Perry Fiero

The Mark of The Locket

They called themselves the Locket League, and at first the alliteration wasn’t doing them any favors. We laughed, even as we huddled in the fractured shadows of skyscrapers and foraged in the parks for wildlife that hadn’t lived there since even before The Cataclysm. There weren’t many of them, a handful of people in robes that looked like they were running late for a LARP, but their voices were loud. Promises rang out over the dejected ears of the squalid folk in the city. Promises of prosperity, of homes made of more than tattered plastic and rusted out vans. Most importantly, promises of power.