Fay looked around—a world on the brink of destruction. An endless dark sky loomed overhead, and a ruined city sprawled beneath it. Earth itself seemed ready to give up on humanity.
The only solace and reason he was still struggling to live stood beside him: his little sister, the only other person within kilometers, probably.
They had been cast out of the shelter a month ago, forced to fend for themselves. After their parents died, they could no longer afford the fees to stay in the walls that brought safety. Their frail bodies couldn't handle the harsh labor needed to earn their keep.
And so only death waited for them.
But Fay refused to give in. He had to keep his little sister alive. For that, he'd done the impossible—scoured every forgotten corner of this once-thriving city, collected even canned cat food that had been left behind, and hunted and roasted any animal or bug he could find, all to keep his sister safe.
So far, they had managed to eat at least once a day. Sometimes, Fay skipped meals entirely so his little sister Miri could have more.
He looked down at the small hand beside him—his four-year-old sister, who reminded him of their mother. She wore her light brown hair in two ponytails, just like she loved. On her head sat a worn hat shaped like a yellow rodent mascot from some kids' show that had been popular fifty years ago.
She wore a faded pink dress and a pair of fairy wings—her favorite—despite Fay having found piles of other clothes she could use.
The only thing keeping them alive was the trash—piles and piles of it. Trash they could turn into weapons, makeshift clothing, and sometimes even food.
"What will we eat today, Feyfey?" came her soft voice, quiet and withdrawn, as it had been ever since their parents' death.
Fay smiled gently at her. Her now silent and stoic demeanor hurt him more than hunger ever could.
"We'll find something soon. Don't worry. Try to keep up—we need to leave mole territory before sunrise."
Fay recalled the hidden stockpile of food, saved for emergencies, but he didn't want to touch it yet. Winter was coming soon, and he'd need the canned food when the cold set in.
Today, he'd try his luck near the edge of the city, at an abandoned garden. Most of the trees and plants had long since died in the near-constant darkness. But a few hardy species had adapted, surviving on the weak sunlight that pierced the polluted sky for just four hours each day.
That greenery attracted rodents—huge rats and other strange creatures looking for something to eat. Fay figured this brief window was his best chance to hunt. He had enough experience now to build traps easily, and he hoped one of the smaller rodents had already wandered into one. Maybe the trap he set yesterday had already caught something.
"We'll eat a lot today. Just wait… we will don't you worry."
Fay forced a smile, picked up his sister, twirled her around once, and hoisted her onto his back.
It was a struggle for a thirteen-year-old, but he was growing stronger. He had to. There was no one else left to rely on.
As soon as they reached the garden, he read the signboard—an old, rusted stop sign he had marked over. It now read: "Paradise."
The only place within ten miles that still had green leaves and living plants.
But these weren't regular plants. Somehow, they were alive, or should he say able to move after mutating, waiting to snatch anything foolish enough to get too close.
Still, they were also prey. Many creatures fought over this patch of life: rabbits, rats, moles, capybaras, beavers, squirrels—you name it. Strangely, only rodents had managed to thrive in the dangers of this now ugly, broken world.
And none of them were easy to fight.
The least threatening of the bunch were the rats—their mutations not as extreme as the others.
Rabbits, for example, had grown to the size of horses. Deadly beasts that chomped down on anything that moved. They could cross a block in two or three hops. Fay had only escaped once by sheer luck.
With cautious hope, he moved forward, nearing the trap he had set the day before. Every step was careful. The faint sound of something scurrying nearby made him stop cold in his tracks. Instinctively, he shielded his sister.
"Quiet. We need to see if the one making that noise is in our trap." Fay placed a finger on his lips. His sister, terribly hungry, only nodded. Her expression was tired but hopeful.
"If we manage to catch something, I promise that after eating, you will sleep and relax for the rest of the day, okay?" Fay patted her head gently, then asked her to stay back.
He gripped his makeshift spear, crafted from a rusted iron pipe that he had set close to the trap days before. Crude, but strong enough to kill small to medium-sized creatures.
He crept toward the source of the noise, where he had set a simple rope trap—one he'd learned about from a few old books salvaged from the abandoned library. Traps like these had been used for hunting long ago.
Fay inched closer until he saw the scene clearly.
One large rat dangled from the trap, suspended in midair and squeaking in panic. Below it, three capybaras—each nearly a meter tall—circled beneath, grunting and snapping at the struggling prey. Their thick, barrel-shaped bodies moved slowly but deliberately. They weren't just scavengers as they once were in the past—they were now predators eager to eat an easy meal.
Fay gripped his spear and glanced at the creatures. One meter long. He knew they were slow, like tanks, but that meant piercing their hide would be difficult. His makeshift spear could probably take one down if aimed right—but three?
Should I wait it out... or attack?
If he could keep his sister safe, he was sure he could take them one by one. He had fought worse. But she wasn't safely hidden. She was just crouched behind an old stone fence, barely tall enough to shield her tiny body.
If the capybaras noticed her… he didn't want to think about it.
His heart pounded. The rat gave another shrill squeal as one of the capybaras jumped and bit its tail, yanking it downward.
Fay narrowed his eyes.
I can't wait. If they get it, we go hungry again.
He took a steadying breath, tightened his grip on the pipe spear, and prepared to strike.
Fay had learned how to kill during these months outside the shelter. Violence no longer fazed him—he fought with cold, practiced efficiency. And today, he would need every ounce of that acquired skill to face the three-meter-long mutated capybaras.