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 started walking, his steps hesitant at first, then gaining a steady rhythm. He didn't know where he was going, only that he was moving towards the light. Towards the truth. Towards the ultimate baptism. He would embrace the fire, let it consume him, purify him. He would become one with the fallen, a sacrifice offered to the cosmic altar. He glanced back once at the grimy hotel, a monument to his isolation and despair. Then he turned his face towards the blinding horizon, the hum growing louder, more insistent, a name whispered on the wind, a promise of recognition. He was ready. The last cigarette had been smoked. The last breath of denial exhaled. Now, only the blaze remained.