Chapter One: Existence
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Jericho lied in his bed motionless and tranquil. He seemed at peace– it was as if he was resting upon a cloud being carried away to a promised heaven. His safest place was the paradise he'd float to as he was asleep, in his dreams he felt as if he had control.
In his mind no one could bother him, oppose him– annoy him. He felt sleep was the only place he felt he had control-- dreams were the only place he felt where he was actually living. But all good things meet an end and this time of peace was no exception.
He was disrupted not by the broken clock on his nightstand or the open window with no curtains allowing the poisonous gas to be inhaled as he slept or the various carnivorous demonic looking bugs crawling around in his dirty room.
But by the creature under his bed, a creature with no face nor form, but a face. A face plastered with a smile it was as if an elementary student had taken a marker and mindlessly scribbled on its face.
The "creature" would slither its way from under the man's bed and hover beside him. It was watching him, observing him.
The creature got closer until their faces were but an inch away from each other. It spoke but its "mouth" didn't move an inch.
"Wake up."
Jericho shot up from his imaginary world startled by a sudden voice.
Still disorientated from being forcefully pulled out of a dream he frantically looked around trying to make sense of reality. His eyes were bloodshot; he'd been asleep for at least 2 days not that it mattered Jericho had slept for much longer.
His vision was blurry, as he began to rub his eyes he'd start to slowly gain his sight back. His eyes bounced around the room.
Nothing out of the ordinary, besides the grotesque prehistoric-like crabs running rampant in his room akin to the demonic bugs-- This wasn't the first time his friends had visited though so he brushed it off. The clock was still stuck at 10:10 pm, the window was still open.
Jericho sighed in relief; the entire situation still left him with a sour taste in his mouth--maybe it was because of the radioactive gunk leaking from the ceiling above his bed.
He's lived alone for the past 10 years; he had no friends that would visit him nor family. Who could've possibly woken him, Jericho pondered for a moment.
'Could it have been him? No, impossible.'
He shrugged it off, not like he cared; this wasn't the first time a mysterious voice had pulled him out of his dreams.
Jericho stealthily crept out of his bed making sure not to trip on any of the mysterious substances that had embedded themselves within the previously fluffy carpeting of his bedroom's floor and maneuvered himself to his closet and took his day clothes.
Now that he was awake it was time to repeat the dreadful cycle of existing with no purpose.
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Jericho entered his "bathroom" if you could even call it that; It was filthy.
The bathroom was a small formerly white cube shaped room stained by some unidentifiable dark substance. There was gunk plastered upon on the ceiling--- some of it even dripping down and slapping onto the floor. The bathroom was more hazardous than it was a place to clean.
The sink was hanging on by a thread, the faucet was rusted and produced a liquid that was nothing like water. It was the same liquid that inhabited the lake near where Jericho lived. It was black, opaque and thick. Disgusting.
Jericho had gotten used to everything that the average joe would find revolting or unhygienic. He had come to terms with this way of leaving.
He never really got used to the mirror. Every time he'd look in it he'd be reminded of who he was. The mirror was the only thing reminding him that he was alive.
He wasn't the most attractive person, but he wasn't ugly either, he had tan clear skin with no wrinkles or blemishes-- and green undertone due to all of the radiation and testing he had foregone. His eyes were sharp and piercing, with long eyelashes and multicolored pupils. Jericho's eyes used to be hazel, but the plague and all of the testing had changed them.
He hated that about himself; it was a constant reminder of a part of him that he wished he could rip out and stomp on.
His right eye looked as if a blue fish chased after a red fish endlessly in an ocean blanketed by the night sky. His left eye was completely devoid of all sense of existence, it looked blank as if a painter had forgotten about their canvas, a white void devoid of a sense of purpose. His eyes would ache from time to time, but he got used to it.
He brushed back his long, damaged black hair. He looked homeless and rugged--- But it did compliment the bush on his face people would call a beard. Jericho was taller than most people of the old world standing at about 6'5. But in this world this height was quite below average.
After putting on his dingy white button up and black slacks, Jericho left the bathroom and headed to the kitchen.
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Jericho flung open the fridge and snatched the cheap alcohol without brushing his teeth, taking a shower or doing anything to do with hygiene.
He chugged down the whiskey and threw it near the other various amounts of whiskey scattered about the floor.
The door swung open, and Jericho dragged himself through. He held his stomach--- then his mouth. A putrid gas burned his nostrils and infiltrated his lungs.
He almost puked.
No matter how many times he'd step foot outside he'd never get used to the smell of the bags of flesh that seemed to always be burning, mixing with the various gases that formed the new "air" that filled his street.
What he did get used to was the sight of the mangled human corpses that were strung up on the streetlights above the sacks of burning flesh. The corpses were almost like a sign to anyone who dared to enter this civilization. Most likely by the reigning gang of his area.
