The Day the World Fell Apart (open; INACTIVE)

[MAYOR HECTOR "HADES" TORMEI]

Chapter One

Ever since Central dropped those damn nukes, the seasons've been screwy. It's the middle of August in New Mexico and it's snowing again. Again, damnit. My feet were fucking freezing, again, and my AK47's cold metal was steadily leaking through my gloves. Trudging through the snow for hours got to a guy after three weeks of it. Even with a buddy from the Olden Days, three fucking weeks is one hell of a long time.

"Quit muttering to yourself," Eric grunted at me from his spot ten feet away. I harumphed at him and stepped carefully forward. "It's a sign of insanity,"

"We're trekking across the New Yukon just to get to a place that may not even exist. Insanity is a side effect," I bit back. Eric chuckled grimly.

"Dude, the Resistance exists,"

"You don't know that,"

"Yes, I do,"

"How?" My friend stopped with a sigh and turned to face me.

"What else is there? Wake up Chris. We're either gonna die on an execution block or we're gonna die trying to find the people fighting for our country," A cold wind swept over the frozen land, throwing up a slurry between us. "Which do you want," I stayed silent at the question. It was a challenge, not a question, and I knew it, and I didn't know if I could rise to that challenge.

"Being executed would have been less painful," Was my dull, stubborn rebuttle.

"Dude, have a little hope. You're depressing me," Eric gave me a craggy grin. His face looked so old and tired, if I hadn't known better, I would have put him at around fifty-five when in reality be was barely thirty. His hair which had been black and slick and neatly cut and styled before the event was wild and shot through with grey and white and his half-grown beard was also speckled with the lighter colors, giving him a scraggly look. If he looked like that, I could only imagine what I looked like. Eric hadn't been caught in a shrapnel shower from a Central encouraged bombing. I hadn't looked in a mirror since it happened, but I knew I didn't look so good. When people would pass me on the street, they'd take one glance as my face and then look at the ground in a hurry. When I badgered Eric about it, he would always find a way to brush me off, never answering my question straight. Figured it was all for the best though. I mean, really, what good would it do me to know that I was ugly enough to scare people?

"Having a little hope's kinda hard right now. Sorry," I sniped angrily. I shouldn't get angry at him for something he didn't have any control over but I couldn't help myself. I was living in Hell and was trekking across the now-coldest place on earth. Everything fucking hurt, my face was raw from the wind sheer, and he wanted me to be hopeful. Yeah, that wasn't happening anytime soon.

"It could be worse," Eric offered.

"It could always be worse but how does that help us here and now? It doesn't," Eric sighed and shook his head.

"Fine, be like that. Let's keep walking," I grunted my approval and onward we went.

It's easy to lose track of time, really easy, and I had no idea how long it had been until we saw the city in the distance. The light and the sounds of life gave an extra shot of energy to my tired body and I picked up the pace. In a light jog, Eric and I entered the city over a gate, away from Central checkpoints and began shedding layers. "Damn it's warm here," I heard Eric muttered as he yanked off his stocking cap and scarf, stuffing them into his pocket. I followed suit, my gloves following the other items, and unbuttoned my heavy winter coat. I fit my gun under my arm, next to my body so that any Central guards wouldn't be able to see it unless they got really close, which they didn't usually do.

"Do you know where we're going?" I asked and Eric nodded stiffly. I fell back so that he lead and I followed closely. It took a few quick turns for me to realize that he was reading from a paper, directions that he copied. We were lucky that he had those. This particular city was huge and still intact. It would have been easy for us to get lost or worse.

Eric followed a winding path that only he knew until we came upon a book drop for what used to be a college campus. Confused, I watched as Eric tapped out something on the book drop's metal door, then opened it and spoke in a low tone that I couldn't quite hear down the chute. He stepped back, letting the door shut and waited until there was a metallic click and the chute fell open. Eric turned to me, wearing the most pissy look I have ever seen on a grown man, and motioned at the chute, "After you,"

"Are you shitting me?"

"Get in the damn chute Chris, we don't have all day," I glared at him but moved towards the chute anyways. It was a bit of a trick to get my feet into the opening and to get my shoulders through the small opening, but one I was sliding it was alright. The chute had been widened to accomodate humans and larger loads it seemed. The slide down seemed to take an eternity but pretty soon, I shot forward into light and my knees buckled under the sudden impact. I stumbled a few feet, wheeling my arms to balance me. My balance had barely returned when Eric fell out of the chute, smacking into my legs, causing me to tumble with a startled yelp.

I pushed Eric off me and stood up to the sound of hearty laughter. I brushed my pants off and tried to look more composed than I really was while the large, bearded man kept laughing. "Ya'll are hilarious," He bellowed between laughs. Eric muttered something under his breath that I didn't catch. "You the two kids we're expecting from Strawberry, Aye-Zee?"

