Four days and a trash bag after the fall.

I woke in a frenzy. My hands and feet were bound, my body restrained, and they’d wrapped my head to block out the light.

Why the hell do I trust people?

“Let me out, you bastards!” I yelled, tearing at the cloth. Luckily, their incompetence meant they hadn’t tied rope around the impromptu bag, allowing me to claw my way into the sweet air of freedom, only to realize I was still in the camp with my tent wrapped around me. That was a great way to endear myself to the survivors…

“Morning Vandre,” Chuck said, laughing as he handed me a bowl of what might have been oatmeal. “You, uh… You kinda tore apart your tent while you slept. Oh, and the screaming didn’t help.”

Dammit. Maybe that was just when I stopped remembering the nightmares. Though, I’m not sure I’ll ever forget those prismatic eyes staring into my soul and judging me unworthy of death.

“Yes… it seems I did. I was testing your camp’s ability to deal with a kidnapping, and I must say that you all failed.”

“Uh-huh. Well, eat fast. The scavenger group heads out in a few minutes, and please grab your trash bag… you lost it in the ‘demonstration.’”

Laying in the twisted jumble of my tent were the remnants of my garment. Not only had I embarrassed myself, I’d put on a show for all around me to see.

Sometimes I wish humanity would go back to the no pants policy. I miss our aversion to clothes; it was so much easier then. Back in the early days, the most my brothers and I would wrap ourselves in was the skin of whatever we killed. It wasn’t much, and that was the best part. Truth be told, there is no better feeling than a cool breeze on your backside while watching the morning sunrise. Back then, the world was your oyster. The simple days were the best days.

Swallowing the food quickly as I could, I grabbed my trash bag and joined the group of scavengers. There was no chance I would pass that up, especially when there was the possibility of fresh food and comfortable clothes. Considering the last time I had good food in this city, perhaps stealing it from the dead wouldn’t leave the stain on my soul I thought it would.

~~**~~

In the early twentieth century, I broke into The Ritz-Carlton to steal anything that wasn’t nailed down. It took significant effort to get in, but a waiter's uniform and the proper attitude will get you far in life. Unfortunately, not even serving food for a living promised a full belly during the Depression. In America, only dreams were free. Everything else came at a cost so high

I remember it like it was yesterday. A silver-plated cart laden with food, so rich it would make a poor man cry, rolled toward the kitchen doors with the slow movement of a person who hadn’t eaten in days. The scene was ironic at best, tortuous at worst.

“I can take that,” I called, catching the attention of the waiter with a smile and a pat on the back. “Which room?”

“Penthouse. Rockafeller suite,” he said, grateful for the relief of duty. “Are you sure? The man is nice, but he tips like shit.”

“You need the break. Here, the mailman accidentally gave us an extra orange stamp this week. Go get yourself a meal, I’ll be alright.”

“A whole dollar? Buddy, are you sure? This could feed my family for days. I… I can’t take this.”

In response, I simply grabbed the handle of the cart and started toward the customer’s room. He wouldn’t really deny the voucher. Very few could afford that luxury. Nobody except the rich.

I lifted the silver cover off the plate and my mouth watered at the sight laid out before me. Several racks of lamb glistened in the light, steaming now that the cool New York City air could reach them. I knew I shouldn’t, but I was so hungry it was physically impossible to ignore. Foregoing the knife and fork, I lifted the entire rack to my lips and tore into the perfectly prepared meat. It was so tender I could have easily eaten the entire dish without my teeth, but I was in a hurry and had little time to savor the meal.

Before long, the bones were clean, and I was full for the first time in days. Part of me, a small part, wanted to feel bad for the poor soul I’d just stolen food from, but I didn’t and instead, shoved the part of my brain labeled 'Selfishness' into a closet and locked it up.

I had to deliver something. If I didn’t, the server from the kitchen was likely to get in more trouble than necessary. I cast my eyes up and down the hallway before placing the silver lid back over the bones of a meal and checked the delivery card.

‘John D. Rockefeller – Penthouse.’

I grinned. There was no better person to steal a meal from in all of New York.

~~**~~

There’s something strangely satisfying about searching another person’s home and looting everything you can. It’s even better when the person is already dead. At least then you know there is no chance of getting hit with a stick while neck deep in their refrigerator.

It took nine apartments before I found clothes that fit. , I saw the previous resident strewn across the floor like a Jackson Pollock painting. All I wanted to do was close the door and continue down the hall, but just before I did, I noticed the corpse was roughly my size. Unwilling to waste the opportunity, I went inside and made my way to a closet in the bedroom.

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Clothing filled it from floor to ceiling, and every bit was my size. Unfortunately, the recently deceased owner of the clothing had a very specific taste. While I didn’t care about the clothing I wore, there was a chance someone in the camp did. They were barely a step up from my trash bag, but they would work in a pinch. Luckily, there was a pink floral sundress so comfortable it would be impossible to acknowledge anyone that had an issue with me. At least it gave me a moment to relive my Greek days.

Why the fashion designers of the world think all humans fit into small little boxes they come up with, I’ll never know. At least now that they were dead, there was no chance for them to screw with the system again.

“What the hell is that?” My partner asked, freezing in the doorway while I tightened a leather harness I found in a shoebox behind the clothes.

“It helps keep the dress on. Between this and my emergency weapon, I think I’ll be alright,” I replied, holding up a bright red thong.

“And how is that going to help you?”

