He stood on the very edge of the ruined cliff. The wasteland was disgustinlgly polluted by bodies. Busted tanks and shattered guns, mixed with fallen bullets. There was no one left alive, the army of the Coswell fortune had been slaughtered by theives. Rogues who were forced to murder for gold, silver, diamonds and above all: food. He was counted among them, and had fired many shots to survive...
Around 2056-2074 many wealthy fortunes that held the only available money had been established, and had hired armies of mercenaries to protect it. Ot was sad how those families obtained the currency, and even more depressing how they bathed in gold while the world around them scavenged for nutrition.
He flipped his cloak as he abrutbly spun around. There was nothing left on the deserted land. He headed south down a large path. Any sane person would avoid doing so, it was dangerous taking an idoitic risk like that. The chances of being noticed and mugged were higher on roads. But Synchron wasn't afraid, he had twin rifles personally engineered by a dear friend for him. None could match his fire power, or his vital gunslinging skills.
A rotting twig snapped, the mellow sound echoed through the silent forest. He gripped his guns firmly and waited for the ambush. Muffled sounds quickly took the defined forms of footsteps, and twenty or so silhouettes of broad men surrounded him. He strengthened his grip on the rifles.
A single man took a few loud steps fowards him. He pockets rang out with high sounds of clattering gold. Jackpot. The rogue spat and addressed the protagonist. His hoarse voice pierced the eerie forest silence, and split the formal mute behaviour. "Y'look like a mercenary. Y'up to be hired?" The protagonist gave him an icy glare. "Alright, we'll just kill 'ya." he said disturbingly casual. And the twenty men raised their guns. Old fashioned twenty-first century styled guns, that shot slowly, weakly and loudly rang out swith the sounds of gunfire. The protagonist drew his twin rifles Javai and Rowl and spun. He held down the trigers and trubo function kicked in, auto-firing a stunning thousand shots. Spinning 360 degrees he stopped, and watched the men fall to the ground.
His bullets were so advanced, that they cut through the enemy fires and plunged into the opponents. They died before they hit the ground. He made a good profit, getting an excellent amount of gold out of the little show. He then continued the trek to his home town to meet his friend.
He looked to the sky, and saw the swirling grey storm clouds. He then remembered a legend... Around eight decades ago, the sky was blue. He always tried to imagine it, but failed everytime. After a lifetime of grey skies, imaging a bright blue one swimming with white fluffy clouds and singing song birds was a child's fantasy. Just as much as the tales of green grass and cute animals that went extinct. All he ever knew of were dangerous man-eating animals, twisted out of their natural state by war and hunger. Dead grass and trees, and destruction every step he took farther into the unknown.
Why did this have to happen to the world? Why did humans have to destroy it so... Why did he have to suffer because of his parents and grandparents, people he never knew? This broken world, torn apart by war and sins... And is poor generous and foolish mother that believed that humans could pull it all back if they worked in synchronized action. Synchronize....
After a few days of travel, he finally made it back to the ruins of his home town. He was a day before they were suppost to meet, so agonisingly he decided to visit the graveyard. When the reluctantly reached the gates he hesitated, then forced himself to enter. He stopped by his parents grave, which stood side-by-side and united by a stone heart. He read the words that were carved into the stone. "Mary and Joel Kailman, parents of Synchron Kailman, died together 2103." Synchron looked to the graves beside them. He recognised one of the people by their last name, "Peterson". Juanita Peterson must have been Chelsea, his childhood friend's, mother.
Synchron started to walk away. This attention was caught by a poorly dug grave and a cheap tombstone. He realised it was the grave Chelsea and him dug for their teacher. He walked over and read their crude engravement or "Gage Hoffkin". Synchron slowly walked away, and came back with four roses. He placed one on each grave and bandaged his terribly scratched hands.
I might be off for awhile, but new stuff WILL BE POSTED!!! So no worries 