[hider=Retribution]
[center]
[url=https://fontmeme.com/fonts/satisfontory-font/][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/210614/ee4d121e08192ece0e5019961aee9cb1.png[/img][/url]

[img]https://www.museums-sheffield.org.uk/assets/image-cache/exhibitions/7.%20John%20Martin%2C%20The%20Great%20Day%20of%20His%20Wrath%20%281851-3%29Tate%2C%20London%2C%202011.3ba8c3bb.jpg[/img]
[/center]
[hr][hr]
[center]
[color=#8A8A8A]
[i]
I listen intently to the radio's static hum while doing my best not to flinch at the cacophony of destruction and death raging several miles above. As I do so, I can't help but wonder why. It's not as if I'll hear anything after all, for the airwaves fell silent decades ago, leaving naught but ghosts in the static behind. Yet here I sit, waiting, praying, hoping. Hoping for anything, even the hair raising wail of the EAS one more time, so long as it breaks the monotonous static laced rumble that has become my life...

Sighing I squeeze my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose in the process, and switch off the radio. Static silenced with the lightest of clicks, its place quickly taken by the quaking high above. It is at this moment that my blood runs cold, for it is now - in the absence of the static, and the space devoid of ghosts - that I finally notice. Finally realize the truth of the matter.

The chaos had crept closer, ever closer, while I sat in ignorance like a fool. Like the ostrich proverbially burying its head in the sand and blinding itself to truth of the world. Lifting my gaze, I feel nothing as the screams draw closer, their fury muffled by nothing save a few feet of reinforced concrete.

Nothing, even as the bunker walls fissure and crack.

Nothing...

Even as [b]it[/b] shatters them all...
[/i]
[/color]
[/center]
[/hider]