Jericho's house was no exception to the haggard aesthetic of his ruined city. He lived in a light puckish green colored one story house with 2 windows, both broken with a pathetic excuse of a roof covering the top of the house.
The roof was covered in all types of disgusting shrubbery, the kind you'd find on the back of a rock.
Nothing was the same since the plague took over the world, he wished he was born then. Not because of the living conditions-- even though that was a plus, but because back then people had a sense of unity.
He'd heard of the monuments built that were built by hand or the people who joined together to create countries built on peace.
Jericho didn't know if this was true at all but if people said it happened then he had no reason to not believe them. There were also legends that were passed down about how the monsters known as Daemons were just livestock that were mass harvested and eaten on a regular day to day basis.
And money, something that people would kill for, go to war for didn't exist in this god forsaken world, food was law.
Food was extremely rare due to the fact that most of the tamed animals that existed pre plague were mutated into grotesque beasts that were extremely hard to kill. However, the Hunters were the ones who took care of that.
Ignoring all of the disgusting things he had grown accustomed to he'd get into his dingy broken-down car and head to work.
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The rain would not stop; its reign would cast upon the entire village. As Jericho's tin can of a car zoomed through the wet dingy forgotten roads, he admired the scenery of the beautifully damaged town he lived in for the past 10 years. He lived in an old town, a somewhat abandoned town stationed by a nuclear powerplant. The gangs would use this place as a private hunting grounds for those who opposed them. There were ancient ponds near the withered houses, these ponds were consumed by black muck and neon green ooze plastered within the black substance. The "pond's" liquid looked dense but still refracted light, that were tinted red. It was disgustingly beautiful. As it would continue to pour Jericho put his focus back on the road and finish the 40-minute drive to work.
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Jericho dreamed. He dreamed he died; death was something he had longed for ever since the day humanity turned its back on him.
In his dreams he always saw this object, it attracted him yet instilled him with fear.
It looked like an abundance of energy in the form of a sphere. Originally the sphere was simply dark, like it was hollow but this time there was a light forming. The light swallowed the darkness, but the darkness fought back trying not to be consumed by what made it exist in the first place. Should the darkness allow itself to be consumed by its creator?
Jericho just stared---watched.
He didn't root for the light to win. Nor did he root for the darkness to overcome the light. He simply watched.
"HEY!"
'Earthquakes in my dream?'
"Hey, you lousy bastard. WAKE THE HELL UP!"
Jericho was forcibly pulled out of his mind by the stern voice of his manager.
His eyes would begin to adjust after being ripped out of his safe space and into this plain excuse of a workplace.
His workplace, in contrast to the mucky aesthetic of his neighborhood, was somewhat clean and breathable. It was a plain white building with no windows. When you walked in there was a main lobby and beyond that was various rooms. The rooms were extremely plain with a row of computers with vision blocking screens dividing each desk. It was like a formal prison. Yes, work was still a thing. Humanity needs a system of power to function or else they wouldn't know what to do with their meaningless lives, people needed others to give them meaning. And of course, no economy no structure.
Find a job for your tribe or you're cast out and forced to fend for yourself in the wilderness people now called "Edens Garden".
In the quadrant where Jericho resides there is inhabitable land and uninhabitable land. Rivers and bodies of water were a no go for any regular citizen besides hunters.
The inhabitable land was ruled by different tribes, gangs and cults some being more powerful than others. With the Central Government ruling over and managing these factions with laws and quotas they must fulfill to be allowed to keep their faction, or they the Centurions would be sent to deal with them; Nobody wanted to see a Centurion.
Jericho just so happened to be in the lowest class of tribes. He was a bottom feeder that had to work for his place in this unknown sad village, he kept track of the import and exports of goods data.
"Do you hear me? You're an absolute waste of space?!"
The pigman yelled somehow not straining his vocal cords, he always spoke as if his nose was clogged.
With a sigh Jericho composed himself and left his mind to deal with these worldly matters.
"Yes sir."
The manager's face was red, fuming with anger. His veins tried to claw their way out of the rolls of fat that replaced the neck that was supposed to be there.
The manager was of a pig breed; he was pinkish red with a fat snout smacked onto his fat face. His little ears poked out from his floppy toupee. He wore the work uniform for all managers-- a clean white button up with black slacks.
His button up seemed to be struggling to keep in his ginormous belly.
It was hard to make eye contact with him, not because of his disgusting fat red face--- But because of the toupee hanging off the side of his scalp.
Jericho couldn't help but chuckle anytime he saw him. Some relief in a world of death and purposelessness. There was some peace in hopelessness---in nothing. Moments like these reminded Jericho of what it meant to be alive.
The look the manager shot Jericho snapped him back into reality, it was then followed by a barrage of insults.
