Three Years passed and Grey had lost his Grandpa, the hero of his story, and the man he'd been aspiring to be in the mirror. Grey's father, at his father's funeral, acknowledged that Grey had in fact, succeeded his late father. In otherwords, Grey's Dad told both friends, strangers, and their whole family, that Grey was the successor to legend of man that was his Grandpa. Grey simply nodded, biting his cheek to keep from crying, or snapping at his father. To understand, Grey had held his Grandma and Grandpa on mental pedestals that no one in his now twenty-four years of living had even come close to reaching.
Nobody knew what drove Grey, atleast, not until his Grandpa's funeral. Once the service had ended, Grey grove his '99 Chevrolet S10 Pickup, modeled after the his Grandpa's '00 Chevrolet S10 Pickup. The words, "Boe Knew II" had been handpainted on by Grey, trying to match his Grandpa's "Boe Knew", that had been painted on the tailgate of that royal blue, '00 S10. For Grey, this was the greatest honor of his life. Even with the immense pain of loss filling his heart, Grey smiled just as his hero had. However, beneath that smile, buried under a fortress of pain, was that dark-voice. It had been silent for years, as it never found any reasons to spoke. However, after the funeral director handed Grey a single, white rose, his hyper-vigilant mind caught his mother's utterly disrespectful sneer at the gesture. Grey said nothing and accepted the rose with grace and humility.
However, once his Grandpa was in the car of the cemetery, Grey pulled his mother aside, well away from everyone else. "Disrespect me, fine. Have at me. Disrespect the man I call my hero..." Grey's sun-lit, copper-colored pupils petrified her soul as he spoke, "...and I won't hesitate to show you just how disgusting of a sinner you really are. I'll rip you off that high-horse and make sure you drown in your own filthy sins." Grey relaxed his death-glare, eyes still very much locked onto his mother's repulsive soul. "You will never surpass Grandma, never come close reaching Grandpa's level, and you will always be my go-to reference whenever I need a reminder to exactly what God's damned shall look like." Grey pivoted around and walked to his Emerald Green S10. Each footfall planted onto the concrete with the heavy thud of his shined and polished dress shoes. The mini-truck's engine roared to life and Grey left, having had enough of sinners pretending to be righteous saints... even if his faith in God had all but been extinguished by the very believers who'd told him of every trespass he'd "committed" against them.
However, as he pressed play on his phone's screen, on a radio app tuned to 1430 WCMY-Local Ottawa Radio, smoke began to rise over the city, followed closely by the sound of gunshots and bloodcurdling screams. Grey weaved in and out of the panic-driven mob, all trying to flee the friendly city... as society, finally, found its straw that broke its back. No politician on Capital Hill had unanimously agreed to anything other than their own pay raises in Grey's lifetime. However, they had unanimously chosen tyranny when they all decided basic essentials, food, housing, and the chance to work, were no longer their priority, as they bankrupt the taxpayers, completely. Riots broke out nationwide, and things had finally reached no return, when riot control soldiers killed two American citizens, both of them, only moments earlier, having been at each other's throats about which part would kill America. As it would turn out... both parties killed it, eagerly stuffing their already well-padded bank accounts with the last bit of money America had...
Grey's S10 tires screeched as he sped into a turn then finally arriving at his apartment. Grey sprinted up the steps. He'd prepared for this, thanks to his army training, hyper-adhd, and creativeness, Grey had a plan to survive the collapse of society. However, Grey, at this time, was known by those he associated with outside of family. He was still a helping-hand, style leader his grandparents had raised... but with a more aggressive, and bloodthursty twist to it. As Grey stripped out of his navy blue tuxedo, he dawned the faded olive-green World War Two bomber-crew coveralls, a homemade mouth-nose mask, and his Grandpa's 1960s era, leather red-wing steel-toed boots. His breathing was labored, not from being out of shape, not from fear, but from a high... a high brought on by one lingering thought... "Time to become him again... time that even my own family gets to met..."