"It's always darkest before the fsh."

  That's what they say. It's what the wise ones say, the ones who have weathered the storms and come out the other side. The ones who can look back on their lives and count up the mistakes, the missteps, the misdirections and say, "Yeah, this is it. This is the darkest it's ever been."

  I now understood that feeling. That sense, that gut wrenching, mind numbing, soul torturing awareness that the worse is not yet to come, for it is already here in this moment. The acute recognition that screams no matter what I may do in this moment, what actions I take, what thoughts I think, nor what words I say will be able to change the given circumstances.

  This is the darkest it's ever been.

  And then, in the fsh, I find myself back to where it had all started.

  I was sitting there in my favorite chair, at the edge of the patio, overlooking the water, watching the fireflies dance across the pond, listening to the crickets and frogs serenade the evening. There was a light breeze blowing through, rustling the branches and the leaves of the trees. It was peaceful, soothing, calming. And in that moment, the world was quiet.

  I had always enjoyed taking a bit of time off after work. Packing boxes all day isn't exactly fancy or special work, but it was work nonetheless, and I enjoyed relishing in the feeling of being done with my job. Sitting there, watching nature with a nice cold, spiked lemonade, watching the dock workers loading cargo onto the big ships in the water. Something about their repetition, the... tediousness in their movements was always so entertaining to watch.

  I think it was around that time I first saw the fsh. A blinding, white light. Then, a searing, burning sensation. Like someone had grabbed my heart, and lit a fire inside my chest.

  "Hey! Hey!"

  I blinked. Once. Twice.

  For some reason, everything had gone dark. I could tell as I was ying down, or at least I was fairly certain. I thought maybe I had just fallen asleep in my chair, and one of my friends had come up to my apartment and got worried when they saw me. I open up my eyes more now, expecting to expin to my friend that I was alright.

  Opening my eyes, I immediately am hit with the small of char, of fmes, of destruction. My home, or what I remembered my home as, was gone. In its pce was a wreckage of ash and smolder, like a war zone.

  "What happened?"

  I asked this to anyone, or nothing. Maybe my brain was trying to make sense of what was happening, so I was talking out loud. I'm not sure. To my surprise though, I did get a response.

  "I'm not sure. Something bad's happening in town." This voice said. I could tell they were doing something to me, looking back I assume bandaging me up to stop whatever bleeding. "Come on, we need to get you out of here."

  They lifted me up, and I got a good look around. The whole building was destroyed, a huge crater where my apartment used to be. Looking across the street, the other building had suffered some heavy damage, and the top floors were gone. I was being dragged off, away from the wreckage, and as I was, I saw the same blinding light again.

  Suddenly, there was another explosion. Not right by us, but not too far. Then, another. Then another. Soon, there was a chorus of explosions, a cacophony of thunderous, booming sounds.

  I made no compints about being helped out of here. I could still hardly comprehend what was happening in that moment. I limped through the rubble with the help of the stranger, the sounds of explosions, of sheer, utter destruction filling my ears as I followed where the person was leading me.

  There were bodies everywhere. People running. People screaming. People dying. I wanted to help them, I wanted to scream and cry, but the person had a hand over my mouth and was dragging me along. I didn't fight them. I don't know why. Maybe I didn't want to die. Or maybe there was something in the person's demeanor that told me this was not the time to resist.

  We approached a building, I couldn't make out what it was at the time due to my eyes refusing to focus from whatever had happened to me, but it was clear it had four walls and, presumably, a roof, so I didn't compin at the time. We entered, and I could feel the person guide me to a wall and help me sit down against it.

  "Wait here."

  They said, and then I heard a door shut, and the room went dark.

  I tried to think about what was happening, why all of this was happening. But the only thing that would come to my mind was the explosions. The bright, blinding light. And the pain. So much pain.

  I'm not exactly sure how long I had sat there for, it only felt like a few seconds but it had that feeling where you know that it was probably a lot longer than you would like to think. I sat there, against the wall, waiting, hoping, praying, unsure about what I should do. My eyes slowly adjusted back to normal, and while I couldn't see much of the building I was in, I could tell that my body was in pretty rough shape. Well actually, thinking back I was probably about as well off as you could be in this circumstance.

