Fan Fiction ❯ Unwelcome Hope ❯ Prologue ( Chapter 1 )

Unwelcome Hope

Prologue

A slight breeze blew across the valley, kicking up the dust and dirt that was now where a great forest had once stood. The area was desolate, as most were these days. You'd be hard pressed to find almost anything alive down here. That's how things were, ever since the uprising of 2120.

Of course there were still areas that went unaffected. The death hadn't traveled that far yet, but it had still taken quite a large amount of Earth quicker than any of them had thought it would. None of the suits; the top brass; the guys who still had "summer homes" to go to out in the undisturbed areas, thought it would have spread as fast. They didn't really give a shit though; they still had their luxuries to help them sleep better at night.

It wouldn't last though. Soon the winds would pick it up again and it would continue spreading even farther, killing even more. That's when those big shots would be cowering in fear in their little survival bunkers, hoping that it would just all go away. But it wouldn't. It never would go away. He could even taste it in the air now as he walked. No, it would be here forever, covering the entire Earth in its grip, killing all those that were unfortunate enough to go outside the safety of their little bunkers.

He couldn't imagine living his entire life in a bunker, never seeing the sun. He could never do it; be cramped inside with all those people, every day. Like cabin fever, it would drive him insane, but that was the last thing on his mind as he finally reached the top of the hill he had been walking up.

As he looked down, he saw the ruins of a city, once prosperous, now dead. The buildings were still mostly intact, windows broken and some doors kicked in, obviously the work of looters. There was no one outside though, just as he imagined there would be. He'd heard rumors of people who were naturally immune to the effects, but he had yet to see one. Maybe that's all they were, rumors. He hoped not, for if humanity was to make a come back, they couldn't stay locked underground forever. That was no way to live.

He wasn't sure how long it was, but he was finally walking the streets of the dead city. He took his hands out of the pockets of his loose black pants. They were abnormally baggy, but just the right length; stopping at his ankles. His shirt was a loose, white, sleeveless, t-shirt. He had it tucked in though, that was just his style.

Plain white sneakers adorned his feet, the laces tied, always. On his wrists he wore black sweatbands, the match the one he wore around his head. Strapped across his back was a scabbard, within it, a single sword. Hanging off his hip was a holster, within it, a Beretta model pistol.

His skin was a light tan. His eyes a sharp emerald. Medium length brown hair sat atop his head, parted off to each side, exposing his face, which looked don't-fuck-with-me enough so that most people left him alone.

Over it all, he wore a red cape, which encircled him completely, leaving only his head exposed.

As he walked down the streets, he spotted a sign off to his right. Made of cardboard, it hung above a single door that was down a few steps. The sign, in poorly written marker, read only "Bar". It peaked his interest enough. Surely someone must have put it there, which meant that there were people alive here. Slowly he turned and started down the steps.

He turned the knob and it creaked with old age. The door however, did not budge from its resting place. At this obstacle now in his path, he frowned slightly and his brow creased in agitation. However, he knew one thing: that there were two explanations for such a thing. The first would obviously be that this door hadn't been used in so long that it had rusted shut, very plausible considering the condition of the city. The other only possible explanation would be that it was locked from the inside. And if it was locked from the inside, that meant there were people here.

It didn't matter to him though. Stepping slightly back, he threw his body forward up against the obstruction, slamming his shoulder straight into the middle of the door. His efforts were rewarded with a resounding crack as the frame to the door snapped apart, allowing the door to swing freely open.

The sudden change in light caused him to turn his head to the side and squint. When his eyes finally adjusted, however, he could see clearly that yes in fact, there were people here. As he looked around the room, he could see a number of different people, obviously part of the last remaining members of the city. Looking around the room, it faintly reminded him of a scene out of an old western movie he had seen once.

A bartender stood in the far back, a cup in one hand and a rag in the other, an old rag serving as an apron tied around his waist completed the picture. What struck as ironic was the fact that the shelves behind him that would normally be filled with assorted liquors, was completely barren. Okay, maybe not ironic, but it stood out in his mind.

There were only a few tables scattered through the room, only a few of those occupied. One in particular had three men sitting around it, each clad in what looked like the old riot gear that police used to use when the civilians got out of control. Each of them was an imposing figure, with a stare that only promised pain for those that crossed them. These guys were of obvious importance; he could recognize that.

Only when he looked across the rest of the room did he realize that all eyes were now on him. The scene was frozen in time: A large burly man towering over a woman who looked like she'd already taken a few hits, the cut on her cheek was bleeding freely. A deep scowl crossed his face and it only deepened when he noticed the people around them were not in any manner trying to stop the scene.