"Yes," Eric answered before I could. "I'm Eric, the one that contacted you,"

"You contacted them?" I blurted out sharply.

"Yeah, I did,"

"Why didn't you say that instead of spewing that 'have hope' shit for the past two hundred miles?"

"Why don't..." The man interrupted, raising his hands up defensively. "We all calm down. Russell told me that she wanted to see you guys the minute you got here," She? "Come on, come on," The man his hands for us to follow him and he walked jauntily into the hallway. "The name's Lou, I'm the gate keeper of sorts 'round here,"

"Nice to meet you," Eric responded pleasantly like the argument that had just occured never happened. I glared at him while nodding at Lou's back. This whole situation was giving me a headache. "My friend's Chris; he doesn't talk much," Lou laughed again.

"That's alright. Talkative people usually just annoy Russell," Lou lead us into an empty corridor that had been sloppily reconfigured into its current form. The dry wall was patchy and the bare spots were filled in with trash bags; a string of bare bulbs ran across the top, lighting the entire space in an eery, minimalistic fashion. I pulled my gun closer to me, holding it in a ready position. Something about this whole set-up made me uneasy, like it was a trap or something.

Hector snorted at the book he had been reading. Some young woman had shoved it in his face, asking him to consider circulating it. She was practically simpering and was a disturbance until Hector at least agreed to read it. So, Hector read the book. It was a waste of time. He tried to survive until the second chapter but couldn't even do that.

He had been imagining all sorts of creative to get rid of that disaster of a book when the sudden need to walk and get out of the shop come over him.

That's how he ended up on the bridge, a lighter in one hand and the book in the other. Hector held the book over the dark waters and flicked the lighter to life. The edges of the novel crinkled and blackened before catching and he held the book until the flames licked the crisp white of his shirt cuff then dropped it. Hector watched the fireball tumble in oddly elegant circles until it hit the water. He was too far away to hear to hear the sudden, harsh sizzle, but he could see the bright light disappear into the shining surface. Hector sighed contentedly and leaned against the railing.

The mob boss was gone for a moment. There, standing in the fading light of dusk, was a tired man of fifty. His decision to run for mayor had been spontaneous and the repercussions were going to be tremendous. IF he could win control of the city government, IF someone in his own family or one of the other families didn't try to off him, then maybe life would be pretty okay for a while. But that was a big IF. Until then, the whole world would be out for his blood, at least, the world he knew. Hector watched the sun sink below the horizon in the water, the shimmering reflection giving him some comfort.

Hector had never felt his age before, he had never felt so tired and run down. And now, everything weighed heavily on him. His past, what he was planning on doing......The present was the only thing that didn't grate on his nerves. The present was him standing on the Brooklyn Bridge, alone. Just a tired man of fifty, not a murderer, not a politician.

Just a man.

((ooc: a disclaimer of sorts, the excerpt from the "book" is actually something I'm toying with, working on here and there, but not actually taking seriously))

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Twenty feet or so to Hector's left, there was a loud chuckle as a small, redheaded girl was pulled into the embrace of a man. The man was tall, dark features contrasting greatly with the girl's own.

"Victor, I really have to get home!" she insisted, though she was laughing with him.

"Alright, alright," the man said, letting her go with a kiss on her cheek. "Hurry on home, young lady." His tone seemed so warm...as if he really felt for this girl.

Poor, unsuspecting thing.

Victor watched her go and then turned away, his smile melting away into a frustrated grimace. Something had bothered him about his date tonight. She seemed to be bored with him, only showing interest when he got irritated with her. Well, that was too tempting for him; a woman like that would drive him to something he may or may not regret.

Most people, like Hector, possessed that ability to be human--to be the tired man or the lonely woman. Victor, though, was always on his pedestal, the man who outwitted America. Like a drug addict, he was always on a high--he had to be. If he wasn't constantly feeding his thirst, he would crash. Crash and become human. Being human was his greatest fear, because he had been human once, and it had almost killed him. Like every drug addict, though, there were times when he could not stop the crash, or at least a dip. To this day, on bad days, he would see blood spattered over the snow, covering his hands, oozing from the walls; all reminders of what he was, which was a monster.

And so perhaps the monster, approaching the man, was pulled toward him with an envy hidden even to the monster himself. Humanity--not without its faults, but not a humanity like his.

[MAYOR HECTOR "HADES" TORMEI]

Hector looked over at the sound of the giggling that was irritating on a minor level. He couldn't help but sneer a little at the couple. Seeing two people out, enjoying each other's company,grated on Hector's nerves. He wasn't against relationships, friendships, or whatever it was people were now a days, Hector just didn't like being the odd man out. Never having been one for company, Hector found himself craving it as he grew older. He remembered a time, back in his youth and adulthood, when having a companion was the last thing he wanted or needed. It would still a nuisance, but at least he wanted one. Something to keep the ghosts away.

