[b]March 5th, 2005[/b]

[i]It's been a couple months, and everything's fucked. There's no government anymore, which means no rules. It also means there's nothing taking care of us. No grocery stores giving out food, no electricity or water pumped straight into your homes. Everything has to be done manually or not at all. There's no jobs to go to, no family to come home to. It's dog eat dog, and everything is so fucked.[/i]

Those were Bishops thoughts as he hid in a rundown bus. He was laying under a torn blue seat. He came in looking for supplies, or anything that might've been left. A diseased dog scratched at the bus door. His worst nightmare knew he was there. He barely had time to close the bus doors before it got in, literally snipping at his heels. When it thumped against the door he had to prevent himself from squeaking out of fear. Bishop could barely breathe. 

[i]Maybe it'll get bored and go away. Maybe it'll forget I'm in here.[/i] Bishop's dirty hands covered his mouth. He pressed his hands into his face, doing everything he could to try not to scream. His eyes were closed tight as he listened to the dog slamming it's decaying body against the door. Bits of skin and blood covered the places where the dog continued to hit. The thing was really trying. The damn things would do anything to get a meal, even turn themselves to paste if it meant getting into something. 

Bishop was in New York, scrounging around one of the housing districts. He should've stayed inside of his safe house. It didn't matter that he was hungry. If he would have stayed, he wouldn't be in this mess. 

The dog continued slamming it's body against the bus, causing the vehicle to rock with every slam. Bishop was crying, his hot tears making their way down to the filthy bus floor. He couldn't help but think that the monstrosity outside would soon break the door, find him, and rip him to shreds. If only one of the thousands of citizens of New York were alive to help him.


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