  As I looked down at myself, my body started to ache. My shirt was torn, my skin was bruised, my legs were cut and covered in dirt. I could feel that my ankles were swollen, probably fractured or at best sprained, and that I had more than likely lost enough blood to warrant a hospital trip on a normal day. Looking back, this was probably one of the more favorable outcomes.

  I continued to sit there, waiting patiently. This person, this stranger, it seemed like they knew what they were doing, to an extent at least. They had told me to stay here, and despite not knowing them, I felt as though I should trust them at this moment, I was in no position to be doing things on my own, so it made sense to wait for them there. It would make sense. It would be logical. It would've been the smart thing to do. You'd have to be dumb to do anything else.

  ...

  As I stepped outside of the building I was left in, my hand still on the door handle, leaving an unsavory amount of blood in its wake, I walked out, making my first true mistake of the night.

  I was dumb.

  I should have stayed there. I should have waited for that person. They could've saved me, they could've helped me. They could've been my friend.

  But I wasn't thinking clearly, and my body was moving before I even realized it.

  The streets were in chaos, I couldn't hear people screaming, or at least I don't remember there being anyone calling out. Thinking back, I don't know if that was entirely a good thing. The air was hard to breathe, den with smoke and debris, making my head spin even more than it already was. I don't know how I managed to move around as well as I had, maybe it was the adrenaline, but I started making my way down the street, looking for anything, and anyone.

  The sun had finally set, leaving me without the light, without the vision of day. The stars and moon, however, were out in full force, illuminating the city around me with an eerie glow. As I looked up, I was met with a sight that sent chills down my spine, and made my stomach sink.

  Helicopters. Dozens of them, hell maybe even more. They were all littering the sky, like little bugs crawling out of the underbrush. At first I had thought that we were being attacked, our country had bad retions with some neighbors recently so it wouldn't be too much of a shock. To my surprise however, I saw our fg draped along the underside of each of them.

  At first I thought they were here to help, but that notion was quickly challenged when I saw some sort of explosive being shot out from them towards an indiscriminate part of town. I couldn't see where it had nded, but I could hear it. An ear piercing bst, followed by the sounds of buildings colpsing.

  I was dumb.

  I started running. Or limping, really. But I was moving. I don't remember much, the smoke had gotten so bad it was causing my vision to blur, and it was becoming hard to breath. All I knew is that I had to keep moving. I don't know if this will was entirely the worst decision, on one hand moving reduces my chances of getting the shit bombed out of me, but on the other I wouldn't need to if I had just... Waited....

  I don't remember how far into walking I was when I heard someone calling out. The voice sounded familiar, but due to my haze I couldn't quite pce it with a name. I turned, looking around, and that's when I saw him.

  He was a few buildings away, looking over at me, his face was covered in soot and his clothes were torn, and he was waving me over. He looked familiar, his hair, his eyes, the way he was smiling.

  Then, his expression changed. His smile disappeared, his eyes widened, and he took a step back, presumably due to seeing how roughed up I was.

  "Oh my god, Brandon. Holy shit, it's so good to see... Well anyone really." I called out with a smile as I limped over to him, using the walls of the nearby building as support. "I'm so happy to see someone I know."

  He looked at me, his face was pale, like he had seen a ghost. His eyes were wide, like he had just witnessed a murder. He opened his mouth, as if he was about to say something, but instead he just closed it, and looked away.

  "Look man, I need help. I'm hurt real bad. You're a doctor right? Worked in surgery? You can help right?" I said to him as I got within a couple feet. I remember reaching a hand out to him, just wanting to reach out and touch him, to make sure he was actually there, to have some sort of grounding. But he flinched, and moved back.

  "Are you okay?" I asked, my tone more concerned now.

  "Yeah... Yeah I'm ok it's just..."

  His voice sounded weird. He spoke with a strange, shaky tone. Like his entire body was quivering as he was talking.

  "Fuck just... Oh god..."

  I could hear him mumbling something under his breath. He seemed scared of something, probably how bad I looked at the time. He looked up at me, those brown eyes of his filled with a somberness I don't even know how to describe.

  "Yeah uh... Yeah just... Yeah, I can fix you up Clint..." He said to me as he started to move down the street some more, keeping abou an arms length away from me as he motioned for me to follow. "Here, come along. I know a pce where I can fix you."

  "Great." I said as I started limping after him.

