Mortal Fragments

The year is 2052. The human condition has been ripped from the inhabitants of planet Earth. Wildlife has ceased to exist, and humanity has undergone a huge shift in understanding their own mortality. We knew it was coming, but we could never have predicted the extent to which our lives would be irreparably altered. Forgive me for the scientific babble that comes next, but you need to understand exactly how this happened so you may be able to prevent it happening again.

It all started in the year 2049. Scientists detected massive variances in our home planet’s star, the sun. These variances increased in frequency, showing our sun was slowly dimming, and ejecting massive amounts of solar radiation. Bombarding the planet with Fast Neutron radiation— a concoction of Ultra-Violet rays, and particles from solar events and galactic cosmic rays— a smiling universe served up this lethal cocktail daily.

Helpless scientists watched covertly for years as they studied the effects of this on our indigenous flora and fauna. They even experimented on the human population on whom effects had started to show.

This space cancer and its deadly mix of elements rapidly increased the mutagenesis effects of all life on earth. Base pairs were ultimately deleted from flora and fauna DNA and quickly began to break down entire ecosystems.

In 2051, The Blemish arrived. It was a highly concentrated interstellar nebula of dust and gas that had traversed its way to our solar system on the back of a cosmic explosion from our nearest red giant star’s demise. The timing of The Blemish was of cosmic impact, as our own life-giving source, the sun, released a massive Coronal Mass Ejection aka CME, of super-heated radiation. This stabbed straight through The Blemish and rained mutation hell upon the planet.

If ever there was a god, he didn’t hold back.

Within days, the entire ecosystem collapsed, giving way to mutated and unrecognisable plant life and animals. The oceans boiled, as the world descended into darkness. Electricity was a thing of the past, as was our old way of life. Humans didn’t seem to be as affected by mutation as the rest of the world but were still affected in different ways. Some developed severe skin sensitivity to our only light source— fire— and retreated into their newfound comfort for darkness. Some experienced increased awareness of their senses, and some slowly disintegrated into piles of broken-down DNA. It wasn’t a sight for the faint hearted.

Then there are The Elected. They are few, and I’m one of them. We developed what some call ‘gifts’ and what I call ‘adaptations’. To call them ‘gifts’ assumed there was a higher power in play, or some grand cosmic plan. Increased strength, speed, perfect eyesight in the dark and all for the one-time low price of……your soul. The Elected only received these ‘gifts’ if they were lucky enough to awaken from their initial departure of this cold dark rock. We had no need of sustenance to keep our animated corpses going.

My typical day is the monotony of searching for others like myself, and staying away from what used to be ordinary people. It wasn’t that much of a major change from when I had a soul. The ones unlucky enough not to die, or worthy enough to become Elected. were somewhere in between, mutations of their former selves. We call them The Rejected. They roam the desolate landscape in search of their only source of sustenance. Us. The Elected.

The Rejected have acquired grotesque and unnatural environmental and biological changes that grant them certain advantages in combat. Scythe like appendages, multiple eyes and reversed leg joints allowed for spring-like jumping. They were devoid of any likeness of their former humanity.

The Blemish still hangs around the atmosphere of the planet like black liquid, with intermittent worldwide flashes of what we used to call the Aurora Borealis. Coloured spectrums trying to penetrate the darkness with some slight success, all caused by what I can only assume are the remnants of our dead star.

I need to find others like me. I know they exist; I’ve heard about the fights between them and The Rejected. I’ve seen the mutilated corpses of the losers of those fights. Even with increased abilities, The Elected seem particularly vulnerable to the various mutations that The Rejected enjoy.

I sit here now in what was once a thriving hardware store and is now my base of operations. When there’s no need to constantly look for food, you’d be amazed at what can be accomplished. My need for sleep is more for recreation than necessity. I use this place as HQ for mapping the surrounding scorched earth and its almost unrecognisable features. Trinkets from my recent excursions lay littered around the shelving, illuminated by the central fire I have constantly burning to keep away The Rejected and draw in my own kind. So far it hasn’t attracted any of my own kind. Conversation with another ‘person’ has been sorely missed, hence this one-way documentation of my so-called existence.

It’s time to breathe some of that new planet’s sulphuric air, if you can call it breathing. I haven’t felt my lungs inhale or my heartbeat in what feels like an eternity. I reach for my black adapted sports armour and place it over my body. I cover it with my fully black trench coat covered in numerous patch jobs from past adventures and adorn my bandanna over my mouth and neck to further strip whatever identity I have left.

Last of all are the obsidian black goggles to keep out the dust and soot. Map in hand and a rucksack for any useful finds along the way, I decide to enter the fray, setting numerous booby traps and anti-theft devices to deter people from taking what little I do have. The large sliding door rolls open after numerous padlock and chain removals, and the cold dark and dirty air of the outside world comes flooding in. While I slide the door closed again and look back upon what is now my only refuge, I often find myself looking for something or someone to turn to and plead it won’t be the last time.

The door slams shut, and I make my way into the endless night.

The wind is strong and blows icy cold from all directions. The problem with not having any ecosystems was that there was nothing to hold back this relentless storm of wind and dust. It was perpetual darkness interlaced with constant whirling of winds and the odd screeches of The Rejected announcing their latest kills.

I travel in the darkness, using it to my advantage wherever possible. The pockets of my trench coat are always full of flares and easy access to these is an essential part of survival. If any of The Rejected pick up on my scent, or I run into one face-to-face round a blind corner of derelict buildings—it’s my first line of defence. The light blinds and stuns them for a short time, allowing me to escape. Some show visible signs of agony when the light hits their pale, porous skin. The screams from the latest kill seem to come from the north, and that’s where I’m heading.

The triumphant vocalisation of the kill seemed to suggest it was one of us. If there’s enough left of the kill, there may be some answers to where they came from. There may be more of them.

Making my way through the derelict areas is dangerous, but then again, so is making my way through the bleak featureless landscape. At least there are places to hide and things to use to my advantage here. I pass through what used to be a jewellery store, blackened and derelict, the display window smashed, its jagged edges framing the central window. I doubt there’s anything of value left now it’s been raided by others, yet suddenly I catch a glint of something shiny in the centre of the display. I go over to find a heart shaped locket, highly decorated with rubies and black gems I haven’t seen before. It looks as if the centre of these unusual gems is made of liquid, as a swirling life-like motion emanates from them. The locket is attached to a thick gold chain and the whole thing is placed perfectly, as if on show to potential buyers. I carefully lift it from the holder it’s perched on and carefully remove it without impaling myself on the jagged pieces of glass.

I retrieve it and bring it closer to examine it, and a note falls to my feet. I pick it up, and written on what seems to be an old piece of linen clothing, the note reads,

‘With this locket, our mortal fragments are revealed.’