Hector snorted at how weak he was now. Mentally at least. He would wake up, and in the throws of half-sleep, could see all the blood on his hands. Every last drop, from every last life he had taken or ruined. Hector leaned more heavily on the rail and ran hands through his hair twice. The breeze had kicked up a little, tossing his suit jack about him, then dying down smoothly. Not feeling bothered to move, Hector continued to watch the water as the city lit up in the background.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor slowed and turned to the water, standing close enough to Hector for them to talk without raising their voices--he wouldn't though. That was the last thing on his mind. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a daisy. The girl had given it to him, saying she'd been saving it for months, having pressed it into a book. With a snort, he tossed it over the side of the bridge and watched it fall. For the love of god, he would be a gentleman in public, but when the women left, he wanted no part of them.

With a sigh, he glared at the city, hardly noticing the man standing next to him. You got used to having people around you twenty-four-seven, even if you were a severely damaged homicidal maniac. He remembered visiting this city in his college years, spending hours upon hours on the bridge, just looking down and wondering what it would be like to fall down there. Several times he almost resolved to find out for himself.

Those days were when he didn't have a release. Now, he had work; work he was proud of. As his mind wandered in the water, he wondered if the man standing next to him also had work he was proud of. He guessed not.

[evan2]

((OOC: I will delete this if asked))

Smythe shuffled out over the water, munching on a New York Style hot dog. He had already finished one before he had gotten to the bridge but pickings had been good so he decided to treat himself to a second.

He bit into it, savoring the taste of the various toppings which almost spilled over the bun. "Yes it is a good day today, Precious." He whispered to himself. Then he spotted the two men on the bridge in front of him.

Smythe Smiled. He had gotten a hit of his drug of choice, which was almost finished coursing through his veins. He was enjoying a second hot dog, and just when he thought his day couldn't get any better their were two rich guys just standing there, two distracted rich guys.

Chuckling almost inaudibly, Smythe slipped into the meager shadows. He silently made his way over to the men then "tripped" His hand slipping into one of the pockets quick and silent as the ghost of a shadow in the night.

"I'm so sorry sirs. Clumsy, Clumsy. Aweful slick on the bridges." He began heading towards the other end, hoping that he wouldn't be caught, and of course if he made it the he would shadow the other and get his wallet.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

A loud sigh escaped Victor as he glanced at the man who was retreating back into the shadows. One side of him felt off balance...and as he examined the situation more carefully, he realized that his wallet had disappeared. "Sir," he called, leaning back on the railing and sending a harsh glare Smythe's way; "that won't do you any good. I make a point not to carry any money in that old thing."

He examined the thief a moment and then snorted, smirking. "There's a ghastly cut on your arm, you know." Inside, just beyond that cool smirk, he was panicking; this complete ass had reached into his pocket and nicked himself with the knife! The one day he decided to bring the knife out with him, someone cuts themselves trying to pickpocket him! If the thief questioned him, then it would be evident that whatever Victor carried with him was not exactly...legal.

[MAYOR HECTOR "HADES" TORMEI]

Hector turned from his position to watch the confrontation. The man who had been robbed had been standing there, seemingly as pensive as the boss himself, and until that moment, Hector hadn't felt the need to address him. But then, one of New York's finest, had interrupted the peace. Hector casually slid his hands into his pockets and walked over to the pair. Hector lined himself up with the now bleeding man and reached out to grab his shoulder. The man was painfully thin, obviously a product of the streets, while the other, smirking, was well dressed, almost on the same level as Hector.

"Good evening gentlemen," Hector greeted cordially. "I couldn't help but notice that you had some trouble. You, sir, ought to go to a clinic and have that cut checked out. You wouldn't want infection to set in. And you," Hector turned to the well dressed man, his polite smile morphing into a smirk. "Should learn not to carry unsheathed weapons. Oh, and you might want to get yourself checked out for an STD. You can never be too safe in the city, especially when cretins are involved," Hector glanced disgustedly at the pickpocket. "You're lucky I'm not going to call the police,"

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor stood there and watched him, trying to hide his panic. It only came off as being slightly flustered. He thought, STDs? I am elbows-deep in the abdomen of a different whore twice every month. A little blood from a random homeless man can't hurt much. The more rational part of his brain knew, though, that he researched the whores he killed and made sure they didn't have anything incurable that he could catch. God save him if one of these days he made a mistake.

Awkwardly, he reached into his pocket and tried to fix the position of the knife. "Perhaps we should call the police," he suggested casually, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. It was obvious that he wasn't particularly worried about the police catching him with his little weapon; obvious, but untrue. Again, he stifled his panic with a small smirk.