My Death Is My Resurrection

It's the year 2712, the world is in ruins, caused by WWVII. By WWV, 2246, nuclear weapons were banned, while energy weapons started to come to fruition. WWVI, 2480, major advancement in military technology, limbs could regenerate at an astonishing speed, allowing one to fight longer. 2619, a World Peace Treaty was agreed upon for more advancements, intergalactic travel is too easy, portals to other planets were installed around the world. 2642, WWVII, a problem of territories exploded, this country wanted this planet, that country wanted that one, not enough resources to go around. 95% of the world ruined, all portals destroyed, major knowledge and advancements lost to history. There is no government. No police. No rules. There is one city left, The Alley, with only 20 million people left and half were dying of sickness.

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Chance Myriad had always hated The Alley with its gloomy and conspicuous air. Cold stone walls on all sides, unable to see overhead. It was a place where he felt vulnerable.

He was a scheming, cowardly, whiskey drinker with a scrawny body and ugly features. He had short, choppy brown hair, was 5' 6", had a tattered windbreaker as well as dirty pants and broken shoes. His friends saw him as a piece of trash, constantly kicking him when he's down, using him whenever they needed something. He's the scum of the world, well considering how life is he's close to the worst. Once, he had even escaped a burning building alone, that he set on fire, and locked the people inside, just for the money. That's the sort of man he was.

Chance walked over to a shop window that reflected his greasy, dirty, homeless, deprived self. Oh, how he longs for nice clothes, fresh food and running water... If there was any. Rain hammered like the anger of the gods.

As he walked around cautiously, he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of a man, Penn, as everyone called him. Very few people had proper names, too sketchy to trust. He was a person with a wobbly walk and a constant scowl, black hair, somewhat fit, and had a thin face.

Chance gulped as he was not prepared for Penn. He acted as if he didn't see him and walked away quickly.

"Chance, buddy~ where have you been? It took me a while to find you~" he said in a mocking voice as he laid his hand on Chance's shoulder. As Chance turned around he could see the dry smile on his face.

"Look Chance," growled the man, with a mean glare that reminded Chance of rats. "I already gave you a 'chance' and times up. You owe me 90 Stones."

Chance looked directly into his eyes, even jumpier and still fingering the pockets on his pants. "Penn, fuck you, you lying piece of shit!" he raged, "I only owe 15 Stones and collection day is two weeks away!"

They looked at each other with anger, like two dangerous, lizards running at high speed ready to fight, which had music playing in the background and their hearts screaming and forming the beat.

Suddenly, he lunged forward and tried to punch Chance in the face. Quickly, Chance dashed forward and tackled him to the ground and slammed his skull into the concrete.

His entire body trembled and his vision sprouted black spots as he grits his teeth in an attempt to stay awake. He looked afraid, his face drawing back to look like an angry spirit. He felt extreme danger embracing him like a touch of death.

Chance took the opportunity and fiercely beat his head into the ground repeatedly. Penn then let out an agonizing groan and collapsed into a sprawl, a few breaths later Penn was dead.

Chance quickly looted the corpse and luckily found 50 Stones, 'Perfect', he thought as he ran a few minutes away, went inside a bar and asked for a nice glass of whiskey. "What's the inky stuff at the bottom of the glass?" he asked as the bartender poured his brew. "New type of whiskey, called Devils Piss," the bartender replied. Not worrying about it too much, he thought to himself as he drunk his alcohol, 'This worlds gone to shit, WWVII has utterly ruined everything, soon enough the rest of us will die out too. Damn, I'm only 20 this year it's been 50 years since the fall. Ptui, sucks to be me', as he finished the last bit of whiskey and his vision swirled as his head hit the counter, breathing his last.