You are inside a residential tower, within one of the units. The paint is peeling, and the floor is strewn with twenty years' worth of dust and debris. It's night. The generator's tank has run dry, and the room is dark save for the flicker of the fireplace. Within, people who have never met wait for the end.
Lunar Aphelion sits at the dining room table. An array of shotguns is lined up before her, and a smile is on her face, though it might just be rigor mortis. She loads one last shell, then lays the gun on the table.
Across from her sits Gienah. Next to her is a cup of Assam tea, brewed from the very last of a dear friend's stash. She lifts the cup to her lips, and when she sets it down, it's empty.
In a rotting armchair by the fireplace sits Prima Giedi. An empty pistol lies on the end table beside her, and in her hands is a book of poetry by Millay. She turns the final page, then, with a sigh, closes the cover.
Beid is on the balcony. Her last cigarette burns down to the filter. She exhales a long cloud of smoke, then removes it from her mouth and casts it to the ground below.
Angetenar isn't here. They are in the street below, where they belong, scenting for prey. There will be no more, but it's the principle of the thing.
A dented portable generator has been set up here. It is out of fuel. Repair Bot damages and fixes it over and over again, emitting small confused beeps. No one pays it much mind.
The room has been decorated with four stuffed monkeys. They seem to be watching you.
Somebody has spraypainted We love Cade Bot, in this world or the next onto a wall.
