Shift rounded a corner into an alleyway and continued running. He was too tired at this point to call on his powers, but running was enough to keep him ahead. He was being chased by a man who called himself “Demigod.”  With the ability to shoot fire, Demigod thought himself quite powerful.  Shift just thought he was catching up.  He mustered the last of his strength, thinking he had enough juice left for one more shot.  Turning around, he noticed that Demigod was almost upon him: there would be no second chances.  The wielder of fire wore a gleeful smile as fire leapt from his hand towered Shift.  But victory was not to be his, as the target disappeared moments before impact.  The hunter let out a cry of anger and pounded his fist against the nearby wall.  After about another 10 minutes of looking for his prey, he slowly walked back to his hideout, wherever it was.  His target lay exhausted on a nearby rooftop.  He was thankful for the narrow escape, but at the same time angry with himself that it had been so narrow.  He’d had five years to hone his skills.  As he thought back to the beginning of the new age, he reached up and tightened the blindfold under which his eyes would forever remain hidden.

World war three began six years ago, and ended a year later.  Resources were running out, and everyone wanted what was left.  The British army instituted the draft.  To avoid being cannon fodder, Shift had signed up to be a fighter pilot.  Of course, his first military flight proved to be his last.  He could barely remember the “good old days”.  Back when there were billions of people covering the earth.  Perhaps, of those, there were 10 million left.  The enormity of it lay like a lead weight upon his shoulders.  He found it difficult to remember the sounds and smells, let alone the sights.  He could hardly remember his own name.  Not that it mattered.   All evidence of his past was gone.  Even his accent had faded over the years.  Somehow, in those few hours the entire world had been destroyed.  Even the Russian lunar outpost had not been spared.  Shade knew what had happened- though no one knew how.  The others told him it was also evidenced in the jagged dark spot on the moon and the bluish tint it now held. Not that Shift could see it.  Shift couldn’t see anything  The last thing he had seen was a brilliant flash of light, of a color he had never seen before, or again.  He had watched the craft of his friends seemingly disintegrate before his eyes- the one image he could not forget.  He had heard their dying screams through the radio- the banshee calls whispering to him never to forget.  Never to forget the day that changed the face of the world.  So many had died. Those that lived would never be the same.  Everyone thought it was Armageddon, and for most it was.  Society quickly disappeared.  Slowly, small gangs had popped up.  Some were very large, with hundreds of members, others quite small- Shift had known some to be as small as three,  or, in his case, four.  He decided that he had rested enough to return home. If anywhere in this crazy world could be considered a home.  He stood up to depart, and abruptly the rooftops and alleyways were empty, at least for this night.