The first blue moon of the millennium illuminated the sky with radiating brilliance, lunar beauty everlasting. With the stars dancing around it, the astonishing celestial glow almost makes me believe everything will be alright… but the cold snap in the wind and the pit of aching in my stomach tells me otherwise. Goosepimples chill my skin as air slips through the holes in my ragged clothes. The sounds of mother nature echo in the valley — the chirping of crickets, the rustle of tiny furred critters weaving through tall grass, the buzzing of insects. All of it coming together like a symphony of the night…
boomboomboomboom—BOOM—boom
And still none of it can drown out the sounds of war. Echoing gunfire and distant explosions tear through the serenity. The cogs of war do not relent, a savage machine that runs on the blood of brothers and sisters.
Adam:sigh "You know… I don't understand why we ran. Why we keep running."
He turns to look at me like I've lost my mind—and maybe it is an insane thing to say.
Robert: "Would you really rather fight than live? Bro, you're crazy. At least like this we get another day." He shakes his head. "It's not like we can do anything." He points off into the distance.
I follow his finger. Far beyond the treeline sits a castle, glimmering like a jewel under the night sky. A direct insult to my eyes. I can almost feel the warmth inside, the hot food steaming on some polished table. My stomach churns as I imagine it all.
Adam: "Yeah, what about it…!?"
Robert:chuckles "Don't snap at me. That's why we ran. Don't forget what they did to those rebels they caught... I'd rather be sitting here freezing than being torn apart on national TV."
A sinister chill crawls down my spine as his words drag my mind back. I almost can't believe my own memories. It feels like something out of a movie, or some dark comic—
Robert: "Nobles… scum of the earth, man."
Adam:standing up "Come on, let's get back to the house. Ma won't like us being out this long. You know how she gets."
I help him to his feet; he groans loudly.
Robert: "Yeah... I'd kill to climb into a hot spring right about now."
I secure my backpack—two rabbits and some birds inside, their corpses stiff and empty, but food is food. I've grown used to these trips.
As we make our way through the dim forest, my thoughts keep circling that day—the broadcast, the horror, the sickening feeling that the world had ended right before my eyes and I was powerless to stop it.
I shake my head, refusing to fall into that pit again. So I open my mouth and say the first thing that comes to mind.
Adam: "Doesn't it feel like the darkness… dances around?"
Robert:stoops to pick up a stone "Sometimes, man. But it's just bugs and dirty animals out here."
He tosses the stone. A soft thunk as it bounces off a tree and disappears into the grass.
VILLAGE
Finally we reach the village—if you can even call it that. We look like barbarians here. Still, there's a warmth to returning. Through the darkness you can barely see anything but dim fires flickering inside the huts, shadows dancing behind them. Families just like ours, trying to survive. No blaming, no judging. All of us trapped in the same hell.
We reach our "house," and I hear my mother's humming—soft, familiar, comforting. That tune always greets us, always tells us we're home. A melody that lifts the weight from my shoulders, even if only a little.
Esmeralda:humming "What do I tell you boys about staying out so late? I've got a stew going, but I've been waiting for the rabbits."
She cups our faces with warm hands, smiling with those pale blue eyes that seem to say I love you without a word. Every time I look into them, it's like looking into a mirror.
Adam: "Yes, we know… sorry. It was my fault—I wanted to see the moon for a bit."
Robert: "Don't worry, Ma. We'll get everything ready fast."
She opens the bag, pulling out each rabbit and bird.Carefully placing them on the table
Robert winks at her. He's only twenty-four, but stress has carved lines into his face. Wrinkles, sunburn, thick brows over a heavy brow ridge—almost prehistoric, I tease him sometimes. A lifetime of labor and harsh sun clinging to him. I instinctively rub my face to make sure I haven't weathered quite as badly.
Adam: "Dude, you are ugly." I laugh.
Robert:brows knit "And you're pretty… ugly."
He throws a soft jab at my shoulder.
Laughter fills the air for a moment—warm and almost healing. For a second, everything seems okay.
We prepare the rabbits quickly—skinning, washing, slicing—dropping the meat into the pot. Steam rises as the stew bubbles.
Time passes. My aching stomach is finally satisfied. I groan as I stand, my knees sore, my feet begging for rest. I crawl under some furs by the firepit. The same spot as every night. I stare at the glowing embers, listening to the quiet crackle. I can't help thinking about life before all of this. It feels like a luxury now and it was in many ways I never knew.
These thick hides itch like hell, but at least they're warm.
