Today
Everything is quiet. Motionless. No slight breeze of wind. No chirping of crickets. Not even a single drop of water. Nothing. Only a hazy white cloud silently rolling through the air as the hot sun beats down on the weathered, jungle-like expanse of ruins that is Lower Manhattan. The streets below are littered with abandoned cars, chunks of concrete, and the retched corpses of those who weren't destined to survive. Everything is coated in a fine layer of dust.
The sound of heavy footsteps abruptly breaks the silence as a lone figure scampers through the shelled-out remains of a high rise office building. A trail of white dust kicks up behind him as he swiftly maneuvers through an obstacle course of overturned desks and chairs. The wheezing of his lungs, in a feeble attempt to rake in fresh oxygen, is barely audible through his gas mask. Dressed in a thick polar jacket and military-style cargo pants, his attire is merely unsuitable for the damnably hot temperatures of a mid-summer day such as this. A large wooden baseball bat hangs from his back via a make-shift strap. As he reaches the end of the building, the man slows his pace and frantically searches for his next destination. Across the way, he spots another shelled-out building. The faint sound of muffled voices approach from behind him as his focus shifts to the alleyway below. He estimates the drop to be roughly 70 feet in height. "I can do this," he says to himself. He makes one last calculation of distance before taking a few steps back, whirling around and racing back the way he had come.
Multiple heavy footsteps now approach from somewhere else in the building as the voices grow louder. The man stops near an open doorway, about 50 feet back, and takes a moment to catch his breath. "I can do this," he repeats himself. After a few deep breaths, he begins to jog towards the gap with a hint of uncertainty. Clearing his mind, he appoints his focus to maintaining an effective running technique. But the swiftly approaching footsteps provokes him into a full-on charge. He maneuvers through the obstacle course once again as he quickly closes the gap between himself and a likely plunge to his death.
With only a few feet to spare, he adjusts his speed appropriately to acquire proper footing. Taking his last step, he pushes off the edge of the building with his right foot and launches himself into the air. "Oh shit!" Time and space seem to distort. To him, it feels like an eternity passes as he descends into the adjacent building, landing on his feet with a loud thud before collapsing into a shoulder-roll and ending up on his back. He takes another moment to catch his breath and make sure that he's still alive. Then, he clumsily rolls over and rises to his knees.
Four men peer down from the edge of the building he had just leaped from. Each of them are dressed in gas masks and various black clothing smudged with dust. They are visibly exhausted from the chase. One of them, a particularly tall fellow with a blonde mohawk, silently points his machete down at the lone man before pretending to cut his own throat with it; a gesture that he has obvious intentions to kill. Then, the four pursuers disappear from view as they retreat back into the office building, footsteps fading into the distance.
The lone man rises to his feet. He dusts himself off and re-adjusts his gas mask. Finally, he turns around and continues on his way.