Stepping on an empty ammunition shell, Falco looked around as its hollow clink echoed through the wasteland, blending with the distant explosions caused by the extermination squad. Falco had just finished his work and was now trekking through the desolate landscape bit by bit, the odor of oil and gunpowder sticking to him like glue. Each stride crunched on rubble left behind by a battle fought days ago. His mind churned with turmoil, agonizing over what gift he should get his sister for her sixteenth birthday—now just a day away.
The broken and desolate buildings reminded him that he lived in the slums, a place designated as the cattle of the New Regime, full of criminals, the impoverished, the debt-stricken, and people like him—the abandoned. Once a thriving city sustained by a bustling economy and population, it was now stricken with disease and death. People here were more comparable to pale mannequins than their healthy counterparts.
Ruins upon ruins littered the roads, and vestiges of huge battle machines lay wasted atop the remaining buildings, most already dissected of all their valuables.
The dilapidated houses he now walked among were bathed in the golden hue of the setting sun, the cool shadows protecting him from any prying eyes. His grip on his trusty knife was so tight it was painful. No one knew when they were truly alone, let alone safe.
As he walked, he saw many stores—some for everyday needs and some for more… tantalizing experiences—none truly piquing his interest. He traveled at a steady pace, neither too fast nor too slow, his mind fully occupied with solving his dilemma. He traversed alleyways and abandoned buildings with no worries on his mind; he had made sure they were clear. All that was left was to walk through them safely.
Even in the comfort of the lonely shadows of back passages, he still noticed the "protectors" stationed everywhere. While officially known as the good guys of the New World, for the slum folk they were the predators of the streets, harassing and extorting everyone. They were ready to attack at a moment's notice, dispatching anyone who could be found on these grey streets.
His roaming ended abruptly when he reached a dead end filled with pointed rebar and fallen rubble. With his hand on his chin, he contemplated his predicament.
"This hallway shouldn't have collapsed like this. Was it the extermination squad? A gang? Just the concrete?"
His thoughts steadied him; this wasn't the first time his plans had gone awry.
He took off his backpack and opened it, his hands steadily reaching for one of his prized possessions: a map as large as his torso, covered in pencil markings and red ink.
With a flick of the wrist, he marked the area on his map, writing "blocked" beside it.
Pondering once more, Falco began to trace a route. Ignoring north, which was crossed out with a huge X and the word "ZEF" written beside it, he quickly found his location between east and west. On his right was the commercial district; on his left lay the housing sector. Both were vast and connected by winding tunnels, sewers, and uneven streets. Had it not been for the drawn house and red markings, Falco would never have found his own abode on the perplexing map.
Like an artist with his canvas, Falco traced along the vast map and found himself a new pathway, nodding approvingly.
Having inspected the rubble one last time and with the map snugly tucked into his backpack, the young man squeezed through a narrow passage and made his way to the lively street.
He hadn't even taken a step before he was bombarded with screaming store owners begging for attention.
On his right, a fat man swung a board around, trying to poach customers from a look-alike. With a swift motion, he moved to block his counterpart while chanting, "One Kred per board! One Kred per board!"
Falco quietly moved along the street, making himself inconspicuous as he raised his hood and edged toward the outer side of the path, the echoes of the screaming clerks passing by.
"Services inside, all under the 10 Kred line!" one cried at the other edge of the road; another beside him shouted something similar.
His march became exhausting as more and more people approached him. This was what he hated most: unwanted attention.
With a short sigh, Falco pushed them aside and kept going, ignoring their calls.
His head buzzed with irritation, and he began jogging. If it hadn't been for a newcomer arriving at the nick of time, he might have collided with someone and caused a scene.
Continuing his travels, he heard a voice far in the distance that took him by surprise:
"High-end goods from the Clouds! Selling for only 100 Kred!"
Willing himself not to look, he kept jogging.
"'High-end'?" he scoffed as he moved further away, his voice drowned by other screaming merchants. What here could be considered high-end? The muddy road or the destroyed buildings? Certainly not. Especially if it was from the Clouds!
His face darkened visibly as he reminisced about the High World. Had it not been for his father, he would have still been up there in the civilized world.
His frantic daydreaming was cut short by a resounding explosion and its rumble. The extermination squad was bound to finish their work; he had to get out of here.
Time passed quickly as people fled to safety. Like a graveyard, the once-bustling street died out, most abandoning it entirely. The exception was the city's psychopaths—and of course, Falco.
