The acrid tang of alien ash still clung to the tattered remains of what used to be his clothes, a permanent reminder of the scorched earth they’d brought. He’d been a nobody then, just another faceless fixture slumped against a brick wall, a ghost in the city’s underbelly. Then the sky bled crimson, and the world changed forever. The invasion was swift, brutal, and utterly incomprehensible. It was like watching knights with broadswords charge a battalion of tanks, a slaughter played out on a global scale.

  He’d hidden, initially, in the labyrinthine network of abandoned subway tunnels. The stench of decay and despair was familiar, comforting even. He learned to listen, to anticipate, to survive. The aliens, with their sleek chrome bodies and weapons that vaporized concrete, didn’t bother with the shadows. They were after the resources, the strategic points, the things that mattered to empires. He, and others like him, were irrelevant.

  The war ended quickly, with humanity broken and scattered. Alien outposts sprouted like metallic mushrooms, their patrols radiating outwards, enforcing a brutal, silent order. He scavenged, lived off the land, became a creature of instinct. He killed only when cornered, when survival demanded it. He learned the art of the ambush, the precise placement of a rusty pipe to shatter a vulnerable joint, the silent thrust of a scavenged knife into a chink in their armor. He became a ghost, a predator in the ruins.

  Years drifted by. He didn’t think about the past, didn’t dream of the future. He just existed, a blur of movement and cunning in the alien-occupied landscape. He didn’t care about the new world order, the subjugated humans, or the humming, sterile perfection they were trying to build. He didn't care about anything.

  Then they poisoned the lake.

  It wasn’t just a lake. It was his source of water, his sanctuary, the last vestige of normalcy in a world gone mad. He’d watched the alien vehicles dump their toxic waste, the metallic sheen spreading across the water, the silent death claiming the reeds and trees. Something broke inside him. Not hope, because that had died long ago. It was… a cold, burning rage.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  He wouldn’t stand for it.

  He didn’t have a plan, not really. Just a burning need to strike back, to make them pay. He stalked the perimeter of the nearest alien facility for days, a shadow in the ruins. He observed, calculated, memorized patrol patterns, weaknesses in the perimeter defenses.

  The odds were impossible. He was a single man, armed with scavenged scraps, against a heavily fortified alien installation. But he had nothing to lose. Death held no fear for him.

  His attack was a whirlwind of violence. He moved with a feral grace, a predator unleashed. He used the terrain, the darkness, the element of surprise. He took out sentries with silent precision, using his knowledge of their weak points, the vulnerabilities in their armor. He jammed his makeshift knife into the joints where chrome met synthetic flesh, watching with grim satisfaction as they short-circuited and collapsed.

  He moved deeper into the facility, a one-man army against an alien empire. He dodged energy blasts, used cover, his senses honed to a razor's edge. He found a weapon, a discarded alien rifle, its energy cells still partially charged. He learned to use it quickly, instinctively.

  He reached the central control room, a humming nexus of alien technology. With a guttural roar, he unleashed the weapon, ripping through the control panels, the circuits sputtering and dying. He aimed for the reactor core, firing again and again until the entire facility trembled.

  Then he ran.

  The explosion was deafening, a blinding flash that ripped through the night. He stumbled through the burning debris, choked by smoke and dust, but alive. He watched the alien facility collapse in a fiery inferno, a tiny spark of satisfaction flickering in his dead eyes.

  The aliens noticed. They wouldn’t ignore this. They couldn’t. They began to hunt him, their drones scouring the ruins, their patrols intensified. He was a thorn in their side, a persistent, irritating reminder that their conquest wasn’t complete.

  He was just a homeless man, driven to madness by loss.