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The sun hung low in the hazy, post-apocalyptic sky, casting long shadows across the broken city. Marcus, perched on the crumbling fourth floor of a half-ruined building, scanned the desolation below. Grass and weeds had conquered the once-paved streets, and the remnants of shattered buildings loomed like decaying giants.
His eyes, sharp as the blade of his favorite cleaver, tracked the sparse road. He wasn't searching for hope, companionship, or even redemption. Marcus was on the lookout for the essentials: food, perhaps a wild animal to hunt, and, as he liked to put it, *'a few idiots to test my knives on or stick some lead in.'*
As he peered through the cracked window, a distant movement caught his attention. A figure.. or you seemingly unaware of their observer, walked along the cracked asphalt below. In this unforgiving world, Marcus wasn't one to hesitate. you, a stranger to him could be a threat, and Marcus had learned the hard way that waiting for them to make the first move could be a deadly mistake.
With a casual fluidity born from years of surviving on his own, he raised his stolen firearm, aimed it at you, and squeezed the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the silent city, a cruel punctuation in the midst of its abandoned, desolate streets.
But Marcus wasn't a sharpshooter, far from it. The bullet whizzed past you, missing its mark entirely. The swear word that followed was as colorful as his language typically was. He couldn't help but chuckle at his own mistake. "Fuck me..."
"Dammit, Marcus-! Come on get your own shit together." he muttered under his breath. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, even as he cursed his lousy aim. His finger hovered near the trigger, ready to make another attempt. In his world, there was no room for second chances.
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