He was no longer jogging but running. Time and endurance were running thin. On paper, the extermination squad might do nothing, but they were too prideful. People had died for mindless reasons, and citizens only supported them out of necessity. The resistance in the city was too extreme for its own good.
Leaving the commercial sector and nearing the housing sector, Falco grew closer to his home. His sister was probably waiting with dinner, anticipating the return of her big brother.
Cars in the distance roared like starved beasts, and flying helicopters kicked up dust and grime.
Truthfully, he was panicked. It wasn't every day one encountered the extermination squad so close. He ducked into the shell of an abandoned house, hiding behind its cracked door. If only he hadn't gotten stuck earlier with the rubble. Must fate be so cruel?
Like a centipede walking in a straight line, the convoy rolled past Falco and the abandoned house he had sought refuge within.
One after the other drove by until only one remained. It had stopped in the middle of the road, waiting for something.
"Did its tires give out?" he thought.
Gulping down his nervousness, he peeked through the cracks of the door he hid behind, only to recoil in fear immediately.
One of them was looking directly at the house, as if staring into his very soul.
"I know you're there! Come out this instant!"
The man's voice tore deep into him. Falco wasn't prepared for this. Would his sister wait in vain? Was this the end?
Pushing the door open, Falco raised his hands and stepped forward.
The exterminator before him seemed like death itself. The metallic sheen of his alloy armor blinded him, and the massive gun made him cower in fear.
In a voice like that of a sick child, Falco greeted him. "Hello, sir… How can this lowly being help you today?"
The atmosphere was tense; one held all the cards, while the other was drowning in debt. Scared out of his mind, Falco awaited his fate, ready to flee if necessary.
His thoughts were interrupted by a resounding laugh. "Pfhhh! You can't be serious! 'This lowly being'? Who do you think you are?"
"Well, at least he's amused," he thought.
Wiping away his tears, the exterminator looked at him, smiled, and then quickly switched demeanor. Taking him by the collar, he demanded,
"I remember you! Weren't you there today while we were murdering those traitors? What do you have to say about that, huh?"
Stammering, Falco wanted to retort that he had only been working, but all that came out was a pitiful plea.
"I—I just work there, sir! Please believe me! I promise I've done nothing wrong!"
If looks could kill, Falco would have been dead already, but after tense seconds, the exterminator let him go without harm.
"Alright then… If you want us to believe you, show your loyalty. A… donation to our cause."
He was speechless. Was this the real reason he was stopped?
His hand felt heavy as he reached into his pocket and retrieved his week's paycheck.
Patting him on the shoulder as he released his grip, the exterminator said provocatively, "Very good. I appreciate your donation to the government. Next time, I hope to see you donate it by yourself, alright?"
The "boy" in front of him smiled and nodded.
Turning around, the iron-clad warrior made his way back, only to stop right before entering his "car". Pointing upwards with a grin as wide as it was taunting, he gave Falco some wisdom.
"Hey there, you do know it's dusk, right? Maybe, you know... leave before it gets too dangerous? I feel that you'd lose horribly in a fight, and I don't feel like losing a valuable donor, you know?"
And with that, their "conversation" was over. Both the exterminator and his vehicle departed without a trace.
The taunt echoed through the silence left by the vehicle. For a long while, Falco didn't move, couldn't move.
His sporadic breathing stopped as he bit his tongue hard. The coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth as a howl left his throat.
With a visceral scream, he tore the helmet from his head and hurled it to the ground. The metal frame bent slightly—a pathetic echo of his fury.
"I'll kill you!" The thought was clear and cold; frigid even. Never had he been humiliated like this. His insults stung harder than a needle. He felt worse than trash. But first, he had to survive. The Exterminator's final, mocking wisdom was the only truth that mattered. Night was treading on his heels. "I'll fucking kill you all!"
As he bent to retrieve the crooked helmet, his foot slipped. The cold, rocky pavement rose to meet him, striking his face with a sickening crack.
Sprawled on the ground with nothing left to lose, he screamed to the world, not caring who heard. "I'll fucking kill you all!"
_*_*_
Sometime later, the shadow of a passing human jumped up and down as it crossed buildings. That shadow was Falco, who was navigating the confusing labyrinth known as Rosehold. He took care with his position, making sure to avoid the more dangerous paths. In a district ruled by crime and violence, not all roads were safe, especially when survival depended on knowing whom and what to steer clear of. Still, for someone who had only lived here for 6 years, Falco had become used to the strenuous habit of surveying his surroundings.
Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Falco moved from one abandoned building to another, slipping through broken windows to cover his tracks. Now nearing his home, he crept into the last building on his route, kicking up dust as he descended to the first floor.
It was then that he saw it.
In the middle of the room, on the first floor, he noticed a little red and blue flower growing under the light of the sun. A part of the ceiling had fallen due to time and corrosion, letting the little flowers get a source of nutrition. Typically, one wouldn't feel anything but fear looking at vegetation, but Falco was happy. It had been a long while since he'd last seen a flower as beautiful as this. But sadly, even though he was reluctant, duty called.
The unstable floor creaked as he walked to the base of the two flowers. His heart aching, he stomped on them vigorously, making sure they couldn't survive. His bandanna tightly pulled up to his nose and with his gloves on, he bent down and dispersed the thin line of dirt that they'd once grown out of. The scary thoughts of what could happen didn't deter him from protecting himself from the harsh reality of the Flower Cough.
Standing up, Falco finally noticed, through the skylight, that dusk was coming to a close. The gleaming twilight was turning into an ember of what it once was, as it inched closer to its horizon. The golden color of the sky wasn't a sign of happiness for the people here; it was a reminder that things were going to get tougher. With the arrival of the somber sky, criminals took the reins of the city, ready to kill and take whatever they wanted.
Tracing back his steps, he turned and faced the entrance as he thought of going home. However, he stopped right in his tracks after noticing a strange marking behind the broken door. With wide eyes he stared incredulously at the orange graffiti, his grip starting to fail.
"H—How..."
This, after everything, was the last thing he'd expected to see today.
First, a pile of rubble blocked his normal route, then he had been stopped by an Exterminator and now he found the elusive insignia of the rebellion...
His heart pumped and his chest rose vigorously. He distantly observed the art piece. He knew he had to go, but his body didn't move—his mistake. This was the first time he'd seen the cursed object in person.
A resounding thud shattered his stupor.
"W—What?"
Falco dropped into a crouch, his knife already in hand—when had he drawn it? His eyes, frantic, scanned the broken room. The insignia. Was it a trap? Had the extermination squad followed him?
Ready to fight, his hands were raised close to his head. Seconds stretched as he listened and moved towards a safer corner. Was he truly protected? His breath caught; his eyes finally landed on a fallen piece of plaster. Was this the culprit?
He didn't feel relief. Only a colder, sharper fear. What if this was just a distraction? Falco sheathed his knife with a resounding click. He had to get out. Now.
His feet ran wild; he quickly reached the front door as he finally set his sights on his abode.
His body felt a strange tinge of worry as he dashed down the empty street; he was but a deer in headlights after all.
Falco shuddered with each shot he heard far in the distance. Even if it made him look like a fool, he swerved and rolled around in the dirt like a crazed mutt.
His house was within reach. He even smelled his sister's signature cooking. But right as he made it to the doorstep, he continued running. It would be impossible for Falco to jeopardise Mia's safety by bringing unwanted attention.
Delving deeper into the darkness, he found a different house to seek refuge in. If only temporarily.
Night dragged on, his sister probably worried. He hid under a window and carefully listened for any footsteps; his gaze fixed on the closed door. He winced with every shot fired from a distance. His knife had long been unsheathed; its sheen reflecting the cold light from the moon. His throat clenched as his mind began to wander. Looking at the blade, he silently spoke to it.
"Thanks... Dad."
And with that, he waited, crouched under the window.
Falco held his head as he thought about the situation. There were no footsteps, nobody shot at him and he wasn't followed. Was he really this paranoid? His eyes winced; he thought of the fallen piece of plaster. Could it have really fallen due to time?
His passive eyes, still lingering on the door, then saw a small movement. The door was slightly creaking, a firm hand pushing it. Mindless, Falco quickly dove through the window and sprinted to high ground. The land was vacant with no signs of life. He held his breath, expecting an imaginary bullet, only for him to get behind cover right after. He inched closer to a ladder and climbed up immediately after. Hoping that he'd be unseen.
Lying flat on his stomach, he started listening again. Only for him to shudder at their words.
"Get that son of a bitch right now! I want him captured or killed!"
His paranoia, annoying at times, had saved him once more.
Many were around him, looking for the escaped victim. What had he done?
Testing his luck, he lifted his head. The land was no longer vacant, with it holding three more people. At least they weren't exterminators, he thought while holding his breath. Time stood still as he stayed quiet, hoping that they wouldn't find him.
Like a smoker, the man's voice was grating and unrelenting.
"Scour the area now! Find him!"
