It was the just past noon, yet the City is covered in a blanket of darkness, punctured here and there by occasional glimmers of burning fires in buildings. Thick greenish angry clouds poured down acid on the City. The blood, grime and refuse of the city melded with the vile rain water. Rather than cleaning it up, the mixture congealed and stuck fast against the drainage gratings and cracks of manholes interspersed amongst the City’s pavements. Clouds of noxious fumes wafted up from these vile mixtures. On days like these, the street level of the City is off-limits to anyone sane and able-bodied enough to find refuge. And on days like these, the Rippers prowl the City, like a cruel god’s idea of a holiday gift (for it is a holiday of sorts for the Denizens of the City, an off day from murder and entrapment, an uneasy sort of Truce born out of inconvenience and gut-splattering terror).

An old woman sat near the fire with a little girl sleeping on her lap. Next to them, members of a street gang were playing cards. A heavyset man with gang tattoos conversed in gruff tones with his companions, a black man with a chin piercing and a Chinese man rolling a coin over his knuckles. The chatter died down as a hooded figure stepped into the circle of light cast by the fire. The handful of the City’s Denizens huddling by the warmth of the fire gave a cursory glance at the newcomer.

“Mind if I rested here for a bit?” the newcomer said cheerfully.

The black man with the chin piercing shrugged.

“We’re all strangers here, but you’re welcome to my fire, young man.” the old woman said.

Taking the cue, the newcomer sat down in an unoccupied spot by the flame and put down his bag. He pulled back his hood and ran a hand through his short brown hair. He rubbed his clammy hands together and held it over the fire.

“When’s this bloody rain gonna stop? It’s been non-stop for a week.” the heavyset tattooed man groused.

“Don’t exaggerate; it’s only been three days. That’s how it is, its monsoon season you know.” the old woman said, all the while knitting what seems to be a scratchy scarf.

“Monsoon my ass, its July. There ain’t no monsoon in Summer.” the man with tattoos highlighted his point by jabbing his heavy fingers accusingly at the old woman.

“I don’t think the usual rule applies, we as a race have comprehensively screwed over the planet’s ecosystem in a single generation. Now, we enjoy the fruits of our ancestor’s hard work.” the newcomer offered with a bitter smile, waving his hands at the surroundings.

“You’re one of those smart asses. Hey, we have a smart ass over here.” the tattooed man said, smiling without humour, cracking his knuckles.

“He’s not wrong you know.” the old woman said, half distracted by her knitting.

“You know, things weren’t always this way. When I was growing up, we had fresh fruits, vegetables, meat and dairy from farms. Fields and fields of corns and barley filled the countryside. We had clean air and wild flowers sprout everywhere along river banks with clear running water...” her knitting forgotten, the old woman trailed off as she gazed off into the distance.

“It’s the Establishment man; they are the ones that screwed over everyone. They destroyed the City with their diabolical experiments and corruption. The monsters they create in their secret labs are still running around the City. We should have taken them out sooner, those rat bastards.” the Chinese man punched into his palm, as if to emphasize his point.

“I think…things were already beyond help before they came along. That’s why the Old Worlders made a break for it when they could, towards the end of the Final War.” the newcomer said. “Of course, when the war was over, the new Establishment did nobody a favour by fucking everyone else in the ass, with all their false promises and blustering about a new golden age for humanity. Everyone left behind are just sick of all the fighting, they are just looking for someone to lead them. They saw the Establishment and they saw what they want to see – a better future. Or at least, someone else to take responsibility.” he added.

The girl, who is now awake, stared quietly at the newcomer and clung to the old woman. Blonde ringlets framed her violet eyes. Her piercing stare unnerved the newcomer.

“That’s how it is, this is where we are, and everyone has to accept that. I’ve lived through good times, the only regret I have is the younger ones, they don’t deserve to suffer the consequences of our mistakes.” the old woman stroked the little girl’s hair affectionately and continued her knitting.

“Granny, tell me stories about the space people again.” the little girl said in a high pitched voice.

“Sure honey, if you’d be a good girl and help me with lunch.” the old woman turned to the newcomer. “You will be joining us?” she asked pointedly.

“That will be lovely” he rummaged through his coat and produced something wrapped in newspaper, leaning over the fire and passed it to the old woman.

“Why I’d be damned.” she exclaimed as she unwrapped it. The label on the rusted tin reads MRL’s Mediterranean Tinned Tuna.

Curious, the street gang leaned over to look at the tin.

The tattooed man made a face. “I ain’t eating no monster meat.”

“You can have the stew, or you can have nothing. Times are hard enough without being picky.” the old woman held the little girl’s hand and moved towards the window, where a dented pot, a small knife and a hardwood plank (a makeshift chopping board) on a crate served as a kitchen.

“Yeah sure, stew sounds great.” the tattooed man grumbled.

