Chapter Text
Everything ached.
That was the first thing the man noticed when he regained consciousness. His eyes opened sluggishly, the world around him blurry and dark with — smoke? The man hadn’t gained the strength to look yet, but he… couldn’t remember what had happened. The man — what was his name?
…
It was dumb. And obvious. His name was—
It was—
Shit.
He didn’t know. He didn’t remember his own name. He didn’t remember anything.
And something moved in the corner of his vision.
There was a loud crash as something metal-sounding fell behind him. Some of the shards scraped against his skin, which was already cut and bruised and weirdly hot — was there fire? His ears were ringing so badly, even the crash hadn’t been too audible, so if there was fire he couldn’t hear it. He squinted, trying to force his vision back into focus. He dug his fingers into the ground below him, pushing himself up from the ground. His body was like a ton of bricks. But it didn’t matter how hard it was, how much it hurt. He was moving. He got a grip on the tiled wall next to him, and he finally turned to see the wreckage he’d been lying in. It was a train. Well, what was left of it. The metal was torn and twisted, shards scattered over the tracks, and the carriage itself on its side. Flames crackled from somewhere — engine, maybe? He had to hope it’d blown up already and the worst was over. Or that it wouldn’t, if it hadn’t yet. Otherwise, he was kind of screwed. There’d obviously been a crash, and rubble from the ceiling lay on the carriage roof — he must’ve just gotten lucky. Thrown out a window, maybe? He wasn’t sure. He’d remember eventually. He hoped.
Running an unsteady hand through his hair, he felt something sticky coat his fingers, and pulled his arm back to reveal an alarming amount of blood. That explained the headache. And was the most likely cause of the amnesia.
“This just keeps getting better,” he mumbled, voice hoarse.
He turned away, taking a step down the tunnel, still leaning heavily on the wall. He’d reach a station eventually. And there’d be people there who could help him! He hoped.
He wasn’t sure why he hoped. He wasn’t sure why he doubted there’d be anyone there. He didn’t remember why.
And there was a weight pulling at his back. Something large, dragging against the floor.
He turned his head to see soot-encrusted feathers, bedraggled and filthy to the point he wasn’t sure what colour they originally were. Wings. He had wings.
Why was he surprised? He couldn’t remember whether they were normal or not, but they quite obviously had to be. Was he meant to have just magically sprouted wings during a train crash? He just didn’t remember well enough. Everything was a little confusing. All he knew was he had them, they were heavy, and they hurt just as much as everything else in his body. So, he pulled them close to his body, tucking them under his vest — which was somehow intact, although the shirt below had a hole torn for the wings. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep moving.
He didn’t make it very far before he was found.
“Hello, Mole.”
***
Mole forced open a hatch on the carriage’s roof, exposing the wiring within. He’d found repairs came naturally to him, so… he’d worked with trains. Most likely crashed the one he was in. Which was great. The thing — Acedia, it called itself — hadn’t bothered him for a few hours, so he had little else to do. He couldn’t exactly leave. He’d tried, once. Didn’t even get to see the outside world before it caught him.
He knew now why there hadn’t been people.
The world had ended.
He’d pieced together the story from newspapers, the monsters, the phone with a cracked screen that displayed several news alerts before it died
The sun had split open, and creatures that called themselves Monarchs had emerged from it.
He absentmindedly ran a hand over the worn orange cover of the journal beside him, before reaching for another tool. He’d documented the whole end of the world in there, and then just… kept writing. Even though he didn’t have anything too interesting to write about. He knew the real reason he was writing everything down. In case he forgot again. Wasn’t out of the question. Mole had a sneaking suspicion he was stuck with one of those “Monarchs”. The thing — the Monarch — no, he didn’t want to call it that — the horrible shadow monster vaguely resembled a giant centipede.
He’d found a better way of hiding the wings. He didn’t want the horrible shadow monster — god, that was awkward to say — knowing about them. Just in case. He’d figured out how to fly pretty quickly, despite the cramped environment, and he didn’t want the thing to injure his wings now. If he couldn’t fly, that was a lot of inconvenient dead weight he had to drag around. Because they were big. Realistically, they probably weren’t that big, but since he was in train stations, and trains, and trying to hide them… they were big. Some of the soot and dust had come off as he’d flown, but the feathers had only gotten dirtier and messier. They were grey. Most boring colour they could’ve been. God, why couldn’t they at least have looked nice? There was a low clatter behind him, and he exhaled shakily. It was probably Acedia, wanting him to fix something else. Or just checking he wasn’t slacking off — aka sleeping. He could see the shadow of its body out of the corner of his vision now.
“Hey, Acedia,” he said, hoping it wouldn’t notice the shake in his voice.
It didn’t respond.
“I, um, was wondering if you’d be able to go fetch—“
“You were going to finish this yesterday.”
He was so fucked. “I was going to, but I need—“
He cried out in pain as its tail stabbed him in the back of the hand. The metal point just poked out his palm, and blood started to trickle from the wound.
“I-I just—“ he forced out, despite the pain— “the generator isn’t working, can you get a new power source?”
It retracted its tail, causing a fresh wave of blood to pour out. He resisted the urge to flinch. He didn’t want it to stab him again.
“I will get the power source. You finish tonight.”
“It’ll be a bit harder with my hand impaled,” he muttered.
“Did you say something?”
“…No.”
“Good.”
It flicked its tail against the back of his head as it left, sending pain lancing through his skull. It knew full well his head injury wasn’t entirely healed yet. He scrambled for his toolbox as soon as Acedia was out of sight. He yanked several rags from within, searching for whatever one was least dirty. Sure, there was the mask on his face, but he doubted that was clean — and he needed it to avoid breathing in smoke or dust. One rag looked clean. He ignored the alarm bells ringing in his head. Infection was an issue, he knew that — he didn’t remember; he had the knowledge, but not the memories. That applied to most things — but the complete and utter lack of medical supplies left him with no choice. He pressed the fabric to the wound, and it seemed to stop the blood. For the time being.
He glanced down at the open hatch, the inside now speckled with blood. He couldn’t exactly do much more at the moment, so he shut it, walking along the roof until he could re-enter the train. The doors were wedged open, as without power they were quite difficult to move, especially when, he had to admit it, he wasn’t exactly strong. He stepped out onto the platform.
There was a vending machine sat in the corner, glass front already smashed from when he’d first discovered it. He pulled out one of the few remaining bottles of water, unscrewing the cap and splashing half over the wound. He pulled the rag tight around his hand, tying it properly before he sank down next to the machine, doing his best to avoid the broken glass scattered across the ground. He pulled his mask down, taking a drink of the water. Acedia would be back soon, and then he’d get back to work, and he’d be fine. He’d been managing for weeks now. He shrugged off his vest, letting his wings stretch and rest on the ground. A horrible shadow monster for company was awful, sure, but survivable, as long as he wasn’t stupid. He still didn’t understand why it had spared him, out of all the people on earth. There was nothing special about him. He knew that much.
And several weeks later, a month into the end of the world, he found himself aboveground, and not alone.