Chapter 1: Present Chapter 1: The Nightmare’s World

In the year 2028, the world ended.  Or, the world that we used to know did.  The bible always talked about something called "the rapture" where the good people in the world would be brought up to heaven while the rest of the shitty and unworthy people would be left on Earth as it burned to the ground. I'm not saying this is exactly what happened but something similar did.  All of the good people...with pure hearts...ended up disappearing one day and, all of the sudden, the only ones, who were left on earth, were shitty people.  The world was then thrown into chaos.  It made sense.  After all, only bad people remained on earth.  Many people decided to form small groups to help their odds at survival while others tried to lock themselves away, so that they didn't have to deal with the horrible, apocalyptic world around them. The year is now 2031.  3 Years have passed and while things have settled down a bit, that's only because the majority of the world's population has already been wiped out due to the eat or be eaten nature of this fucked up world.  Now, the remnants patrol what's left of the world in search of supplies to survive.  I'm one of the remnants but, to be honest, I could give a fuck about survival.  My purpose in life is something much different...and sinister.  You're probably wondering who I am?  It's simple.  I'm a shitty fucking person.

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A man in his early 20s, with a muscular physique and a height of 6-foot-2, walked up to a gas station that looked as though it hadn't been used in years.  His short, black, spiky hair gave him the look of a typical anime protagonist.  He wore a black, bulletproof, tactical combat vest which had ammunition for his guns, in addition to a holster for his 92FS Beretta, semi-automatic pistol, that had a red letter “R” engraved into it.  Not only this, but the man had a separate shoulder holster that held his second firearm, a Micro Uzi submachine gun, with a red letter “J” engraved into it.  Under this vest, the man wore a red, short-sleeve undershirt that hugged his bulging and veiny biceps.  Attached to his right wrist and upper forearm was a black claw blade which consisted of three sharp and deadly blades coming out, above of his hand, almost like an animal’s claws.  Dark black combat pants covered his legs while combat boots of the same color were worn on his feet.  His most distinguishing feature, however, was a dark black hockey mask with red, glass, eye coverings, that prevented anyone from seeing what his actual eyes looked like.  The man's appearance alone was reason enough for most people to avoid him.

The inside of the gas station store was just as desolate as the outside was.  The man with the hockey mask roamed the different isles, trying to see if he could find supplies such as food or water.  The man took off his backpack, unzipped it and began taking various canned food that was remaining in the gas station and placed them into his backpack until it was nearly full.  For medial tasks like this, the man would always use his left hand, instead of his right, because the claw blade would get in his way, otherwise.  It was a pain, for sure, but something he had come to accept as time went on.  Luckily for him, he was left-handed which made doing medial tasks like this and even shooting his guns, for that matter, a bit easier for him.  He then searched the drinks section of the store and the only thing that was left was soda. 

"Fucking hate soda," he muttered to himself as he filled what space was left in the backpack with a couple of soda cans. 

He zipped his backpack up, once he was finished, and put it back on.  He took one final glance at his surroundings and sighed to himself.  He walked out of the gas station store and opened a pouch that was on his tactical combat vest and took out a pair of headphones that he had picked up from a different store.  He reached into the pocket of his combat pants and took out a cell phone which contained all of his music on it.  One glance at the picture that was on his home screen made him pause for a second but he did his best to ignore how it made him feel.  He plugged the headphones into his phone, placed the earbuds into his ears, and went to his music app. 

"I'm feeling shuffle, today," he told himself as he pressed the “shuffle songs” button on his music app, causing an upbeat song to begin playing. 

The hockey mask wearing man put his phone back in the pocket of his combat pants and began the long walk back to his shelter, to drop off the supplies he had picked up. 

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A couple of minutes earlier, a girl in her late 20s, wearing a grey tank top, covered with a dark green jacket and light blue jean shorts for her legs, was walking down a sidewalk, searching for somewhere that might have some supplies.   The most distinguishing feature of the girl was that she had a black eyepatch over her right eye.  Her dirty blond hair was tied back in a pony tail so that it wouldn't get in her one, blue colored, good eye, that wasn't covered with an eye patch.  Another thing that was, particularly, noteworthy about this girl, was her rather large breasts, in addition to her round and firm butt.  The girl's physique was one that many other women could only dream of achieving and, if life was an anime, one that would surely result in many bloody noses for men, who caught sight of her.  The only protection that the girl had was a single semi-automatic pistol, a Desert Eagle, that she kept tucked into the back of her shorts and was hidden by the jacket she was wearing.  The Desert Eagle, as far as pistols went, was quite heavy, in comparison to others which showed that, despite the girl's busty appearance, she did have a good amount of strength.  The girl stopped, for a moment, to stretch and found that, up the street a bit from her, was a gas station of some kind.

