Darkness had prevailed. A torn open earth was pumping black wads of smoke out of its wounds. At some hours of day, wasteland turned into glistening oases. The ultraviolet rays were able to wring some life out of a seemingly dreary vegetation. But after all, a rough clime would return. The planet had segregated into eternal seasons, and so had all creatures that populated a coarse and barren earth.
Ironically enough, the few of us that remained were the closest to our ancestors. They used to call us Tinfaces. A sworn brotherhood, unified unto death. Yet, death was not our enemy. Our enemy was our past. Many of us were using their superiority to protect the weak from the strong. Not as an act of humanity, though, but rather to save us the agony ….
