Despite feeling how your legs are barely able to hold you, you don’t think even for a moment about stopping to walk. Beside you, an inhospitable landscape up to the horizon; in front of you there is a seemingly endless road.
At your back, the city. Although don’t want to do it, you turn around and behold the grotesque framework of a ghost town with some sloping skyscrapers still fighting against gravity. A vast number of structures mocking of you, of the entire human race, by surviving their builders.
Because this world where you live, this world where you are condemned to live in, isn’t uninhabited, but they can barely be called humans. And I’m not only talking about the genetic deformation, inherited generation after generation, which makes some men look like living gargoyles. No. The worst part remains inside them.
Your thoughts are interrupted when a yell sounds in the distance. It’s a woman, five or six miles away, probably being attacked. A robbery, most likely, or maybe a rape. You hope to reach there on time.
Not for helping her, of course, but for sharing the booty.