It was not long after the nuclear wipe out took place, a monumental event known as The Great Purge. All that was left were just scraps of the human race, the vagabonds, the cowards, the rats from the very darkest corners of grime.

How ironic, only the people too afraid to live were the last one’s left on the earth. The meek shall inherit the earth – it was foretold eons ago, well it seems that prophecy had finally come to pass, and the world had gone to spiraling out of control for it.

In the days before Act III of Humanity came to pass, the people left to breathe in the ashes of their loved ones sank to their knees.

Religion had long since faded from the lips of those whose God was so seemingly absent; it had turned into a simple words used to describe The Great Purge. But even so, with lungs clouded with ash, the people looked to hazy orange skies, with blood-shot eyes and veins bulging painfully from beneath sickly and wan skin.

They looked up at the unmerciful smog and smoke-filled sky as oil slicked tears fell from shattered souls, the meek prayed for the absent, so-called, messiah.

The last of humankind had gathered in small groups of tired and hopeless people, scattered throughout the world; but, the only ones that matter were gathered in the center of what had once been called the city of the future.

It was on that day, one day till night officially fell, that a scruffy teenager barely sixteen dragged himself through the streets of the burnt city.

He had the eyes of days past; clear and pale green; offsetting, in a face caked with death and heartache; hopeful and optimistic, set into the face of someone forced to grow up to quickly.

He had the tooth of a long starved animal buried in his abdomen and he was quickly running out of blood to spare.

The surviving meek where huddled at the very tip of the city near the, now poison, ocean; as the boy stumbled down the road toward them, his eyes met with the eyes of a girl standing at the front of all the survivors.

The girl stared at the boy who was slowly making his way toward her. She was short with even shorter hair, it was cut into a choppy bob that fell midway down her neck. She was distinctly Asian in heritage, Singapore, this city had once been Singapore.

She was pale, powdery, with dark jet black hair and they eyes of a bird of prey. Her eyes though, that is what truly set her apart from the rest of the meek.

They were tawny and gold like a lion, rimmed in a thick layer of dark lashes. Although warm in color, her eyes had the cold, impersonal, precision of a microscope, they were like ice and fire in one person.

She did not strike one, outright as meek, but what had grouped her in with the cowards and vagrants was not that she was cowardly, but she had never tried to live.