"Fuck yeah," she said to herself, excitedly.  "Hopefully, the place hasn't already been cleared out."

After doing a couple of smaller stretches, the girl walked towards the gas station.  Unfortunately, before she was able to reach the gas station, she could hear the sound of several male voices approaching her.  Her good eye darted to her right to see that she was about to run into a group of guys her age, who were holding baseball bats and other melee weapons.  She sighed to herself, annoyed.

"Maybe, if I don't make eye contact with them—"

Before the girl could finish her statement, several of the guys' eyes made contact with something but it wasn't her eyes. 

"Boob-contact, even fucking worse," the girl mumbled to herself.  "Curse these fucking fun bags, drawing the attention of every horn dog in a 1-mile radius.  I guess it's my fault for wearing a tank-top. Still, I thought the jacket would help cover them up a little.  Although, these shorts aren't really doing me any favors, either."

As the girl proceeded to keep mumbling to herself about her large breasts, she bumped into one of the very guys that were staring at her. 

"Damn, look what we ran into," one of the guys said, smirking.  "Not too many girls like you running around these days.  Are you out here all by yourself?"

"Yeah, is that a problem?" the girl responded.

"It's kind of scary being all by yourself these days.  What if you run into some...not so nice people?  Do you have protection…and I’m not talking about condemns?"

This guy is so fucking lame…that last comment almost made me shrivel up into a fucking ball from straight cringe,thought the girl to herself, trying to mask her annoyance.

"None of your business."

"Oh, so matter of fact about it; I like that.  Still though, times are rough, I'm afraid.  As hot as you are, my group and I don't really have time to flirt with you.  We need your shit."

The guy, who was talking to her, pulled out a Ruger GP100 revolver and aimed it at her head.  She was able to deduce from the way the guy was speaking, that he must have been the leader of the group of guys standing in front of her.  One of her hands reached for her Desert Eagle that was hidden but the same hand began to shake with uncertainty, causing it to pause.

Shit, the girl thought to herself.

Behind the leader of the group, who was trying to rob her, she could see a man wearing what looked like a black hockey mask, standing outside of the gas station.  He was putting in headphones and had begun walking in the opposite direction of her.  Her hand stopped reaching for her hidden weapon and she decided to change tactics.

"Hey, Mr. Hockey Mask!" the girl shouted, causing the group of guys to turn around to face the man she was calling out to.  "Help!"

The man with the hockey mask kept walking in the opposite direction of her.

"I said I need help, mother fucker!" the girl yelled, again, louder this time.

The hockey mask wearing man turned around to stare at her and the group of guys surrounding her.  He took out one of his earbuds to hear what she had to say.

"These guys are trying to have their way with me because of my big, luxurious breasts!" 

The girl, purposefully, and, not very discretely, squeezed her breasts together with her arms, to make them look even bigger and more appealing to the individual she was yelling at.

"The fuck are you talking about?" asked the leader of the group.  "We're trying to rob you, you dumb ass!" 

The girl, completely, disregarded what the leader of the group had said and continued her pathetic and obvious attempt at gaining sympathy from the hockey mask wearing man, to guilt him into helping her.

“Are you just going to walk away while these perverts have their way with me?  If you come to my aid in this moment, I promise I will let you motor boat these titties until your heart's content!" 

The man with the hockey mask thought for a moment, before responding with sticking his middle finger up at her, putting his headphone back in his ear, and continuing to walk in the opposite direction of her, unfazed.

Aw shit, he's an anti-simp, the girl concluded to herself.  I'm fucked.  Fucked.  Fucked.  Fucked in the butt.  I guess I could try bartering with these dip shits.  That could work.  It works in video games. Then again, my bartering and speech skills are always super high in those games.  I wonder what level I am in those areas in real life?