Like termites, the three men spread out and searched every nook and cranny, one creeping much too close.
The man walked up the ladder, taking his time to inspect the windows, seeing if anybody was within their confines. His anticipation quickly died out as he found nothing, only for him to be surged with adrenaline right after. His throat was tightly gripped; he tried pleading, only for his voice to come out muffled; his lungs filled with crimson. He tried to move, push, and do something. But nothing worked... His life had been thoroughly snuffed out. With his last remaining strength, he weakly stared at the runaway and gave him the finger. Turning limp right after.
Dirtied and "wet", Falco started his search. Why were they looking for him? Why must his luck be so bad?
Wanting to find answers, he delved deeper into the man's pockets, only to find a few Kreds and a knife. Discouraged, he took his hat and other light garments to compensate. The hunted Falco, with some second thoughts, then jumped to another roof and directed himself in the opposite direction of the other two. He navigated through the alleyways expertly, and dove for cover if he felt watched. Crouching, he "cleaned" himself with some dirt and forged forward; his home close.
With the blood trail now stopped, he continued.
Long minutes passed by like this, with him stopping and listening. But eventually, his doorstep revealed itself.
Stepping on the rotting wood, Falco went up and reached the door, his quivering unrelenting. With some difficulty, he took out his key ring and with 3 fast knocks and 1 slower knock, he inserted the key and opened the door.
The lights were off, and the spicy aroma was gone. Taking a deep breath, Falco closed the door and anticipated his sister's call. With nothing coming his way, he panicked and called out.
"Open the lights dumbass, it's me."
Thankfully, Mia, who was taking cover right behind the table, sprung out and greeted him with a contagious smile; her pesky voice ruining the silent mood.
"What took you so long? I was getting worried you know!"
She held a knife as her arms stood firmly on the counter-top.
His shoulders dropped; he let out a final breath as he closed his eyes and began thinking.
"What should I tell her?"
There was no way he could tell her everything. It was his job to make her life less worrisome, not more dangerous. He of course wanted to lay down, but Falco had to go through the interrogation first.
"Whoa, take it easy, I just got inside. Let me at least take off my coat and wash my hands."
With his back turned, he took off his coat and hid the other pieces of clothing within it, trying to hide the evidence.
Taking this advantage, his sister came from behind and hugged him, startling him.
"Why were you so late?"
Her hug became forceful; her words sharper than before.
Stammering, Falco tried his best to lie, his expression betraying his words.
"Well... I—uh, had gotten stuck on my usual route, which you shouldn't take anymore, because it caved in."
Now, turning to face her glare, Falco continued.
"And I also found some flowers..."
With a gasp, Mia pushed her brother and backed away.
"Are you insane! Get away!"
Standing in place, Falco tried to explain, only to be cut off by Mia's words.
"Don't worry! I had some protection on! Plea—"
"Shut up! I don't want you to be the newest victim to the Cough. Don't you remember what happened to that poor girl? Her skin turned black with blisters as big as apples!"
Her knife long gone, Mia stared at her brother, her last family, with soft eyes. What would happen if he were to die? To leave her in this cursed world alone...
"Please, Mia, I'm safe. You're safe. Nothing is going to happen."
The room turned quiet right after he finished; the silence deafening.
With a step forward, she came up to him. Trying hard not to be sad.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
With that, she then hugged him; Falco patted her head.
His muscles relaxed and his mind drifted to kinder, better thoughts. He had just experienced one of his worst days and just wanted to crumble down.
Their comforting session abruptly ended with the sound of Falco's gurgling stomach. Embarrassed, he let go of Mia and went to the table where a hot, tasty bean stew awaited him.
"Anyway, Mia, how was your day?"
Standing at the other end of the table, Mia was cheerfully thinking of what to say.
Once she started, there was no end to it.
It commenced with her work and how bored she was washing dishes; her face strangely flustered. She talked about the little things in life; how frigid the morning had been and how the perfect replacement for her hair tie had appeared. This was Falco's favourite part of the day.
Still listening to her, he stared at the already half-empty bowl, contemplating the amount of food he'd eaten in only a few minutes.
Right when she was about to get to the good part, her brother interrupted her.
"Hey, how much did this cost again?"
Her face twitched. Why would he ask this?
"Why do you ask? It was only fifty Kreds for five bags, great deal, no?"
His face darkened at the thought. Fifty Kreds? Fifty! If only it wasn't for that rotten thief, he would have been fine.
"Was that too expensive?"
His jumbled thoughts were dispelled with that question. Wanting to reassure her, he lied.
