Setting the scene…
Interactive story
Scorched Earth
Last Cigarette Under The Rock He was the last of forty-four. Educated killers in clean boots. The best, they said, then broke. Forty-three went into stone. Into fluorescent burrows, teeth bared. They fought until numbers meant…
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Previously
…He sat down, the vinyl of the stool groaning under his weight. He didn't ask for anything. He just sat, the silence of the diner a pale imitation of the silence inside him. He watched the woman pour him a mug of coffee, her movements slow and deliberate. It was hot. It was real. And for a fleeting moment, the shadow behind his ribs seemed to recede, just a fraction. He would drink this, and then he would find him. The one who had taken the sun with him. The one who had vanished to prove some brutal splendor. He would find him, and then he would understand. Or maybe, just maybe, he would finally begin to forgive himself.