“Those are just rumours spread by the Establishment you know. They saw how profitable MRL was, and they swooped in and claimed it for themselves.” the newcomer said.

“Wouldn’t surprise me any.” the Chinese man slipped out a joint and lit it over the open fire. He took a puff and offered it to the newcomer. The newcomer took an appreciative puff.

“I hear there’s a settlement in the Northern Post. And they’re growing things again, in real soil.” the newcomer said, passing the cigarette to the black man.

“That’s just a rumour man, there’s nothing out there. Just like everywhere else.” the Chinese man said.

“No, I mean it makes sense. For most of the World’s history, the North has been nothing but an icy wasteland. But with the increase in the temperature over the past 20 years, the North should be a pretty habitable place, hypothetically.” the newcomer argued.

“It’s not just temperature; the radiation from the Nukes in the Final War contaminated all the soil. Anything you grow that actually doesn’t die will kill you with all the radiation.” the black man said.

“There’s a chance it’s not contaminated, the soil is under layers and layers of glaciers, which has melted off in the past decade. Plus, the Great War was concentrated mostly in the..”

The Chinese man held up his hand and interrupted the newcomer “Listen man, I hear what you’re saying, and that’s a lot of IFs. Even if that’s true, there’s no way to travel to the North, the Piers are under the control of the Ghouls. Even if you make it all the way there, you’ll just get shot down before you get near any settlement. Everyone in this City is irradiated; anyone who’ll risk whatever uncontaminated settlement they have to welcome you must be a nut case. It’s every man for himself in these times.”

“You know, it’s not the City that will kill you, it’s your expectations and hope that will eat you alive.” the black man said.

The newcomer heaved a heavy sigh. Whatever glimmer he had in his eyes at the beginning of evening seemed to have dulled, or maybe it was never there in the first place. A collective silence descended upon the group. The black man had started reading a small tattered book, its pages yellowed with age, while the Chinese man and the tattooed man continued their card game.

The old woman and little girl came back with the pot, now filled to the brim, and set it hanging over the fire. After a few minutes, bits of chopped meat and vegetables bubbled gently amongst the mud brown gravy of the stew. The old woman ladled the stew and tasted it. She added a handful of black pepper and stirred the stew.

“So what’s your name, young man.” the old woman asked the newcomer as she placed the ladle on the hardwood plank.

“I’m Ethan, pleased to meet you. And you are?”

“You can call me Marla, this is my granddaughter Rachel.” the little girl looked away.

“Don’t be rude Rachel, shake this gentleman’s hands”

Shyly, she obliged and shook Ethan’s hands.

“Nice to meet you Rachel” Ethan smiled at her, Rachel studied her shoelaces.

“Oh so we’re playing house, how nice.” the tattooed man sneered.

“This is my fire, you can be civil or you can go find another one. On an empty stomach. Good luck with the Rippers out there.” the old woman mentioned casually.

“Tsk. Fine. I’m Dave, my acquaintance here’s Leroy and Wising.”

“Don’t butcher my name you oaf, it’s Wei Xin.” the Chinese man corrected him.

“That’s what I said. Asian names.” the tattooed man rolled his eyes.

The old woman started ladling out the stew into various chipped bowls and handed them out. Eager hands snatched up the steaming bowls of stew.

Ethan blew on his stew and tasted it. It was an interesting flavour, not exactly unpleasant, but one wouldn’t go so far to say it’s tasty. There were dehydrated mushrooms, bits of lettuce, tomato pieces, various chunks of greyish and brown pieces (amongst which are his contributions), all drowned in a mud brown peppery gravy. Eat enough stews and your standards will be low enough. In the City, any nourishment is better than an empty stomach.

After finishing the stew, Ethan stacked his bowl on the plank, on top of the other bowls.

“Here, let me wash those” Ethan made a move to pick up the dishes and was stopped short by the old woman.

“My fire, my hospitality. Rachel, serve these gentlemen some tea.” she said, pushing some cups towards the little girl and picking up the dishes.

Rachel held the boiling kettle up with both hands and neatly poured the boiling contents into 6 cups. Ethan and the gang members mumbled thanks as they received the tea.

Ethan took a small sip of the tea. He felt warmth spreading out his whole body. After a few moments, he stood up and walked over to a window with his cup of tea. He looked out over the City blocks. The grey-greenish cloud seemed to only grow thicker since the morning; any patches of the sun in the sky are now blotted out by the clouds. The torrential rain fell unceasingly on the City. Ethan could see occasional fires illuminating the windows of buildings. Denizens of the city with any sense at all would be holed up in higher levels of the City’s buildings. The ground level of the City is drowned in thick greenish mist. Any unfortunate individual who finds themself on the streets in such conditions would have close to zero visibility, surrounded with god knows what nightmares stalking through the fog, a highly unappealing prospect. Ethan, for one, was glad he was relatively well-sheltered.