“Have you heard the myth of David and Goliath?”

“No?”

“It’s a story about some kid throwing a rock and hitting some big asshole between the eyes. Apparently, he was so lucky he killed the guy with a single rock,” I said, tying the thong around my arm like a bandana.

“Can you help me with this stuff?” he asked, pointing to the half-eaten body.

Sighing dejectedly, I helped the other scavenger carry what was left of the person outside and tossed it onto the pyre. As I watched the body burn, I tried to remember a time in my history when I’d seen more death and destruction. The options were few and far between.

“Come on Vandre, we need to find more rations.”

I didn’t want to turn away from the fire. I didn’t want these people to be forgotten by the flames. It wasn’t right; it wasn’t fair, but, if I’ve learned anything in my very long life, it’s that people die and get forgotten.

Turning, I blinked away the tears that came any time I thought about the past. If there was only one thing I could do for these people, I could remember them. It was the only thing my longevity was good for.

~~**~~

“I’m just saying, there is no reason for us to keep robbing these apartments if there is a grocery store right around the corner,” I said, shifting the crate of supplies to my other shoulder.

It was a valid argument. We were in one of the largest cities in the world, yet instead of looting stores, we were taking the time to clean out random pantries. While I personally couldn’t give a damn where we found the things we took, it would be so much simpler to get what we needed from a one stop shop.

“Because the accountants are in those. Getting into one of the grocery stores would be the same as signing your own death certificate,” someone said from the rear of the formation.

“And they are?”

“A gang that rose after the fall and took over everything. They are—they were—accountants. They had no purpose after society collapsed, so they decided to rebuild it the way they saw fit.”

“It’s only been four days. How hard is it to not to be an asshole?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Turns out, it’s pretty hard. But we can’t do anything about it. They have weapons and gear, while we have little more than the clothes on our backs. That doesn’t stop them from demanding a portion of everything we find, but I honestly doubt we will ever be able to fight them.”

“So we can’t just find a grocery store they haven’t knocked over yet?” I asked. “We could even clean out various restaurants if we wanted.”

It seemed so obvious, going to places that already had food to steal would be so much easier, and we would be far less likely to get random bullshit that nobody ate.

“There are secondary advantages to cleaning out the buildings. Clothes, for one, and stopping the potential spread of disease for another,” the same voice replied from the back.

If we let the bodies rot, there would eventually be some kind of airborne pathogen that would wipe out what little remained of our people. It wasn’t ideal, but at least it served a purpose. The group explained the only two ways a person could get food from the Accountants. The first was to surrender at the door and hope you were sexy enough for “the toll”. While it wasn’t great, nor would an entire building of people running a train on you be comfortable, it was by far the safest way to survive.

The second was much less comfortable, and worse. If they caught you sneaking into the compound, they would assume you wanted to be there. And if you wanted to be there, you needed to be branded with the boss’s initials. Sadly, a brand meant that no matter where you went, people would know what you were and who you belonged to. It was not a life worth living.

The scavengers kept talking, but I was far too deep into my own memories to care about what they said. If they even managed to get non-committal grunts out of me, I would be surprised. No, I was too busy remembering the centuries past to be an active participant in their conversation. And sadly, humanity’s situation was not new, but one that repeated itself time and time again.

Though, in the past, humanity never had to rebuild because of an alien attack. But there was that one time when they threw a meteor at the planet and caused it to rain for about a month. While it’s hard to say that we truly had to rebuild, especially since there wasn’t much to destroy in the first place, we did have to start over in a lot of ways.

, or that he was real in the first place. People will believe anything you tell them a deity said it. Had I known it would cause so much hate and destruction, I probably wouldn’t have made up the stories. In my defense, who would have thought telling those idiots to love each other would mean they killed everyone that didn’t believe the same thing? The irony of a church going to war one hundred and thirty-three times, then trying to convince the defender you did it out of love, is just fantastic. Their true motivation—regardless of what they would have you believe—was greed. And I, for one, knew all about greed. I’ve watched the cycle of rise and fall more times than some believe possible. I’ve given birth to religion and sired kings. I’ve burned it all down because of self-loathing, and watched it come back on its own out of spite. Hell of a tool, spite. If these people, these ‘survivors’ could use it properly, they might reclaim the planet and bring humanity back from the brink of extinction.

Could I rebuild again, save them from themselves? Could I create the utopia that I’ve tried to cultivate ever since I had my first name? Sure, but they didn’t deserve to be saved, no human did. They’d killed their planet more times than I can count, and each time they’ve done it with a smile. Granted, it’s always a gold-toothed smile.

Besides, utopias are notoriously difficult to maintain. I would know, I almost had it once. Back before the Dynastic period, I’d created a culture that didn’t believe in money or personal power. The people truly believed the betterment of one meant the betterment of all. There were no rich, there were no poor. People didn’t stop innovating. Instead, they were happy when a neighbor discovered something about the world that was previously unknown. But Egypt was so long ago, and everything had gone so poorly. It’s no wonder the name Set became synonymous with evil.

I’ve never helped without eventually being disappointed in humanity. Mankind just didn’t have it in them to be decent people. I still stand by the belief that Egypt wasn’t my fault. Who could have predicted that calling myself a god made flesh would create such a long line of assholes? When Narmer dethroned me and claimed to be a god as well… that’s when everything went to shit. Maybe it would be better if I just walked away and let the world burn. Maybe that was the lesson I was meant to learn so long ago.