"YOU DAMN SLACKING PIECE OF S***"
This continued for the next 30 minutes.
"It's 6:23 PM, you need to be done with your work by 7:00 PM. SHARP!"
'You wasted half of my time though.'
The manager turned around but not before muttering more insults to himself.
"You're a waste of space piece of garbage stinking mutt"
Jericho sighed, he wasn't hurt by any of the words the man spat--- he just found it quite annoying that he would project all his anger onto him.
He'd already given up on the notion that all of humanity could be saved.
Jericho got back to work on his computer, not because he felt that he had to nor was it because he wanted to--- but it was because he was bored. And he hated being bored.
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"Heya, Jericho! Ole buddy ole pal how ya been!"
Oh no. It's her.
Jericho was pulled out of slumber but this time he felt worse than when his manager forced him out of sleep.
Not because he was afraid of being scolded or because he was annoyed but because this person was the type of person Jericho feared the most-- A friendly kind person.
Jericho looked up in shock and some other feeling he just couldn't grasp.
Maybe because he feared an actual genuine connection-- he feared feeling hope again, because he knew where hope led.
Jericho looked up and to his dismay it was her.
The woman towering over him was Esty, a member of the Crocodylus faction and a Crocodilian breed herself. She was around 7'0 with nice sleek light brown skin with fluorescent lavender scales sprinkled near the edges of her face.
The scales were much more abundant on her neck, torso and thighs. Her dark green eyes could pierce through the soul and her dark brown shoulder length hair danced from the recoil of her bobbing her head without a care in the world. He wanted to be like that, carefree without acknowledging the dreadful world that they lived in. Greeting others, putting your faith into others.
She was beautiful, her scales refracted light casting a rainbow glow upon her very being.
"Well how ya been buddy?!"
She repeated out with the most pleasant of grins on her face showing all of her 80 sharp fangs--- It was frightening.
Jericho grimaced.
"Just fine."
He shot up from his desk.
Esty swiftly moved out of range from the panicked man as he frantically grabbed his things.
"You're leaving already?"
Her expression dropped, there was sadness painted over her face.
"Yes, bye."
Jericho spoke in monotone as he attempted to dart out of the room.
"Wait!"
Jericho's eye twitched. He turned around giving her the illusion of his attention.
Esty's left hand was gripping her right arm, as she fiddled and diverted her eye contact from Jericho.
"I don't have a ride home."
His heart dropped.
"Could you give me one?"
The nervous smile that was on her face was like another stake in Jericho's cold vampire like heart.
'She's a girl I can't let her walk home alone in this wasteland.'
Jericho was fighting an internal war.
'But she is 7'0, She can defend herself.'
'But she's so fine...'
This internal battle felt like a century for Jericho, to Etsy it seemed he had made up his mind instantly.
"No."
Jericho spat as if those words stabbed him then immediately turned around and paced out.
Etsy stood there with disappointment and immediately followed after.
"Hey! What the hell, it's not nice to make a girl walk alone in the dark!"
Jericho tried to ignore the beast of a woman chasing after him, berating him with the need for help.
He wanted to help the woman, but he simply didn't want to get to close. The last time he put his faith in another person; was the last time he felt pain. Not feeling anything should feel better than feeling everything. He'd already given up on humanity.
But if that was true then why'd he feel so bad about abandoning someone in need. Even though he knows she'll get home safe, maybe it was just the act of caring that made it good. Should he abandon humanity because it abandoned him?
Her scaly webbed hand gripped his shoulder, startled he stopped and dragged himself out of his thoughts.
The sun was out still out; in this new age the days were longer-- Same with the nights. The sun cast its warm radiance upon Jericho and Etsy.
It was just raining earlier. How could it be so bright? There was no dew, no clouds it was as if the rain never existed. He turned his head and looked at Etsy, her eyes were beautiful; there were pink speckles of light dancing with the sunlight that refracted off of her iris. It was as if he'd fallen into hypnosis, under a spell by this carnivorous woman.
"Hey, don't run from me silly, I didn't actually need a ride I just wanted to talk to ya."
Etsy softly smiled while batting her eyes down at Jericho.
Jericho's vision was sucked into her eyes. He felt warm, not on the outside because of the sun--- he felt it on the inside.
It was as if Etsy was the sun, burning his soul slowly. It felt so good, this embrace of what seemed to be love, care, tender unadulterated kindness would wash over his very being.
His lips curled upwards and gave into this embrace, he didn't know what it was, but he knew nothing that felt this good could be bad.
Then just like that it vanished replaced by a cold sharp pain within his chest.
His vision finally wavered from Etsy's eyes; his body was getting colder.
This feeling was no stranger.
'Is there a hole in my chest?'
Jericho shifted his attention toward his chest and slowly looked down.
There was indeed a hole in his chest.
"Fuck."