"No more fucking around; hand us all of your shit!" the leader of the group commanded. 

"B-But I won't survive the night, if I give you all of this!" the girl explained, knowing that it wouldn't help her case.  "What if I gave you all half of my shit?  That's fair, right?" 

"This isn't a fucking negotiation, boob-brain."

"W-What about 75% of all of my shit?"

The leader and the rest of his men all scowled at her, impatiently.

"80% and that's my final offer!"

The leader of the group's finger wrapped around the trigger of the revolver that was aimed at her head.

"85% and that's my super-duper final offer!" 

"Fuck this, I'm just going to kill the bitch," the leader said, annoyed, beyond any belief, at this point. 

The leader's finger began to pull the trigger and the girl put her hands in front of her face, foolishly hoping it would shield her from the bullet.

"Please, wait!  We can talk about this!  I…haven’t even given you my super-super-duper-ultimate final offer, yet!" the girl pleaded, pathetically.

The girl closed her one good eye, expecting to be dead at a moment's notice.  Instead of a gunshot, the sound the girl ended up hearing was a male scream coming from right in front of her, causing her to reopen her eye.  The leader's arm had been sliced off and the hockey mask wearing man was now standing in front of her.  Without warning, he used his claw blade to slash the leader's jugular.  Blood oozed out of the mouth of the man, who was trying to kill the girl, as his lifeless body fell onto the ground. 

Another one of the guys attempted to hit the girl's protector with a baseball bat but he ducked so that the blow completely missed him.  In response, he stabbed his claw blade into the guy's stomach, ripped it out, quickly, and slashed his jugular as well, killing him. 

The remaining three guys stared at each other in concern after having watched the other two die so gruesomely.  The girl noticed that the man, who was protecting her, had firearms but didn't seem to be using them.

He must be saving ammo, she thought to herself.  That's smart. 

The man with the hockey mask, menacingly, pointed his claw blade, that was attached to his right wrist and upper forearm, at the remaining three guys.  Blood dripped off of the edges of the blades, onto the sidewalk, below him.

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"Your move," he said, coldly. 

One of the guys, finally, made his decision and swung what looked like a pocket knife at the hockey mask wearing man, who shielded himself with his left forearm and allowed the blade to pierce his skin and flesh.  Despite the pocket knife having penetrated his left forearm, the hockey mask wearing man barely looked bothered by this and, before the guy could say a single world, the two outer claw blades pierced his eye sockets while the middle one stabbed right through his forehead.  The claw blade was ripped out of the eye sockets and forehead while another guy tried to swing their baseball bat at the hockey mask wearing man, who, easily, blocked the bat with his bloodied claw blade, causing the guy to stumble, backwards, off balance, leaving himself wide open for a strike.  This time, the hockey mask wearing man, upwardly, stabbed all three of his claw blades through the chin of the man with so much force that the edges of the blades were sticking out the top of his head.  He ripped out the claw blade as the man flopped onto the ground, in anticipation of the last guy attacking him. 

"Y-You're a fucking monster," the last guy commented, nervously, looking at the bodies of all of his friends surrounding him. 

"Yeah, I guess I am," was the only reply he got.  "What do you say?  Want to join your friends or do you want to fuck off, already?" 

The guy gritted his teeth in frustration and backed up a few feet. 

"This isn't over, asshole," he grumbled to himself, angrily.  "You'll regret this."

"Yeah, probably."

The remaining guy ran away and the hockey mask wearing man lowered his claw blade and stared at the pocket knife that was still stuck in his left forearm.  He turned to face the girl he had just protected. 

“Give me a second,” muttered the hockey mask wearing man as he gripped the pocket knife and ripped it out of his left forearm.

Without a care in the world, he tossed the pocket knife onto the side-walk, lazily.

"T-That was bad ass as shit but holy fuck, that looks like it hurt!" the girl praised, happily, but also, took notice of the man’s injury.  “A-Are you going to be alright?”

“Just a scratch…I’ll patch myself up later.”

"That claw blade thing is sick!  Where did you find it?" 

"It doesn't matter," answered the hockey mask wearing man as he began walking away from the girl.  "The only thanks I need is you fucking leaving me alone, now.  If you want my advice, you should join a group or something.  Wandering around alone is a good way to get killed."

