(First story on here so... Giving it a go ) Scrambling to haul myself over the wreckage of a collapsed elevator door, I can hear the shouting of men — their voices raised in anger, jumbling over each other into chaotic, incoherant noise - drawing closer rapidly. The collapsed steel of the door is cut off at the top but just above the height I am capable of reaching. Desperate, I fling myself upwards, grapsing the top of the collapsed metal and hang there, panting from the effort of running previously. The noise is louder, the men closer. I try to calm myself with the thought that Silver promised I wouldn't die on this job and the only thing I had ever been truly certain of in life was that Silver is never wrong. Wishing I wasn't so damn scrawny and had some decent arm muscles I pulled myself up with the little energy I had left, the backpack behind me swinging precariously but it was safely secured with a strap over one shoulder. It'd be a real shame to loose the one thing this trip had been for. Successfully swinging over leg over the top of the steel, I hoisted myself into the gap between the steel and the elevator door frame. Checking behind me I was just in time to see a burly man - six foot tall at least - who was very distinctive: with a mass of black hair sprouting from his chin -although none grew on the top of his smooth, reflective head- and gouged across his face was an ugly red scar, dipping into an empty socket where an eye should have been. Naturally with such a memorable appearance came fame, one-eyed Jim was a notorious gun for hire, recently rumoured to be working for the drugs baron All-Smiling Claire and also he was also the man who had snapped the neck of one of my sisters two weeks back. Upon spotting me his face turned an angry shade of purple and he began sprinting down the corridor towards me. Although perhaps it wasn't wise, I cheerfully gave him the finger before slipping off from my perch and dropping down the shaft, landing on the balls of my feet with an expert elegance, something I would have been more proud of if it wasn't in my genes. -
Furious cursing resonated down the shaft from two floors up and it was met by several others shouting in response. There were still stairs that remained in tact down to my floor so I'd have to get out and fast. The elevator door on this floor had conveniently crumpled into one side so after slipping carefully through the gap, I scanned my surroundings for a way out. The half open window close to my right was a beautiful and unexpected miricale and without a secoond thought I squeezed through it and sprinted off again away from the block of disused offices, allowing myself a brief laugh, releasing the exhileration and the familiar sense of relief that came with being alive. Not that I was safe, far from it, but at least the angry, merciless hired killer was no longer an immediate threat. These streets were somewhat unfamiliar to me, I'd yet to be shown the eastern side of the city by Silver but athstetically, it wasn't so different from central New America. As always, most of the skyscrapers, blocks of flats and offices were falling down, some windows boarded up for projection and some doors were heavily secured, although the majority were kicked in, clean off their hinges. The green smog that hung around all of the city was especially dense here, lying low and getting in your throat. I was used to the choking sensation by now but I still spluttered and struggled for breath as I ran, searching for my escape route. The few old folk that remained told stories of a time when things weren't like this, the city used to thrive with luxuries such as electricity and clean water, the air wasn't so bad either although people were always worrying about it. After the big war though, this was all that was left. The once sparkling city of New America was now a trash city, infected with annoying little sewer rats such as myself. -
(Wow thank you for the support ) Being a sewer rat had it's advantages though, I admitted with a grin as I finally located my escape route. Slipping the make-shift pothole guard off, I shimmied my way down through the entrance to the sewers before dropping down onto the paved sides. This would be the safest way home as only the small could fit through the ever shrinking and collapsing tunnels into the sewers, hence the nick name of 'sewer rat' for anyone aged under sixteen, by which age very few could fit down into the sewers. Others were down there too, some just passed me by, not giving me a second glance whilst others notice my backpack and then moved on to sizing me up. For once I was thankful for the inhuman ears protruding from my head and the tail sticking out over the waistline of my trousers, warding off potential threats by indicating that I was a good fighter. Those of humanity who had mutated due to exposure to the background radiation (another side effect of the last war which had been heavily involved in chemical and nuclear warfare) were treated with a certain degree of caution along with disgust and shunning us as freaks. We tended to have certain advantages that normal humans got rather frustrated about. Stood in the various inlets of the sewers or on the occasional stops where the pavement widened either side of the slow moving, thick, black river that flowed through the tunnels of the sewer, other sewer rats were gathered in little groups. Friendship was a very rare thing in New America, between anyone and everyone and these grouups were purely for self gain, individuals were trading, bartering and in some cases begging, all to try and survive. About two thirds along the way back home, collapsed on the corner of a turn off was a ragged older girl, either on the verge of being a sewer rat or having left it -but was still small enough to fit in here- she had a gaunt face and sallow skin covered in callouses and a variety of exotic rashes. I passed by her, walking as far on the other side as possible. If disease struck, few survived, especially those who were independent.