"No, no. It's fine, I didn't expect to get such a good deal you know."
And with that her mood lifted.
She continued speaking, not caring if he listened or not.
"Well, after I finished work, I tried asking the boss for any information on Eva's whereabouts, but it came to nothing; he hadn't heard anything about it sadly."
Finishing the plate, he pushed it aside and went to the sink, washing his face. Under his shallow breathing, he voiced his one-dimensional worries for her friend.
"Well, I hope she'll be alright."
Slightly discouraged, she looked at her feet as she agreed with him.
"Yeah..."
Their conversation continued, light and endless. They touched the usual topics; self-defense, cooking, their life before exile and their parents. Things they'd already discussed countless times, not really adding to the matter.
Their jubilant conversation died down, like everything inevitably did, having expanded on every topic. They both went quiet, not caring about the stillness of the room. Their bond was stronger than any silence.
He got up, understanding that the day was finally coming to a close.
Standing in front of the clothes rack and changing to a different set of clothes, Falco yawned as he finished and sat down on the couch, now in a more comfortable set of clothes; his little sister diligently washing the dishes.
Drowsy, he closed his eyes, wishing to rest. However, Mia, now done, had a better idea.
"Hey, Falco, wanna practice the move you showed me last time?"
He didn't. His body wished the absolute contrary. But her birthday being tomorrow, he couldn't refuse.
Opening his eyes, he took a deep breath and sprung back into life.
Moaning in pain, Falco tried to talk, only for him to be on the defensive.
With a sneaky blow to the liver, the fight started. Falco tried his best not to knock down the furniture as he dodged her moves. His hands tightly guarded his head while he winced in pain; his tone exclaiming his discontent.
"Damn it, Mia! Can't you start a fight normally?"
The pressure unyielding, Mia casually laughed as she kept throwing punch after punch. Exclaiming her pleasure with a cheeky grin.
"No one is going to start a fair fight out there you know!"
She was right; nobody was going to call out their opponent and casually challenge them to a duel.
His head swerving low, Falco dodged and threw a jab, only for it to be intercepted by a flying Mia, who held his left arm tightly. Lamps fell and the house shook as they both landed on the ground, Mia holding him in a tight armbar.
"Hell yeah! I got it!" her pleased voice rang down as Falco tried lifting her to no avail. "Tap out! Do it! I know you want to!" This was the closest she had gotten to victory. Would she be able to obtain it?
Even though Mia was considerably weaker and lighter than her brother, nothing could be done to escape her mighty grasp. Falco feared losing for the first time.
Looking around the room, hoping he would find something to help, Falco thought of something ingenious. His hand no longer protecting his left arm, Mia thought that he'd finally given up, only for her to feel a strange sensation at the sole of her foot. That sensation grew and became annoying. The realization made her worry. He was tickling her!
Her grasp weakening, the underdog finally pushed her aside and tackled her; grabbing her neck while holding his fist ready right above her face.
The world froze as they stared at each other, both panting.
She wasn't struggling. Her defeat was inevitable. They both knew that. That was why Falco then exclaimed victory.
"That's... What... You... Get!"
Mia was having none of it.
"Cheater! You don't get to tickle me!"
"Hey hey hey! You started the fight with a liver shot, and I can't do something as simple as tickling you? Hypocrite much?"
Mia, pouting, then swatted his fist, sticking her tongue out in mockery.
"It doesn't matter! I'm right, you're wrong! Get off me, you bum!"
At her request, Falco happily got off her as he rolled onto the ground, grunting as his back hit the floor.
"No, that's called innovation. Learn it!"
Falco had spent the last drops of his energy fighting his sister. The aftermath was too intense for him to handle. The fatigue, so profound, made his bones feel heavy as he tried limping around.
Mia, by now, was long gone. He couldn't ask her for help because she didn't know how truly tired he was. He didn't tell her anything after all. His throat ached as he called out to her, trying to make her do one last chore before sleeping.
"Hey! Mia... Go check the doors and windows while I try and rest, please..."
From a distance, she answered him.
"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry. You go there and sit still like a grandpa drunk on alcohol."
He grumbled at the blow, but he didn't have the energy to care. The last thing he saw before falling asleep was the hanging clock which read eleven p.m. It was late. He had to sleep.
With the lights turned off by Mia, he then closed his eyes once more, not caring for the lack of a blanket.
Clear thoughts turned muddy as he delved deeper within his dreams. He heard his sister walking around, doing what he'd asked. But it didn't really register. He was truly succumbing to the pull of his mind; the floor turning into his resting point.
