I hate it.

He hates it.

We hate it. 

   There is no hope where he comes from. Small, weak, waning. He is all the things people aspire to avoid. Looking out of the small shelter he has constructed he sees the passersby’s hurry past, like rats, always hungry, always willing to bite at the slightest hint of danger. 

It is dark. It is hard to say when it was not. They tell the stories of the great frozen planes and the mighty desert, where no living beings survive, save for the seldom seen angelic legionary and the great beasts they cull.

He has never seen one, only heard rumors, myths of the world beyond the borders of the city.

The clogged sewers and refuse make for good hiding if you never want to be found. He does not. Therefore he hides, never moving, only focused on survival. The pollution in the air is thick and palpable, oily and rich. The best hiding spots are already taken by others, more orphaned children of this blasted ashen waste. 

He attempts to hide. Rumors of the watch circle around the underbelly and He knows if he is caught he will never return. He waits with bated breath holding the choking air until his lungs burst. Slowly. The watch moves methodically, with intent. A collection of things move alongside the watch-warden. Nightmares, he tells himself. 

Their unblinking mechanical eyes scan the surrounding streets. They move, shuffling along what could have been human legs.

He holds his breath.

1

2

3

4

5

He releases. 

At even the hint of noise they freeze. Suddenly, like a paralysis spider has bitten them.

He freezes. 

He panics 

He runs

The walkers leap into action moving swiftly despite their gaunt appearance. Scrambling to move forward despite the malnutrition and sickness he runs. It is too late. 

The loping not-men have already caught up to him and deployed a stun-net. 

Twisting and writing in the shocking interior of the net he finally loses consciousness. The electricity stops.

He is taken.

What was left of that boy died on that street. Now only I remain and this is my record.

Mors ad monstrum

 Ave Deus patri