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I remember what the world was like before. Before the madness, before the insanity, before the Dark. I know what the world is now, so different, at least, I assume so. I never thought about what living in Russia would be like, but even with how little I thought of it, I never imagined temperate weather year round. The world has changed, but how much? Are there other humans out there, or am I the only one, like they all said? I force my eyes open and stare up at the hazy starry sky as I breathe in and try to focus myself.
My eyes close again, and I try my hardest to stop thinking about it, It has already happened, and I need to stop. I open my eyes again to distract myself and notice the sky has changed to a shade lighter already. I push myself upright and my hands start shaking like they were earlier. “So That's why I came up here,” I mumble to myself as I grab the dirty guitar case beside me and stand up. Or try to, as my legs almost buckle under me, I inhale slowly, exhale, and start walking towards the edge of the roof. ‘Before, you’d be waking up at this time,’ my traitorous brain informs me as I unwrap the rope from around the handle and wrap it around the makeshift pulley .
As the guitar case lowers, I think about what I could do with my new supplies, ‘I could improve the accuracy of one of my guns and sell it to a new Guardian. I could take some time to improve the generators, they weren’t exactly my best work. I could-’, The rope slackens and snaps me out of my own thoughts. The sun’s visible on the horizon now, so the Guardians will start coming soon. The rope pulls out of the pulley as soon as I let go, falling on top of the case with a small thump, followed closely by a bigger one after I slid down the ladder. I sling the bag from around my shoulders and pull my helmet out, pulling it onto my head until the click, signifying it is locked on, then pull out one of the smaller guns in the bag.
I pull the strings tight, placed the bag on my back, and kneel beside the guitar case. Grabbing the rope, I pull it through the top loop on the back of the case. Then I pull it through the bottom right loop, repeating until it’s secure. I sling the rope over my helmet carefully, making sure the rope is loose enough for the guitar to hang on my hip. Then I start walking, past the rusting cars and over the crack in the concrete.
Before long, signs of my interference start appearing, the most noticeable ones spray painted on the walls in purple and blue. Gunshots ring throughout the interconnected tunnels and I speed up, slinging the guitar and the bag off my shoulders and onto the floor carefully before starting to run, my own footsteps echoing around me as my breathing gets heavier, before I turn suddenly, and lift myself through the gap in the ceiling. I take more caution in getting to the next, ducking behind walls and walking slowly to avoid making noise.
When I reach the fourth floor, I walk over to the vantage point over the field and immediately notice that the Fallen that are attacking the Guardian aren’t my allies, so I lower myself to be less noticeable than what I normally am, I mean, what’s more noticeable than purple on black armor. ‘Well, at least it’s not eye catching to the Fallen, they’re colorblind, and only see shapes, unlike Guardians,’ I reason to myself as I try to get a good look at the Guardian.
“They look new, act new as well,” I mumble to myself, before catching myself. Before saying anything else and take aim. *BANG* The Guardian jerks out of cover and stops in surprise at the vandal falling dead, then another bang, and another dead. The Guardian seems to think this is some sort of divine intervention and is getting reckless until, finally, all the stray Fallen are dead. I start getting up and they see me, they immediately start shooting, and I am regretting my life choices.
“Good thing there’s no more need for stealth,” I say, almost conversationally, to the empty hallways after finally managing to get the Guardian to leave, “Only took 200 of those glittery things, good thing they’re everywhere.” I ruefully smile, sling the case and bag back onto my shoulders, and start again, walking back home.
The sun is nearly overhead by the time I get there, and everyone is just happy to know I'm safe. I walk over to the kitchen and greet Claw, unlocking my helmet and placing it on a chair, then sinking into one myself.
“You’re late today,” He clicks at me, angling his head slightly, then turning back to grab some more jerky and fruit.
“Small skirmish, new Guardian,” I chirp back clumsily as he hands me the food then nods.
“That is one of the reasons we call you Survivor, you endure everything and are fine after,” Claw states in his matter of fact way,”Have a good rest, Survivor,” Chiding me slightly for staying up too long, as usual for him.
I stand up, cracking a smile as what he said finally gets through. “Thanks Claw,” I sass right back as I pick up my helmet, and wave. He waves his clawed hands as well, a habit he picked up from me, It still looks stiff, but he gets the spirit. I climb up to my room and set down my stuff, letting myself collapse onto the bed, and letting sleep steal my consciousness away from me as the sun shines weakly overhead.
I shake the fuzzy feeling from my head as I try to reorient myself, only succeeding in making my neck hurt. I stretch my arms up above my head and open my eyes. I pull myself up and stretch some more, It’s not everyday I get out of a skirmish that easily. I grab my bag and climb back down towards everyone, grabbing some of the white flowers on the way down. I jump down the last foot or so and walk over behind storage, past another bundle of white flowers and into the darker generator rooms.
I look around until my eyes adjust and I walk further inside. The humming of the generators completely replace the noise of almost everything except the sounds of my errant thoughts. As I stride through the generators, I notice one that’s slightly sparking and louder than the others. I disconnect it from the grid of cords criss crossed on the floor and pull out my flashlight to assess the damage.
“Shoot,” I hear myself mumble once I see the blackened wiring beneath the outer covering. “This’ll take more than just tinkering,” I hiss as I inspect the melted insulation throughout the wiring.
“Will you be able to fix it?” Spark chittered behind me, having walked up as I was disconnecting it.
“Maybe. It’ll take some time, and more resources,” I chirped back, causing him to trill quietly in alarm. “But-” I cut myself off and rethink what I'm going to say “But, I’ll do the best I can, It’s the least I can do.”
I stand up and gather the cord connected to the generator, then tape it on the outer covering. Spark watches me pick up nervously, and helps carry the generator out without prompting.
“Thank you, Survivor,” He trilled as he walked back with his arms stacked with rations and metal, back into the Main Generator rooms.
‘Why do we do this?’ the voice in the back of my head whispers as I walk back to my room. ‘How did we do this,’ the voice asks again when I don’t respond. I strap my armor on and empty my pack of everything but essentials, my walls and shelves are covered in remnants of the old world, but still nothing I’d remember. I blink and grab my bag, I carry so many things that it feels wrong whenever I’m not.
I walk out of my room after locking my helmet in place, past the storage, past the hum of the generators, and past the insignia that I marked our area with. Past the broken shells, and the bones, and the blood. I walk until the ringing in my ears is replaced with faint gunshots, and the fatigue is replaced with adrenaline.
Out here, I’m not the Survivor, I’m not a protector. Here, I’m the Scavenger, and that’s not necessarily a good thing.