"Who the hell are you?" It came from the large man, but it was quite obvious the answer wouldn't matter. His little session had been interrupted and it was clear that now he wanted to change his "client" to this stranger standing in the broken doorway.

"I asked you a question asshole. You know we don't care much for wandering visitors, especially ones as ugly as you." Yep. This guy was obviously looking for a fight and now he'd found something new to play with, made more apparent as he moved toward the stranger.

Finally the stranger responded, but not with words. Slowly a low chuckle began to emit from his mouth. Soon however it became a full-fledged laugh. This was not a happy laugh he made though. This was a laugh intended for the sole purpose of mocking the big lug. In the middle of his laughing, he stopped to speak his mind.

"I've met a hundred guys like you," he started.

"And I'll be the last one you'll ever see!" It was a threat, plain and simple.

The stranger continued on, unconcerned with whatever it was the big man was spouting, "And you all think you're tough shit. I'll tell you a secret though; you're not. Sure, being big and strong can get you far, but only so far before someone with the slightest amount of skill comes along. Then you people get your mouth shut…"

"How dare you talk to me like that! I'll rip your fucking head off…" the big man just kept rambling and the stranger just kept ignoring him.

"And now I am standing here before you. Ready to shut that mouth of yours."

"I'll kill you motherfucker!"

Finally the stranger acknowledged the big man, "You're more than welcome to try."

That was the last straw, as Big charged him with serious intent to harm, knocking over several tables as he did so. As quickly as it started it was over. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, the stranger had dodged to the side and rammed his knee into the sternum of his aggressor.

Big's jaw was left hung open in an absurd manner, making it look like his jaw had disconnected form his skull. The air had left him and he was desperately gasping for air as he stumbled around the room, bumping into several people before finally collapsing onto the floor, still clutching his chest.

He would not get any air into those lungs, despite his efforts. The hit that the stranger had unleashed had snapped his ribs apart, constricting the lungs, not letting them expand to get the air they needed. It would only be a matter of time before Big took his last breath and passed into the afterlife.

It might have been overkill; he didn't really need to kill the big man. He possessed enough talent to simply disable the man. However, this wasn't just self-defense, it was a message. It was a message to the guys in the corner that he was a guy you didn't push around, making them think twice before messing with him.

The people around him sat in awe, their eyes wide and mouths open. Everyone, that is, except for the three in the corner, who merely sat with a look that betrayed nothing. It didn't surprise the stranger when they got out of their seats in a slow deliberate manner and walked past him and out the door. Not a word was exchanged between them.

As the stranger watched them go, the only thought he had was "They can walk outside. I wonder how many other people are immune to it." Glancing back into the bar, he walked over to the woman on the floor and reached out his hand. She refused his help however, getting up by herself. "They must be immune as well. They didn't all scatter when the door opened."

"I don't need your help, whoever you are."

"So sure?" he responded, brushing the back of his hand over the cut on his face, then showing her the blood on his hand.

One of the men close by stepped between the two, in a motion of protection. "Look. We don't need your help, regardless of what you think. I saw what you did, but if you think you can just come in here and change things, you're wrong. So just leave us. We don't want you here."

The room started emptying out, each of the occupants making a remark to the stranger as he left. He didn't mind it though; they didn't count in the final result. All that remained in the dank room was the bartender in back and stranger left by himself.

The stranger started across the room, making his way toward the bar. The bartender had now begun to reset the tables and chairs. Sitting on the first stool he came to, the stranger silently folded his arms in front of him.

"What do you have?" he asked, just as the bartender took his place again behind the bar.

"Nothing for you," the man replied as he picked up a glass that he started cleaning.

"Why's that?"

"You're a stranger to this city. Not only that, but you're a troublemaker. Your kind isn't welcome around here. Like you've been told before, we don't want you here. How many times will it take before you finally get the picture?"

The stranger frowned for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, "Look, contrary to what you'd like to believe, I'm not here to cause trouble for you people. What I am here for is some business that I need to settle."

"What business would that be?"

"I'm not at liberty to tell you or anyone else that, but I swear, as soon as I finish it I'll leave. I'll be out of your hair and out of everyone's lives. Then you can go back to the way it was."

"Good. Be quick about it."

"The only problem is, that for me to get my work done quickly, I'm going to need some help."

This didn't sound good to the man, who now set down the glass. "Help?"

"Information."

"Regarding what exactly?"

"I'll tell you, only when you've agreed to help me. I want your word."

The man pondered over it for several minutes before finally nodding, "As long as it gets you out of here quicker. Sure, I'll tell you what you need to know, if I know it. But before we get started, I want to know who I'm dealing with."

The stranger smirked, "…Jonathan will do just fine for now."