"Isn't that what you're doing?" asked the girl, seeing the hypocrisy.

"Yeah, but I don't really give a shit about living so I may not be the best example to follow."

The girl frowned and followed the hockey mask wearing man as he walked away from her. 

"The name is Zoey but my friends actually used to call me Zo-Zo...when they weren't dead," introduced the girl.

"Didn't ask," responded the man, unenthused. 

"Hey, I told you my name so how about your return the favor?"

"My name...hm...Ricochet," the man responded.  “There, I gave you, my name.  Now, fuck off and die."

"Eh, no can-do, Mr. Ricochet.  Like you just said, being by myself is just going to lead to disaster. I think I'm going to stick with you for a while until I find something better."

Ricochet stopped his walking, for a second, and turned around to face Zoey.

"Listen, you and your big tits will do nothing but slow me down.  You're out here looking like a busty anime girl and I don't have the fucking time or energy to protect you.  Just find someone else to follow." 

Zoey puffed out her cheeks in defiance. 

"Just for that comment, you're no longer allowed to motor boat them, asshole."

"Never wanted to in the first place."

Ricochet sighed, seeing that the conversation wasn't going anywhere. 

"This is stupid and getting us nowhere and if we stand around like this, that guy is going to come back with reinforcements to avenge his buddies I just killed.  I don't feel like dealing with that.  If you want to come with me, that's fine; just stay the fuck out of my way and don't talk.  That should be simple enough."

Ricochet began his walk towards his camp as Zoey followed behind, gleefully. 

Can't make any promises about that last part, she told herself, smiling.

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"So...uh...this is where you're held up?" questioned Zoey, taking in her surroundings which was an abandoned RV park.

Ricochet was seated in front of a fire that he had started a couple of minutes before Zoey started talking to him, again.  His black hockey mask was, slightly, lifted, while he was eating a can of beans of some kind so she was able to get a glimpse of his mouth but that was it. 

"It's funny...I used to hate RV parks when I was younger," Ricochet answered.  "Now, here I am. Living in one.  Life's a real bitch, sometimes.  Could be worse for the apocalypse, I suppose.  By the way, since you're going to ignore my no talking rule, mind answering a question for me?  Why the fuck didn't you use that pistol your shittily hiding in your shorts?" 

How did he know I had a pistol? wondered Zoey in frustration. 

"O-Oh, well, that's a fair question, I guess.  I...I don't really like the idea of...killing people."

"That's not a very good mindset to have these days," Ricochet claimed as he stuffed more beans into his mouth. 

"I...I've already had my fair share of taking lives during my time in the army...it's not the best feeling in the world.  I know that, one day, I'll have to do it, again, but...I'm trying my best not to kill, if I don't have to." 

"A soldier, huh?" 

"With your combat experience and the way you dress, I assume you're one as well?" asked Zoey.

Ricochet shook his head, no.

"Not a soldier...just a man trying to survive, that's all.  I'm guessing you lost your eye during your time in the army as well?"

Not wanting to answer the question, Zoey decided to change the topic.

"S-So, why were you left behind?" 

"I don't want to talk about it, especially with a girl I just met.  I doubt you would tell me why you were left behind, if I asked."

"F-Fair enough.  So, your entire existence right now is survival, right?  Just like me...and everyone else."

"Survival is part of it...albeit a small one," replied Ricochet.  "Honestly, the reason I keep going in this shitty world is simple.  There's someone I want to kill.  Until I kill this person, I won't allow myself to die."

"That's a bit morbid.  I suppose you aren't going to tell me who you plan on killing, huh?"

"Of course not.  That's none of your concern.  It's getting late, though.  You should probably get some rest.  Take your pick at any of the RVs in this park except for mine.  They all have beds, I'm pretty sure." 

"R-Right, I'm not very hungry, anyways, so I'll just leave the canned bean eating to you," said Zoey as she picked herself up from the ground she was sitting on.  "Have fun all by yourself out here."

Zoey made her way to one of the other RVs that was relatively close to Ricochet's.  Ricochet kept eating his beans in silence as the fire in front of him kept going. 

As long as this girl doesn't get in the way of my goal, I'll tolerate her, Ricochet thought to himself.  As soon as she does, though, I'll kill her and her big tits.  

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