  It was weird. He seemed nervous about something. He wasn't the most social guy, but he wasn't usually this bad. Though I suppose in this situation anyone would be acting a little strange. God knows I was.

  "It's good to see you Brandon, really. I'm happy to know you're safe."

  He was silent, just leading me down the street, turning every corner, making sure to stick to the side of the street, out of view from the sky.

  "It's great, honestly. When everything started happening, all those explosions, I had thought the worst. But then I found you, and it's like a weight has been lifted from my chest. Like everything is gonna be alright, as long as we stick together." I said as I kept following him along, albeit very slowly. I remember having a stupid smile on my face at the time. I always had a weird nervous tick where I'd just smile like a big, dumb idiot whenever I was stressed, but seeing someone that I knew here, someone that was retively safe and could help me, well, even with all the red fgs, it made me happy.

  "You're a good friend, Brandon."

  We walked for a bit, the sounds of the helicopters were faint now, but the smoke was thick. The streets were littered with rubble and debris, and the bodies of the unlucky ones who weren't able to make it out in time. I was worried about the others, the people from my building, the dock workers, my friends. I hoped they were okay, I prayed for them, for the ones I knew, the ones I had seen, and the ones I hadn't.

  Eventually, we arrived at a small clinic. It wasn't much, but it was still standing, so it would be enough. We made our way in, and he led me inside.

  "There uh... There aren't many people here... I think it's actually just me that's holed up in... here..." He says as he leads me inside. It was clear this wasn't the pce he would work at normally, despite how he looks Brandon was actually a very well renowned doctor. I remember him once telling me that he worked in R&D for some big company, and ended up switching over to hospital work for a "change of pace".

  "I'll get some bandages and stuff... Just... uh... Yeah." He said as he moved over to the far side of the room and grabbed a handful of medical supplies.

  I sat down on one of the chairs, leaning forward as I held a hand over the wound on my abdomen. Looking back, this was probably a mistake. I was still bleeding out pretty badly, but my adrenaline and hope had been fueling me forward until that point, so I wasn't fully aware of the severity of the situation.

  "Here, you can get patched up with this." Brandon said as he walked over and set down a roll of bandages beside me...

  I was... Well put simply, I was confused. I mean, I was in no state to be doing much of anything, hell I could even hardly walk here, and Brandon's a doctor. I don't mean to sound needy, but I had expected him to at least help patch me up.

  "So, what, you're just going to stand there? Come on, give me a hand." I said as I picked up the bandages and started unrolling them.

  "I uh, well, just uh, you do it man," He said as he turned around, I could see him biting on his knuckle, a nervous habit he always had.

  "Look man, clearly something's up. Just tell me what's going on." I said as I painfully sat up and put a hand on his shoulder, trying to make him look at me.

  This was my next mistake.

  The moment I touched him, he jumped, like he was just electrocuted, and moved away. He turned around, and looked at me. His face was pale, his eyes wide, and his hands were shaking.

  "Oh... oh fuck... Fuck... You just... You just fucking touched me..." He said as he fell onto his butt on the ground, slowly backing away from me. He was hyperventiting, hard.

  "Shit man, are you ok?" I asked him, trying to get closer, trying to help him.

  "Don't fucking come any closer!"

  He screamed this as he pulled out a gun, pointing it directly at me.

  "Woah, Brandon, what the hell?" I said to him as I instinctively put my hands in the air. The Brandon I knew, he could hardly even be around a gun without having a panic attack over it. And now here he is, holding the barrel down towards me.

  "What the hell?! What the hell?! You don't get to fucking say that after... After... FUCK! You fucking killed me, Clint! You're a goddamn murderer!"

  His finger was shaking as he pointed it at me.

  "Brandon, please, you're not thinking clearly, I didn't-"

  "SHUT THE FUCK UP! I CAN FEEL IT! IT'S FUCKING CRAWLING ON ME!" He started cwing at around his shoulder and neck at this point, like a madman looking to get out of his own skin. "I can feel your filthy fucking hands all over my body!"

  I was... Scared.

  I wanted to run, to hide, to do something, but my legs were numb, and I could hardly move them. The only thing keeping me up was the adrenaline that was pumping through me.

  "Bran-"

  I went to talk again, but was interrupted by a fsh. It wasn't the same fsh as the ones outside, no...

