Synopsis: It's the ultimate curfew enforcer… Welcome to Zenole, where monsters prowl the street each night. Every citizen must be inside when the clock strikes 7… or they will receive instant death. When the Assix shelter is closed down, its inhabitants must fight their way to the morning. Every morning. Will they survive? Will they ever be able to find safety? And how far are they willing to go? ※〜※〜※ When Darkness Falls Darkness is descending already. The woman hastily scrounges in her bag for a few rusted coins, which she tosses onto the aged wooden counter. It's 6:53 p.m. No one else is in the store; any sane person would be in safety by now. "Excuse me, can you tell me which direction the Assix Shelter is in?" The shopkeeper grins, shoving the coins into his filthy waistband with fingers charred from smoking cigarettes to their bare stubs. "Sure, darlin'. It's gettin' awfully close ta the Tollin', though. Ya wanna stay the night here?" She recalls how his wife and children peered warily at her through layers of bruises as she walked in -- as well as the blatant way he stares at her chest. The man has to be at least double her 21 years. Shuddering inwardly, she politely declines, "No, thank you." "Ya sure? Shame ta see a lovely young thing like ya git killed. Sweetheart, ya wouldn't even have ta pay a rent. Ya could repay me in… other ways." "No, I'm really okay. Thank you for offering, though. Could you just--" "Alright, alright. Ya loss, though," he muttered. "Jus' go outside and take a left. Keep walkin' 'til ya see the sign." "Thanks." She snatches her wares and dashes out the door on travel-weary feet. The lock slides firmly into place. It's now 6:55. Five minutes. Tendrils of the icy December air slip under her torn clothes, threading themselves through her tangled ebony hair until even the Torture Fires seem appealing. She wishes desperately for her swan-feather coat and mink hat to replace the virtual rags she's wearing right now. But no. Her winter clothes -- along with all of her other stolen possessions -- were taken away after her cottage was seized, leaving her with only shelter clothes from various landfills around the area. 6:57. The rapid clacking of her combat boots on the cracked pavement reverberates through the closely packed buildings, causing curious eyes to pop up and catch a glimpse of the person who will be dead in the morning. Not if she can help it. A few large estates have replaced the -- most likely -- shabbiest buildings. They're a stark contrast to the peeling paint and grime-coated windows of the other structures. 6:58. The woman is running now, sprinting; like the gusts that have grown stronger and stronger, she's becoming faster and faster, desperate to reach the shelter before… No. She will survive this night. After all, she's survived so much before -- an attack that claimed both her parents' lives when she was just 11, homelessness, poverty, torture, betrayal, almost everything. This will just become another addition to the long list. She reaches the shelter and grasps the door handle. Locked. 6:59. The Assix Shelter sign creaks in the gale one final time before crashing to the ground with a piercing bang. Her long, wavy hair whips around her face, obstructing her vision of the decrepit metal door. The cold engulfs her. Frigid wind wraps its arms around her in a vice-like grip, squeezing the life out of her until she can't stop shaking. That's not even her worst problem. An amethyst hued glance pleads with the town clock to just stop ticking, stop counting down the seconds to her demise. She should have never stopped for supplies. It was almost certain death to not have a Sleepaxon in a shelter, but freezing to death or being infected would be preferable to being outside after 7:00. No one answers the desperate pounding on the door. No one answers the infuriated shrieks. No one answers the hysterical sobs. The warning bell begins tolling, once, twice. It will be exactly 7:00 after seven of the deafening bongs. Seconds later, everyone on the streets will be dead. ※〜※〜※ I'm finally writing again. Let's make this the first story on here I actually finish. Criticism is welcomed/requested. And just as a disclaimer, I won't be too frequent on updates. It might take a while.
Who the hell are you to say it's crap? Better try to write something and then I'll tell you what a big piece of shit it is spitfire.
It's crap, needs improvement. but yeah it's crap, work on it and it might become a beautiful piece of Crap
※〜※〜※ "Come on. Please…" The woman gives a small whimper as the far-off screeching begins. It gradually becomes louder and louder, announcing the imminence of her death… The door hurtles open with a resounding bang, and she is pulled inside the shelter by a muscular pair of arms. Someone slides the wooden bar over the door once more. She cringes at the smacking sounds of… them arriving seconds too late. "Who are you?" "A-Alya." She can't suppress the slight tremor in her schooled, fluent speech. The man's strong arms around her seems to be her only comfort. Wait, the man? Alya hastily steps away from his embrace and clutches her satchel to her chest. There's an unpleasant feeling in her stomach, almost like an absence of-- She doesn't let herself dwell on it. Something like this would put her at a huge disadvantage. An oil lantern is lit and she peers into the dim light it casts, trying to discern the amount of people in the shelter. Her efforts are futile. All she can see is the kind-looking auburn woman holding the light aloft, looking at her curiously with large, forest green eyes. "I'm Linden. This is Leonie," she gestures to an adorable, miniature version of herself and continues, "my younger sister. She's seven." Alya is then introduced rapidly to almost everyone else in the shelter. The inhabitants all vary in age, weight, size, skin color, and hair color, but there's something remarkably similar about all of them. It isn't until she reaches an old woman when she realizes the defining characteristic. Every single person has bags under their eyes, a weary expression, an exhausted air about them. Every single person survived something no one should ever go through. Every single person fought when all the odds were against them. Even tiny little Leonie seems mature beyond her years. It makes Alya wonder, does she belong with them? Is she also a fighter? "Do you have a Sleepaxon?" The man's low voice shatters her reverie. He was the one who had held Alya in his arms, whose name -- Calyx -- she had learned, but whose face she had not yet seen. "Yes, I do," Alya answers. The lantern has gotten a bit brighter and she can now see the people surrounding her. They all have torn, ragged Sleepaxons that seem mere days from falling apart. Alya's shabby Sleepaxon -- the one she had just purchased before arriving at the shelter -- is a luxury set compared to the others. In fact, all of Alya's torn and filthy possessions are practically new when based off everyone else's. Linden and Calyx crawl into their Sleepaxons. Alya does the same. The Sleepaxons were invented decades ago, when tiny, insect-like monsters began accompanying the larger ones. They infiltrated the buildings and killed masses. In an attempt to save the human race, Sleepaxons were invented, almost like a sleeping bag except for the top closes all the way over someone's head. An air bubble with never-ending oxygen rests at the head space with a built-in pillow. To get inside, all the user has to do is push his or her feet into the top. The top of the Sleepaxon splits open and "swallows" the person. It closes without a trace of a seam automatically once the user is inside and opens at the bottom with the same method in reverse. Sleepaxons are the only solution to surviving the bitter nights in Zenole. Alya listens for a sound splitting the silence of the shelter, a voice calling out her name. There are none. Everyone must have already slid inside their respective Sleepaxons. When she is certain no one will need her again tonight, she allows herself to break down. Alya cries herself to sleep once more. ※〜※〜※ Sorry if it's a bit boring. I didn't proofread because I'm a lazy bitch, and I'm trying to get some information across so you understand some events that will occur later on. Oh, and most of the characters are in their early 20s. ?Tell me if you want to be walled when there's an update.
Yeah I know, and I don't even like sci fi.? I was intending for this to be fantasy but something will happen that will leave no doubt it's sci fi. It'll get better. I have a super snazzy ending planned out.