I rub my face, yawn, and settle deeper into the furs. Rain begins to patter softly on the roof. My eyelids grow heavy. Hunting has drained me, and even a full stomach can't fight fatigue.
Slowly, I drift into the deep abyss of sleep… floating away.
UNDER THE MOON
The football game jittered, froze, and then exploded into a sheet of static. For a heartbeat the whole room vibrated with that harsh electric buzz. Then—just as suddenly—the image snapped back to a new broadcast. Not the game. Not any channel I'd ever seen.
A bright, upbeat jingle played, way too cheerful for whatever this was.
Express:"AMERICANS! Thank you for tuning into our VERY special broadcast tonight! I'm THRILLED to see all you red‑blooded, gun‑loving, God‑fearing patriots gathered around your sets!"
The camera panned from the country's golden boy and instantly my stomach turned.
Beside him was a man kneeling on concrete, a bloody sack over his head, clothes shredded. He swayed like he barely knew he was alive.
Live broadcasts weren't unusual.
But this…
This was wrong in a way that made reality feel thin.
Express smiled—a wide, gleaming, wolf-like grin. His muscles coiled under his tight suit like steel cables, flexing with each swaggering step as he circled the kneeling man.
Express:"Now as many of you know, there's been a rather pitiful little group calling themselves 'freedom fighters.'"
He chuckled, shaking his head.
Express:"Terrorists is more accurate. Refuse‑to‑evolve scum. Parasites sucking air from this beautiful country. And their 'leader'? Oh, America, he is unimpressive in every sense… if you catch my drift."
He winked directly into the camera
Then—like an animal—he lunged.The sack came off in a single, vicious rip.
And the face beneath…
I felt a pulse of nausea hit me instantly.
No human face should bend or break that way. It was swollen, mangled, drenched in red. A puddle had already formed beneath him.
Express:"Now, now, you may be asking: Who is this man? What did he do to deserve such a… ah… creative new look?"
He tapped the man's cheek, the man flinching weakly.
"Well aside from the dozens of bombings, assassinations, smuggling operations—tonight I must inform you of something tragic."
He paused, placing a hand over his chest.
"The President… has passed."
My breath caught and my stomach sank
What.
Express bowed his head for two seconds—counting audibly—then clapped his hands.
Express:"There! A moment of silence. Now, onto the fun."
He strode behind the man, running a hand through the man's blood‑matted hair, whispering something I couldn't make out. Each second felt stretched, thin and tight like wire about to snap.
Express:"A few hours ago, the White House was bombed. Many died. But we killed the attackers and captured their leader. Yes—a name you may recognize. Jack Driver. Ex‑Navy SEAL. Dishonorably discharged I might add."
The camera zoomed in on the ruined face.
Sun-Day.The solar flare.The day the atmosphere irradiated and mutated thousands. Ever since then he has began a follosh circus against America and its citizens.
Everything in my chest tightened at once remembering the chaos of that day although my town was majorly affected other places had hell at their doorstep.
Express gestured to the kneeling man like he was a prize.
Express:"Of all the magnificent powers he gained, THIS is what he chose to do with them. Murder. Terror. A grand plan to kill the President."
His voice grew louder, more fevered.
Express:"Tonight marks the BIRTH of a NEW AMERICA! From the ashes of the White House, like a phoenix, WE WILL RISE. AND UNDER THIS BLUE SKY, LET ALL MEN KNOW—WE. HAVE. NO. EQUAL."
His words hit like hammer blows.
I felt a pressure growing in my skull—ringing, rising, becoming a scream only I could hear. My body grew hot. Maybe shock. Maybe terror. But I couldn't look away. My eyes felt locked open.
On screen, Express grabbed Jack's hair again.
Express:"TONIGHT BEGINS THE NEW WORLD ORDER! ONE WHERE YOU AND I ARE NO LONGER HIDING! WHERE FEAR BELONGS TO THEM!"
Then—with a sound I will never forget—
he pulled.
A wet, sick crack echoed as the scalp peeled back. Blood sprayed across the ground. Jack's scream tore through the speakers, raw and animal.
I felt myself trembling, jaw hanging open.
Express tossed him forward like trash.
Jack floated. Lifted. As if strings were pulling his limbs in opposite directions. His arms stretched. His legs twisted. His joints crackled like burning wood. He screamed—rage and agony mixing with the hum of whatever invisible force held him.
Express stood behind him, cape whipping in the smoky wind, with the shattered, still‑burning White House towering behind him.
He looked like every heroic image America had ever worshipped.
But nothing felt heroic.
Nothing felt right.
SPLAT.