Musings from the end of the world, and why they stayed.

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It was a quiet, subdued chaos. People swarmed over and into each other, forgetting about personal space or politeness. Some seemed to have forgotten the concept of movement at all, lying on the ground here and there, the faintest spark of intelligence hidden behind their eyes. They did not know they had lost something, but their mind desperately tried to walk across the gap in their heads without the memories to cover it.

One figure made their way through the crowd, helping where they could. They picked up the limp piles of someones, arranging them into more comfortable positions against nearby walls. They moved hazardous materials, such as broken glass or spilled gasoline, out of harms reach.

One middle aged man up ahead had gotte nhimself entangled in a decaying fence. By the way his knees were trembling from hunger, he had been there for sometime. The figure knelt downbeside him, untangling him from the wreckage.

They offered him a piece of bread. Some still remebered enough to know what to do with it, perhaps he would too.

No such luck. He stared blankly at it for a few moments, making unintelligible sounds in the back of his throat.

"You're a long way from home, aren't you? I suppose we share that quality, at least." The figure sighed, taking the bread for himself. Strictly speaking, he could function without food, but it was more pleasant when he did eat. Such was the life of a murderer.

Cain rose from his kneeling position beside the fence, contemplating his next steps. According to a map he had once seen, he was on the outskirts of Knasas City. Two weeks of travelling, and he was still almost 2000 kilometers way from his destination. He didn't know how to drive a car, and hijacking an aeroplane would have resulted in casualties wherever he crashlanded, so walking it was.

No matter. He had time. When it came to the end of the world, things like deadlines and scedhules became a shade more flexible.

Cain looked upwards. Not for the first time, he wondered how the unscatched portion of humanity was faring. Normalcy had shattered like a hammer to a windowpane. Was there even a Foundation anymore? He couldn't imagine they'd have much use.

He could've been there. But he had a job to do.

Cain remembered when they had first told him of their plan to escape to among the stars. At the time, he was sitting on a couch in the recreational room, watching the news.

The shattering of the masquerade had resulted in less stringent procedures. Wider entertainment options, additional recreational time, some of the benign anomalies were even released under supervisory programs. For Cain, who had nowhere to go and had been contently following procedures since day 1, he was barely in containment anymore. He could wake up, leave his cell, and spend the rest of his day in whatever unclassified (and plant-free) room caught his eye. They had even started to give him some minor paperwork to do.

"Anything good on?" Cain turned around to see Dr Hammond, the primary humanoid containment specialist a Site-17. When he had first came to the Site, the doctor hadn't even been born yet. Now there were whispers going aroudn that he'd become Director any day now.

"Well, it's cable tv. So no, nothing of value," Cain replied, absentmindedly watching the grey haired news anchor rail against the Foundation and its "abominations."

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