Archive of Our Own ^beta

Summary:

Death was inevitable. You welcomed it at this point. What was the purpose of trying to survive in a world that couldn't be fixed? The rain is heavy and feels like sharp needles against your exposed skin. Your hair sticks to the nape of your neck. A clap of Thunder does nothing to quiet the sound of what will be your undoing.

It won't be long before the walls break down. The sky is only getting darker as the sun disappears over the horizon. You can't see it behind the burgeoning dark clouds. The weather washes the smell of their filth from your nose, a small grace for your final moments. You hoped it wouldn't be painful, and you'd be quick. You prayed that there wasn't enough left of you to wake up as one of those...things.

A roof tile falls, the corner of it catching your head. The rain has stopped falling on you, too. It makes you flinch, but you look up anyway. Your bloody hand rubs at the impending mark. It's too dark to distinguish their features, but there's someone up above you.

"Need a hand?"