You resent each other for a while." Alan rifled through a box, papers scattering at his boots. "But you figure things out. Then you brace yourself for the next fight. Because it's not all fights. Sometimes you just need a reminder of why you chose them."
He closed the box and looked at Arin. "You need to be their hero—someone they can rely on. Just like you rely on them."
"And how do you know you truly love someone?" Arin asked quietly.
Alan smiled faintly. "You don't. You'll never know. You'll just feel it. You will make mistakes,but it's the hand you hold when you walk side by side. The laugh you share during a dumb comedy. The first kiss that makes everything else fade away. That's what real love feels like. And you'll know you want it to be real, because it already is."
Both men shared a soft gaze at each other, understanding.
Meanwhile, at a Marine Observatory
Captain Jones poured whiskey into a chipped glass, topping it with flat cola. Behind him, a board was pinned with red markers, and locations of fishermen were dragged under the tides. He sighed, shoulders heavy with memory.
After the Great Shifts, the world had torn itself apart. Tsunamis, earthquakes, volcanic chains. They were lucky the Indonesian supervolcano hadn't blown, or it would've been another ice age.
Survivors… just a third of what once was.
By 2030, the population had peaked at fifteen billion. Then the Shifts came. Entire cities swallowed. Governments gave up on counting bodies. They dumped them into oceans or burned them in heaps. Burial wasn't an option anymore.
Jones remembered the landfills: fields of corpses, vultures circling high, dogs and tigers, every fucking animal that turned man-eaters out of desperation, Humans too. Workers vomit from the stench. Whole regions gutted.
Japan—sixty percent gone.
China—forty.
India—thirty-four.
Pakistan—forty-eight.
Afghanistan—eighty.
Mountains fared the worst. And even now, the sea sometimes spits up a corpse like a cruel reminder.
What remained? Five billion. Fragile, broken, angry.
Jones blinked, pulling himself from the memories. He stepped out of his cabin. Outside, a banner fluttered on the deck.
Retrievers & Cremators.
That was their trade. Recovering corpses for grieving families. Looting the drowned for valuables. Sometimes, on a government contract to clean the waters. It was dirty work, but it kept them fed. And by now, his crew had learned to live with the stench.
"Captain!" the helmsman shouted. "Raft approaching from starboard!"
Jones grabbed his binoculars. Another sailor rushed beside him.
"Pirates?" Fear laced his voice.
"Not quite," Jones muttered, adjusting the lenses. "It's the U.F."
"United Front?" the sailor sneered. "What do those bastards want?"
"Not bastards," Jones grinned, licking his lips. "Looks like we've got some kitty today."
The raft drew nearer, and a woman stood flanked by armed guards. A representative of the United Front, and she had business.