_*_*_
He breathed heavily. "What is this?" he thought. The floor was now bathed in blood, which seemed endless. The house was silent—no movement.
He was frozen in fear. What happened? Who did this?
He unclicked the sheath, retrieved his knife and went towards the main room, not caring about anything else. Was Mia safe? Was she okay?
The door was open, only a sliver letting light in. Coming up to the crack, Falco took a glance, only to be horrified.
He burst the door wide open as he ran to her side.
There was blood everywhere: the sleeping bags, the drapes, the blankets, the heat generator. No space was left without that red ichor.
He crouched at her side, panicked as he held her tightly, hoping for a pulse, a breath, something.
"Why? Why? Why? Why? Why!"
She wasn't breathing, the body was cold, and there were no footprints.
He cried as he desperately tried to revive Mia, knowing its futility.
Covered in crimson blood, Falco cried as he screamed; his visage scarier than a demon.
"NO!"
His knuckles bled as he hit the floor, and his head rang as he hit the wall. Was there any reason to live?
He quieted down, accepting the loss. She was dead; it was clear. Nothing could be done.
Acceptance didn't mean continuing to live. All it meant was that he acknowledged the fact that Mia had died. It was then that he tried to strangle himself, not thinking of any other solution.
But, under all this turmoil, Falco regained his prior "calm" as he heard footsteps, his knife in hand.
At the door stood the same grin he'd grown to loathe; his visage as provocative as it had been.
Furiously he snarled, not caring about his life.
"You...?"
Looking around once more, he continued.
"You did...this?
Laughing, the man clad in armor spoke.
"Well of course, gopher boy! You're my toy now after all. Can't be having you distracted, right?"
With a powerful lunge, Falco tried to stab him; his speed even surprising the exterminator.
"Oh, you have some skills there boy. You're more useful than I thought—."
"SHUT UP!"
Falco tried his best. He slashed, cut and lunged; using all the leftover energy.
Feinting a hit, Falco jumped up and grazed the man's face, angering him.
"You filthy dog! I'll fucking kill you!"
With him being so exhausted, Falco was no match for his speed and strength. It took the Exterminator only a few hits to paralyse him from the pain.
On the ground, breathless, Falco tried to stab him from below, only for his knife to be kicked out of his hand.
Holding his head, the exterminator put his gun in his mouth.
"Remember this, mutt!"
The click of a gun was the last thing he'd heard. Praying that justice would come to him. To everyone in this cursed city.
_*_*_
Cold sweat ran down his back.
"What... Was... That..."
He looked at the clock once more. Two a.m.
Hiding himself within his palms, he gave out a sigh.
"That was one wicked dream."
The lingering taste of gunpowder made him shudder. Was this a premonition, or just a nightmare?
Getting up, he went to check.
The door was open, with a slight crack in its frame.
He was shaking uncontrollably as he pushed it open.
There, in the middle of the room, was the sleeping beauty herself, safely tucked into her sleeping bag.
The drapes were clean, the sleeping bags weren't torn, the blinds covered the window, and the heat generator made the room's temperature pleasant.
He was relieved.
"Screw you, brain!" he thought as he went to the window, checking its bolt, which was open.
His nerves tensed as he realized the implication.
Turning around, making sure not to wake her up, he checked the room again, making sure there wasn't anything out of place.
No footprints, nothing missing; his sister was safe. Was this a false alarm?
It wouldn't be the first time.
He adjusted his stance as he took a better look at the room.
He knew there wasn't anybody in the rest of the house; he had been sleeping there after all. Nothing had changed or moved in the short three hours that he'd been in the living room. There was nothing indicative of a threat, only his wild imagination.
The exterminator?
No, that was just his nightmare. What kind of government worker would you be if you killed a whole family just to please your sickening pleasure?
He was simply being delusional.
Checking the lock one more time, Falco then got into his sleeping bag, trying to calm his nerves.
"That wasn't real. It's just my imagination."
His mind buzzed through the events of the day. The rebar-filled pathway, his kind donation to the policing force of the city, the flower, insignia, his encounter with the bandits and his sibling banter.
His head, light from all the thinking, sunk into the pillow it rested on; his thoughts almost ending right there. But, before they did, he took a final glimpse of his sleeping sister, who was safe. Happy that the horrible dream was only a figment of his imagination, he finally closed his eyes.
A single, final sound exited his mouth. A vow as strong as it was emotional.
"I'll fucking kill you all."