[h2][i]A wind of change...[/i][/h2]
Whether of serene woods or the smothering man-made jungle, men are always embedded in a symphony of melodies they're perfectly acquainted with. The chirping birds, the blowing grass shrubs, the turbulent streams, the gentle murmur of TV characters at low volume, the humming of current transformers, the voice of casual passers-by, the distant white noise, mishmash of all sorts of anthropic sounds, there's always a sweet (and sometimes sour) sound. Sometimes there is too auditory blank - many enjoy stillness especially if they are creatures born or bred to appreciate deep introspection.

Yet there is no acquaintance or parallel that can prepare one for this damp new world. The silence is unforgiving, and the sounds, even more so. There are very very few of them. That of a faraway pulse. That of viscous flow. An almost pitch-black atmosphere. Every now and then, a deep growl of non-carbon based lifeforms. Shrieking freaks gargling whenever they see fit. Unintelligible wails of semi-sentient beings. Tormenting. Ambiance built to torment. A world built to torment. 

But Eulalie felt it was cathartic.

At first she thought she had finally died and was thrown in limbo. But, after sighting the iconic New Atlantean Spire, it was clear this was no afterlife trial for the kingdom come. She was perhaps delirant, but definitely alive. Eventually, she recalled the truth-promising nymph and it all clicked - that entity had something to do with all this.

Provided this was no coma or maddened fever dream - and since she had a clear train of thought and sensorial capabilities, it was safe to assume she was experiencing neither of those - she was hand-picked by a semi-deity to unveil what now is clearly a supernatural mystery. And she was imbued with wicked eldritch magic. Her superiority, her potential, her true nature, finally someone, or something, acknowledged it all. No more judgement. No more vapid societal norms. No more medications, emotions, treatments, shackles from her true self. Alone, away from the scrutiny of men's ethics. Freedom? Did it take a voyage to hell for her to feel free?

The howls of sorrow… of those wretched things. Certainly they could disembowel her with ease, but she could do the same to them, and no one would bat an eye. Whether she died or whether she murdered she would have no one to answer but herself. Terrifying, yes, and also cathartic. Freedom to blaze a path as she seemed f-

[h2][i]... swept away.[/i][/h2]
Gunshots. Pow. Pow.

[i]Pow.[/i]

Were the tar-sodden freaks capable of wielding firearms - better yet, from the timbre of the bang Eulalie could tell, handguns? That didn't matter. Even if they could - [i]which they obviously couldn't, right?[/i] - why would them? Their bodies stray far beyond the biological constraints that make bullets effective. Handguns wouldn’t be useful. Shotguns or exploding projectiles, may’haps, but not pistols. That... that must mean one thing, then... only one thing... one goddamn thing.

[i]I'm not... I'm not fucking alone.[/i]

Standing there, in the middle of the road, Eulalie sighed. [i]Of course that bitch would call other people, what were you thinking, Eulalie?[/i] Not even in a surreal post-apocalypse could she be by herself. And if there's another individual, then most certainly there many others as well. Who knows - maybe dozens, maybe hundreds. A new society, perhaps? Mankind to, once again, populate a twisted realm a sadistic deity threw them into?

God, she wished she was in limbo instead.