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Phantom Uprising: Prologue

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A bright dawn began the day in the city of Pytherium. A young teenager almost the age of 17 decided to take a jog through a nearby park. Near the half mile mark, the teenager slowed down because he had become quite exhausted. He walked a little further and came across a red bench. Noticing an old man sitting upon it, the teen asked whether it would be alright if he sat next to him. The man simply nodded in approval. Proceeding to sit down, a cool breeze rolled through the air. Opening a bottle of water the teen had brought with him. He drank the water slowly allowing it to slowly reenergize his body.

"Good day for a jog isn't it?" the old man questioned.

“Yes it is, sir."

"Pah, there is no need for that. You make me feel extremely old."

“I’m sorry.” The teen stuttered. He noticed the old man looked weary and believed some water would benefit the man. “Would like some of my-"

The old man heard no more of the teen's offer as a set of jets roared in the sky. To the man, the jets seemed eerily close to Pytherium. Both the man and the teenager watched the three jets rocket towards the city center. Also, they observed as one of planes dropped something as it flew by. The object fluttered towards the ground and impacted in a few moments. In horror, the two friendly citizens jumped to their feet and saw a cloud rising slowly and raging towards them. In the sky, a grey decomposer grew; a dark death-dealing mushroom.

“They found us…." the old man silently commented and then was engulfed by fire and white rain.

* * *

Nearly twelve hours passed motionless. Military scouts journeyed to the city to observe the destruction and yet did not search for survivors. By the twelfth hour, the radioactive dust had passed on and the sky had finally begun to clear. No standing structure remained against the horizon and debris laid waste in almost every direction. The only movement had been the convoys that voyaged to the fallen world.

As the twelfth hour passed, all military personnel had been ordered to leave the area. By decree of the powers that be, a secondary bomb run was to be issued. Though without nuclear weaponry, the secondary run was only used to clear any last survivors. The run consisted of three main attacks on areas that contained some form of ruins.

As the jets howled away their death and destruction, towards the northern part of the city, the city hall lay in waste. However, any one close could hear the cries of someone inside. The man inside dragged himself across the ravaged marble that had once existed as the ornate entrance to the hall. Using only his arms, he propelled himself, almost sliding, across the cool stone. His legs dangled behind him nearly obliterated. Screaming cries of pain, the man drew every ounce of will to continue forth. About 200 feet before him, a wall had been blasted open by the secondary bombing run. When the sunlight sank through, the man saw life within grasp and did not hesitate to maul through trial to gain it.

An hour passed before the man reached light and oxygen (though the oxygen was contaminated anyway). The light seemed to almost burn his face. Shutting out the true brilliance, the man continued forth into the decimated street. Even though the pain from his legs racked his entire body and the devastation caused great mental stress, the man had become increasing occupied by an object that lay in the street. Simple as it was, an enigma rolled throughout the man's mind. The survivor journeyed about a meter farther before actually holding the metal fragment in his hand. The fragment had once been apart of a bomb sent hurtling towards the Earth during the secondary run. The fragment itself did not perplex the man. It was the symbol that sent labyrinthine thought surging across his cortex.

Lying open on the fragment clear as crystal, was an American flag.

* * *





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