Rubbing his eyes open with two lanky fists, a flimsy teenager peered out of the square mound of soil that he had made his abode in case of emergency. Surveying around him through a crevice that was available to him. Five feet away, two broad raiders leaned against a corroded fence in front of a metal shack, chatting. "Oi, did you get any loot from them?" said one of the raiders, gnawing on his lip slowly "Yeah, chump change." droned back the other. The teenager shut the mound back down, curling his head daintily in between his legs. Feeble tears rolling down his pale cheek. The two chanted on, making it harder for him to stay calm or sleep until they departed. He didn't want to give away his position, it'd surely mean a painful execution from the cesspit they called 'Earth'. Still, all the vitality the boy had was eradicated when they slaughtered his mother and father in cold blood. He remembered the once peaceful wasteland shack. A villa to his family, though it was considered to others as odds and ends strewn together to create shelter. Once a homely den, now painted with blood along with a quaint supply of brain matter to last a ghoul for weeks. All the child could do now was let thoughts race through his mind, judging his sanity.

Five hours later, he felt a massive volume of dirt filling his torso. He would surely suffocate few hours, he had to move. Leaning on his side slowly in the cramped area, he put his ear to the barricade of soil. He couldn't make out any audible noises except a few crickets chirping. In the recess of his mind, he was picturing a radiated abomination picking apart his flesh as if it was a saronated meal. Slightly shivering, he stood up boldly from the mound, expecting a bullet to fly through his skull at any moment. His leg muscles strained for a few seconds. The sharp affliction ran through his body for five seconds or so, but he managed to stand still. He looked up in into the sky, seeing blackness. It was night. He had brushed most of the soil off his ranchy t-shirt and jeans, looking around the wasteland. He had expected to have been shot down by a raider by now, looking around, the zone around him was clear. He saw his family's shack in front of him, his legs motorizing forward, marching hastily over to the decayed shack.

A foul smell of human excrete filled his nostrils, worse then the smell of sulphur. Sprawled over floor of the shack was his father's corpse. His throat was slit, pus and blood draining out of the wound. His legs were scarred all over with knife marks, blood drying. His head still remained intact, though the eyes were reversed to show a ghastly milk colour. His mother's body wasn't anywhere in sight. Leaving the shack disgusted, he noticed a faint trail of blood leading around the shack. He inattentively followed the trail, it quickly went cold, leading to the back of the shack. He looked around the region of the shack backyard, finding nothing but two grimy bean cans.