The rhythmic drumming of rain against the convenience store's glass front was the only sound breaking the silence. Outside, the world was a blurred watercolor of streetlights and slick asphalt. Inside, Matt was alone, the fluorescent hum of the ceiling lights casting a sterile glow over rows of chips and sodas. It was a quiet night, the kind that stretched time thin, making each minute feel like an hour, especially when you were stuck on the graveyard shift.
He leaned against the counter, a thick, aged history book splayed open before him. The pages were brittle, the text dense, and his eyes kept glazing over, the words blurring into meaningless lines. This wasn't for him. This was for Maddie, his younger sister, whose history paper was due tomorrow. And if he didn't help her, the relentless nagging would be the least of his worries. The thought of Maddie's disappointment, a silent accusation far heavier than any shouted threat, was enough to make him sigh and flip another page.
His gaze landed on a particularly grim section, his finger tracing the words as he read:
In 2029 AD, a meteor fell on the western hemisphere of earth. The impact caused multiple waves of natural disasters obliterating 85% of earth's population.
On top of that, high levels of radiation particles spread across the earth's surface changing its landscape completely.
The earth is now composed of barren lands, deserts, dry river with occasional pockets of vegetation where humans reside.
A bitter snort escaped Matt as he slammed the book shut, the soft thud echoing in the quiet aisles. "History is depressing," he muttered, the words tasting like dust. A dull ache settled behind his eyes. "They should teach how to deal with the present." His gaze flickered to the digital clock on the wall, its stark red numbers glowing with the grim reality of their time: 489 AI – After Impact. "Don't know why kids have to study these things."
Just then, the bell above the door jingled, and a gust of cool, damp air swirled in. Fred, his friend and the incoming shift, stepped inside, shaking water from his dark hair. He was laden with a few cardboard boxes, their sides damp from the rain.
"What's up, Matt?" Fred greeted, setting the boxes down with a grunt. He glanced at the history book still on the counter.
Matt gestured to it with a tired hand. "Maddie's homework."
Fred looked over Matt's shoulder, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, yeah. Mom's gonna kick you out in the street if you do not do it, right?"
Matt rolled his eyes, a flicker of exasperation crossing his face. "Exactly."
They both walked towards an empty shelf, Fred tearing open a box of instant noodles. As they began stocking, the conversation flowed easily, a familiar rhythm to their late-night routine.
"No plans on getting your own place?" Fred asked, arranging the packets neatly.
Matt sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to carry the weight of his world, as he placed a new bag of chips on the hook. "Can't afford it. Need the money to pay mom's doc fees." The words were a familiar litany, a constant, low hum of responsibility beneath his skin. "And her meds."
Fred paused, his expression softening with a hint of concern. "Have you tried selling blood in the black market?" Fred's voice held no hint of the illegal, the words tumbling out as casually as if he were suggesting a new brand of canned goods.
Matt froze, his hand still on a bag of chips. A cold knot tightened in his stomach, and he slowly turned, his gaze flat and unamused, but inside, a wave of revulsion churned.
Fred, oblivious or simply uncaring of Matt's internal recoil, continued, "I can give you directions to my usual joint. The place is clean. Just round the corner of Kind St." He shrugged, pushing another box onto the floor with his foot. "I mean, almost everyone does it. You look like you can spare a few ounces of blood."
Matt looked away, his gaze drifting to the rain-streaked window. The idea, as repulsive as it sounded, held a desperate, undeniable logic. He needed money. Badly. "Don't like needles," he mumbled, the excuse thin even to his own ears.
Fred laughed, a booming sound that echoed in the quiet store. "I get that you're scared, but you'll get used to it." He moved behind the counter, taking Matt's place at the register.
Matt picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. "Have you ever asked yourself where the surplus of blood goes?"
Fred merely shrugged, his attention already on the register, counting the cash. "I don't know."
Matt reached for the door handle, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth inside the store. "You did say that almost everyone sells their blood." He pulled the door open, the rain misting his face. "Who needs that much blood?"
"See yah tomorrow!" Fred called out, his voice already distant.
Matt stepped out into the heavy rain, pulling his hoodie tighter around him, hunching his shoulders against the downpour. The streetlights cast long, distorted shadows that seemed to squirm with unseen things. As he walked, the familiar cityscape seemed to twist into something unsettling, each alleyway a gaping hole. A sudden movement caught his eye. A hunched shadow atop a crumbling building, only to vanish into the night before he could fully register it. Further down, in the dark corner beside a flickering pub sign, a choked gasp cut through the rain, a man gnawing on a woman's neck. His breath hitched, a cold tremor running down his spine. A moment later, a man with eyes like bottomless pits, dark and hungry, brushed past him, their shoulders almost touching. A crimson droplet was clinging to the corner of the man's mouth.
He suddenly stopped, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling, a cold sensation spreading across his shoulders. He spun around, scanning the deserted street, but saw nothing. Just the relentless rain and the dancing shadows.
Unseen, unheard, a cloaked shadow detached itself from the far side of the street. San, silent as the grave, drifted, not walked, past Matt. Her hood obscured her face, yet her eyes, ancient and piercing, fixed on him with an intensity that would have burned if he'd met them. A flicker of profound surprise, a tremor centuries old, rippled beneath her cowl. She stopped, turning slowly, her gaze boring into Matt's retreating back.
"When wars become old," the words of an ancient oracle echoed in her mind, a memory from a slumber that had lasted centuries.
Then, she saw them, not just with her eyes, but with a deeper, primal sense. Faint, ethereal golden veins pulsed beneath Matt's skin, a soft, luminous glow visible only to her. A jolt, like lightning, shot through her ancient being.
It was at this precise moment that Matt turned back, a lingering unease tightening his chest. But San was already gone, dissolved into the labyrinthine alleyway as if she were a figment of the rain-soaked night.
"Find pure blood so tides turn." The oracle's prophecy concluded, a chilling whisper in the desolate downpour.