  ...

  As the bullet left the chamber of the gun, I could see it go right through Brandon's head. Nearly clean through and out the top. Blood scattered the walls behind him as his body fell limp to the ground, the gun dropping out of his hand to his side.

  I sat there. Motionless. Silent.

  I didn't say anything, I didn't move. All I could do was stare at the body, watching the blood pool around his head, watching as his eyes went dim.

  My hands started to shake.

  The smell of gunpowder and iron filled my nostrils.

  My ears were ringing.

  I looked down at myself as I sat in the chair. I don't know what I was thinking at that moment, I don't even know if I was thinking at all. I just sat there, staring at my hands. It wasn't my hands that pulled the trigger, I didn't shoot Brandon, he shot himself. But something about it, the way he had been acting, the way he had been avoiding getting close to me... The way he panicked when I went to touch him... Part of me was convinced that I had somehow killed him in that moment. That his death, the blood on my hands, was my fault.

  It wasn't.

  I'm not responsible.

  I'm not.

  It's not my fault.

  It can't be.

  But even if it isn't...

  ...

  I don't know how long I sat there for until I reached over to the bandages and started patching myself up. I tried my best to just focus on the task, but my eyes kept wandering over to him. To his body.

  It took a while, but eventually I managed to stop the bleeding, and wrap up the rest of the injuries that had happened to me. I probably just sat there for a good twenty minutes just looking at him. Looking at what had happened. It still didn't make sense to me. Why any of this was happening. Why Brandon was like this.

  I stood up and started walking, slowly making my way back over to him. I wasn't sure what was going to happen, part of me was certain that the moment I touched him he'd come back to life, or maybe something worse would happen. But the other part, the part that kept repying that scene in my head, the part that had convinced me I had murdered my friend, that was telling me that the worst possible

  My eyes trailed down to the gun now sitting next to him. It filled me with disgust, looking at the weapon that had killed my friend. My mind couldn't help but wonder though. Why was he carrying this in the first pce? Sure, it's a shithole outside. Anyone with half a mind would've gotten a weapon first chance they got. But how did Brandon get this one? He hated guns after all.

  I shook my head.

  I'm being silly.

  Brandon wasn't the most rational person. I remember him having a lot of issues. PTSD. Anxiety. Panic disorder. I mean, that's part of the reason he went into R&D, he was working on a device, something to help him out. He told me it was supposed to be like a mood stabilizer, and that it would help him control his panic. Maybe he was asked to have one for protection or something. For his new job, at the... hospital... I don't know...

  I looked back at him. At his body. The blood had stopped coming out now. His eyes were gzed over, the life completely gone from them.

  He wasn't coming back.

  I knelt down, and picked up the gun.

  I felt dirty, holding it in my hands. A disgusting feeling washed over me, like someone had just dunked me into a vat of cold slime. I had used guns before, going to the shooting range with some friends, stuff like that. But something about holding this gun, THIS gun in particur... It felt gross. Like holding a dead animal.

  I put it in my belt.

  I don't know why I did.

  It just felt right.

  I knelt there for a few more moments, trying to come up with something to do, anything to do. It was clear at the time that I needed to get out of here, of this town, but I wasn't sure if it was safe enough for me to go outside right now. I could still hear the explosions going off, it was clear that they weren't going to stop until the city was leveled. And then there's the fact that I'm still not in good shape. I was running purely off adrenaline at that point, and who knows how long that would st.

  I stood up, and made my way over to a window. I could see the helicopters outside, they were moving further away. As if they were making their way to another part of the city. I don't know what was going through my head at the time, but part of me was relieved. Maybe things were starting to calm down.

  I looked around, trying to figure out where I should go. At which point I noticed there was an area that seemed weirdly untouched. A lone hospital, standing perfectly fine with hardly a scratch amidst the absolute carnage surrounding the city.

  The same hospital Brandon worked at.

  At that point, I had a choice.

  A choice I still can't say for sure if I regret or not.

  I made my way outside. The night sky was beautiful, lit up with explosions and lights. It was a horrible sight, but the beauty of it was almost comforting. The stars, the smoke, the way the buildings would fall apart.

  It was...

  Poetic.

