Squadron Leader Formann peered into his black binoculars and scanned the fiery, lifeless wasteland that once boasted a sprawling downtown city. The smoked corpses of children, adults, and the elderly alike littered the ground for the wriggling maggots to decompose. Post-apocalypse was a gruesome event indeed.

"Squadron 14, salvage for any survivors," Formann ordered to the legion of blue-suited men behind him, standing ramrod stiff obediently. They scattered and started investigating the wreckage.

Formann slowly slid his gloved hand against a nearby brick wall and gagged at the synthesized smell of smoke and decaying flesh. He dropped down and crouched against the wall, mourning the losses of mankind. It was only then that he noticed some thick, reddish liquid stained his hand. Blood?

The leader turned to face the wall and noticed giant letters forming the phrase "I'M STILL HERE." Judging by how the liquid used to write it was still fresh and wet, it had been recently written.

Formann had a sudden impulse to look down at the ground and stared at more red words marked upon it, still wet as well. He took a step back, his heart pounding, and mumbled the cursed writing out loud.


And as Formann turned around on his heels, terrified, he saw the charred, mangled remains of a white gas mask that hadn't been there before.

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