1.2 (Reminiscing)

After unlocking the four deadbolts Tolstoy took a deep breath, he hated going outside. Granted his room was a dump and a breeding ground for disease, but what loomed outside was far worse. Before the unlocking the fifth lock he grabbed a loaded sawed off shotgun off of the television and a box full of ammo from underneath a pile of shirts. Rounds in his pocket and shotgun in hand, he was as ready as he could be. Trembling, he took a final swig of vodka for good measure and inched the door wide open.
He stood on the balcony and began to survey his surroundings. Though he was fairly drunk the training he once had gave him a poignant eagle eye which was lightly mixed with a small dose of paranoia. The scene had not changed since his last outing. With the stairs heading down to the bottom level directly to his left, to the right was nothing but a burned out cavern of shoddy architecture. Looters had taken control of the hotel during the war and most of it had been destroyed. Televisions were gone, needles were everywhere, and a few of the beds were inhabited; but mostly by hookers. Suburbia had come down to this. The smell of death still lingered as fires in the distance burned bright consuming other once useful buildings.
No one was in sight. Not a soul, not even the general call girl cliental. It was silent. Tolstoy liked that. A light wind gave him solace as he closed his eyes trying to reminisce upon that which was quickly fading. The earliest he could remember was the year 2003. He was fifteen years old and all that he held onto were a barrage of flashes from multiple screens. He remembered having friends and he remembered two girlfriends. He could even remember a little sister and his parents; they floated around in his mind as faceless beings whose silhouettes seemed to bring either comfort or great disdain. He remembered the games though. They built him. At an early age he learned how to kill and laugh at the suffering. Pixels were forever burned into his fragmented memory establishing one of the only foundations for reality. As war broke out he climbed through the ranks saying a silent prayer for his upbringing. Mercy was a word he had made his enemy.
Seven years later the war began. Nobody saw it coming. Over night New York and Miami were underwater. Multiple nuclear weapons were simultaneously detonated leaving the thriving metropolises as mud and rubble. March 14, 2010. It was a day that lived in infamy. Panic gripped the entire nation as riots broke out in every other city. Within two days Atlanta was in flames. Three days later Boston imploded in an uproar of violence. Paranoia had become the proper diet of the east coast and it seemed to be moving farther west.
No one knew who it was. Some blamed the government, others the Muslims. Our eye had been on North Korea and Iran for many years at this point and fingers were being pointed in every direction. Venezuela was even a chief candidate. There were too many fingers and not a single one held clarity. Within a week the entire military had been dispatched to the eastern seaboard. Chaos reigned and the body count was high. Cities could be found by following the flocks of starving birds massing to feed. Hope was far gone as even DC was succumbing to mob rule.
It was July 4th and things seemed to be mildly contained. Nineteen million had died over the course of a few months and the government was on the brink of collapse, they still held a decent image. Despite the horrors; much of the nation west of the Mississippi though that most of the problems were mostly over. Propaganda spread like wildfire. The CIA even gained control over You Tube. 6:35 hit Seattle, Washington with a loud hum. Out of nowhere fleets of helicopters approached the city out of thin air. The city was unprepared and fell within the course of a day and a half. Amidst the ashes the helicopters landed unloading squadron after squadron of troops. They stood triumphant in the smoke of Seattle’s remaining embers. Bright red uniforms marked with hints of gold. Each one bore a black helmet and face mask for filtering toxins. Silence settled with dust as the golden gleam above there skulls shone forth a bright hammer and sickle, an empire revived like Frankenstein’s monster. Stillness alone was what they brought with them for the initial hours. The United States had begun to sink into a coma, years of recompense were about to be given to the piper.

The wind picked up as a piece of paper hit Tolstoy’s face snapping him out of his static filled flashes. He crumpled it into his pocket as he returned back inside for another drink. The night was young and he needed his hip flask if he was to do anything of any magnitude. With a sigh he dashed back in. His headache was only worsened for the disdain he had for his current situation.