  As I started making my way down the street, it's hard to put into words how I was feeling. It was like nothing was real. The explosions, the buildings, the bodies. It was all just a bad dream, or some sort of movie, and the moment I woke up it'd all be over. But every time a bst would go off, or I'd stumble over a body, the reality of the situation would.

  Maybe Brandon had made the right decision at the end.

  I kept going though, and eventually made it to the hospital. I don't know if it was a good idea or not, but I couldn't really think of anything else to do. If anything, it'd at least be a good pce to rest up and recoup for a while.

  I stepped inside, and I couldn't help but notice something strange.

  It was quiet.

  And when I say quiet, I mean there was not a single sound to be heard. Maybe all of the people here had evacuated? Maybe? Who could say for certain, God knows I couldn't at the time.

  I kept walking forward, looking around the lobby.

  It was empty. Not a soul was in sight.

  "Hello?" My voice echoed throughout the halls.

  "Is anyone there? Hello?"

  ...

  "Goddamnit."

  I kept walking along, looking in a couple rooms, heading up some flights of stairs, looking for... well I don't know what I was looking for at the time. I guess anything. Some supplies, anything to patch me up... A person, a friend. I was desperate ok? I just wanted something at the time. Something to reach out to and I guess ground myself with.

  I'd still like that in all honesty.

  After a bit, I ended up finding a supply closet, and it was actually pretty well stocked. There were a bunch of different bandages, painkillers, a lot of the stuff that would've been useful a while back. I ended up grabbing a bag and stuffing whatever would fit in it, along with a couple bottles of water. They were the shitty 8 ounce ones, the ones that were hardly even a sip of water, but like I said. Desperate.

  I looked around some more, and decided that I'd stay here for the night. I mean, there was no point in me leaving, not in this condition, and the pce seemed mostly untouched, so it'd be a nice spot to just take a breather and rest.

  I found a room on the third floor, and decided to sleep in the bed. It was a hospital bed, and it wasn't the most comfortable thing, but I wasn't gonna compin. Well I was, I was bitching about everything quite hard at the time, but that's not important.

  I sat down at the edge of the bed, and stared out the window, looking at the stars. They were pretty bright tonight.

  I pulled out the gun, and looked at it. It was a revolver with a six shot chamber, pretty nice looking too. It was clear that it was well taken care of. To my dismay the gun was empty, only empty shell casings filling the slots. I had forgotten to look when I had picked it up off of Brandon, so I guess I had been carrying around a useless hunk of metal up until then.

  I looked around the room, and spotted a nightstand beside the bed. There was a pad of paper, and a pen. I had grabbed them up to start writing down a To-Do list, my brain always functioned better when I had everything id out for me, but to my surprise, there was already stuff writen down on the top page.

  It read as follows:

  "I'm leaving this here for you since you're out right now. We just got a company wide email that they moved the schedule up a few hours. The extraction point is still at the same pce, the little park down off Main. I don't know how many trips they're making, or how long they'll wait there for, so I pray you make it in time. Just remember to not let the locals touch you and everything will be fine."

  I was, put simply, really fucking confused. This was the first thing I had seen since this whole mess had begun, and the contents of it were, well... It was a lot to unpack.

  There was an extraction point. That's the first thing I was able to gather. That meant, if I made it there, then maybe I could leave. Escape. Leave this horrible nightmare behind. But, the rest of the letter, that was the problem. What the hell did the "locals" thing mean? And why did the writer seem so convinced that the person they were leaving the letter for would have no trouble getting to the extraction point? It didn't make sense.

  I think at the time I was too consumed, too excited by the idea of there being a way escape, a way out of this city, that I didn't think too much about the rest of the note besides the initial confusion. I immediately picked up what little belongings I had with me, I started off...

  Do you know that feeling? The one where you know that you're probably not doing something smart, but something won't let you stop from doing it anyways? When your mind is telling you not to do something, but you're already halfway done doing it? It's a strange sensation, one that I had experienced a number of times.

  I felt that at this moment.

  ...

  I left the hospital and headed towards the park. The pce was a shitshow. Buildings were destroyed, fires were bzing, and there were corpses, so, so many corpses. I walked past, and kept going. I wasn't going to stop. This was a chance for me to get the fuck outta dodge, and I was not going to waste it.

  After a bit of walking, I could see it, the park, the extraction point. It was a small pce, a tiny, quaint park, just off the corner of Main street. It wasn't much, a few benches, a small py structure, and a fountain. But the most interesting part was that there was a helicopter.

  Now, it wasn't some fancy, military grade, helicopter. It was more like an airlift helicopter, one that you would see hauling people that got in serious accidents to the hospital so they had a better chance of making it there in time. It was a good find, I thought. I mean, at the time I was pretty sure it was a great find. It would get me out of the city, I could leave, and everything would be okay.

  As I walked forward, I could see someone standing there in front of the helicopter. It was hard to tell who exactly they were, they were wearing what looked to be some sort of hazmat suit. I don't know if that's the proper term. It was a pstic suit meant to prevent dirt and chemicals from getting on you though, so I'll call it a hazmat suit here.

  The man was standing next to the helicopter, and he seemed to be looking through a small box, one that looked simir to a toolbox, but a little more official looking. He seemed to notice me after a second, and turned around.

  "Are you here for the extraction?" His voice was muffled a bit through the helmet.

  "Uh, yes."

  He stared at me for a second, as if he was sizing me up, and then turned around, pulling out a couple papers and a pen from his bag.

  "What's your name?"

  "Clint."

  "Clint... I don't see any Clint on the list... Are you from the hospital division or the control division?" He said to me, looking between the papers and me.

  I stood there awkwardly as he said this. I wasn't entirely sure what to say here, was there anything I could say here? Clearly I didn't know enough about what was going on.

  "Um, I just found a note saying that this was an extraction point. It was in the hospital! The one a few minutes from here!" I said as I gestured in the rough direction of the hospital I just came from. I gave an awkward smile to the man. "I can get out of here now right?"

  He stood there for a moment, as if he was waiting for me to say something else. After a few seconds, he turned back around and looked into his bag. He had started rooting around in it for something.

  "Ah, ok. I see what's going on here. Stand off to the side there and put your arms out in both directions, I'll need to search you real quick before I let you on the helicopter."

  I wasn't sure what was happening, but at the time, the thought of leaving was the most important thing. So, without questioning the strange man, I did as he said, and put my arms out to the sides.

  "Man, I'm just happy to be finally getting out of here." I started to ramble a bit as I stood there, waiting for him to pat me down. "I'm sure you heard about the whole thing, right? About the city being attacked by the army or something?"

  The man didn't answer me, and just walked around behind me.

  "I was holed up in the hospital for a bit. I'm not even sure how long. The day had been normal, and then, BOOM, the whole pce was under attack. People were freaking out. I mean, who wouldn't be? I mean everything is going to shit here and... and..."

  I think in that moment, something had clicked. I looked up at the sky seeing the helicopters overhead still circling the town.

  I started to cry. Something had clicked. Something, it made sense, it had clicked. In that moment, it clicked in my head, I understood it now. It had finally clicked for me, it clicked in my brain...

  It clicked right behind me.

  ...

  "It's always darkest before the fsh."

  That's what they say. It's what the wise ones say, the ones who have weathered the storms and come out the other side. The ones who can look back on their lives and count up the mistakes, the missteps, the misdirections and say, "Yeah, this is it. This is the darkest it's ever been."

  That's a load of shit.

  I know that now, as I stand here, my arms stretched wide, tears rolling down my cheek. I get it now. Looking back. I can't believe how dumb I was. God how was I so dumb? How could I possibly not question, in the slightest, why our own military was attacking us? Why the hospital had not a scratch on it? Why Brandon was so afraid to let me touch him? Why there's only one singur person at the extraction site? WHY BRANDON'S FUCKING GUN HAD ONLY FIRED BULLET CASINGS IN IT LIKE HE HAD BEEN GOING AROUND SHOOTING IT WILLY NILLY?! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?!

  All the little red fgs! All the things I should have questioned! Should've pushed on! Should've thought about for even a fraction, of an iota, of a second longer, but for some reason in my ignorance just brushed off like it was nothing. I could have prevented all of this, I could have, but...

  ...

  I now turn my head back to look at the man, but I find I can't. I go to wipe the tears from my face, but dare not even to move. Not a muscle There's still a chance I can get out of this right? RIght?

  With one st breath, one st whimper, I speak out to him.

  "You're not here to help us... are you..."

  And as I say that, I see the fsh.