The sun exploded.
It happened without indication, or reason.
It simply did.
Ever since then, the world had been plunged into an infinite darkness. Tides went berserk, bringing relentless rain and snow to certain regions.
Vegetation died out soon after. Only the rich, with access to portable suns, could still grow crops or produce their own food.
The rest of the less fortunate, were left to fend for themselves. On the cold and dark streets of the Bottom.
"HEY! GET THAT BRAT!" A voice screamed out, followed by a pair of footsteps dashing into the distance.
Just a ways from them, a boy weaved through an alleyway. His miniature stature working to his advantage as he ran through small openings in the walls.
The city was barren, rotten even, and things like these happened everyday. Items were stolen, properties were pillaged and lives were destroyed. No one would assist his chasers in catching him.
As he ran farther, he stopped hearing footsteps behind him, the loud thuds against the ground lost to the wind.
He slowed and looked into his pocket, fishing out a wallet with a crisp hundred dollar bill nestled in between pouches.
A smile beamed across his face.
With this much he could pay for his shack, buy some food, and maybe even a knockoff portable sun.
"This is a big score, Jordan." He muttered to himself, before taking a step toward the markets.
The Bottom was probably the most accurate description of this place. Ever since the sun died out, society had been split in two, Uphaven and Downhaven, otherwise known as the Bottom.
Clinging to the streets like bad omens were the homeless and the orphaned, even the elderly who had lost their children or partners to all kinds of disease.
This place was a hellhole.
And no one gave a damn.
There was still money to be made, even here in Downhaven, so those who could sustain their lifestyle had no reason to go out of their way to help those who couldn't. And why would they?
What would anyone gain from helping the damned?
That was the main reason he began pickpocketing. It did not fill him with joy or anything like that. But it was his only chance at survival in a world as grim as this.
He walked up to a stand just off the side of an alley.
Loitering at the entrance were four men. Two had cigars in their mouths, while the other two stared at the ground as if the stones might eventually turn into pieces of bread.
There was probably a point in time when he was like that too.
Staring at the low clouds and wondering if he would ever grow tall enough to eat their fluffy ends. Of course, that would never happen, and he would never grow tall either.
He maneuvered through the alley past the men and toward the open window acting as the storefront behind them.
Everything was locked behind two separate bars, with certain items hanging down from the inner railing.
"What do you want?" The man behind the counter asked, in his hands what seemed like a book.
Jordan couldn't exactly tell what book it was either, since the covers had long been ripped out.
"Two sandwiches and a portable sun," he muttered as he fished into his pocket for the wallet.
"That'll be forty-eight dollars," the man behind the counter said as he stood to fetch the items.
"What?" Jordan nearly screamed. "Forty-eight dollars for what? I bought a sandwich here the other day for a dollar each."
"And?" The man raised a brow. "Portable suns went up in price. One goes for forty now."
"That's bull," Jordan responded. "These things can barely even grow potatoes, and they die out after a few weeks."
"I don't see how that's my problem."
"You're the one selling it."
"Look, kid. You want the stuff or not?" he said. "I don't have time to argue with you."
Jordan clicked his tongue, then pulled out the hundred-dollar bill without revealing the wallet. Just before handing it over, he raised his fingers.
"One... two." He tapped his other hand eight times, then stared at the window for a while. "Forty plus two isn't forty-eight."
"No shit," the coarse voice answered from behind the window. "But we all know how you make your money. That extra six dollars makes sure that if anyone comes asking, I don't give them an accurate drawing of your face and the street you sleep on."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jordan said, fibbing.
"Sure you don't." The man pulled the window open, his hand outstretched.
Jordan placed the bill into his palm. A few seconds later, fifty-three dollars was set on the window, along with one portable sun and two stale sandwiches.
He grabbed everything, pocketing the money first before looking the sun over.
Portable suns were exactly as the name implied: Radiant ultraviolet energy that tricked the body into producing vitamin D, and, in sufficient intensity and spectrum, could also drive photosynthesis in plants.
He had some potatoes and mushrooms at home, and with this he could finally have somewhat fresh food. Instead of having to rely on the mystery vegetables used to make these sandwiches.
"This could work." He muttered to himself, then glanced at the alley.
There was no doubt the people there would try to rob him if he passed them, and even if he was probably faster than a pair of junkies. Taking unnecessary risks like that could get you killed.
He turned to leave the alley from the other way before he heard a thud.
Then a scream.
It was coming from the opposite side of the main markets.
Jordan shook his head. There was probably someone who had gone insane from their situation again and was killing or pestering people. Insanity cases were not uncommon here.
He took a step forward before a hand grabbed him by the hood of his sweater.
He instantly turned back to see the man behind the counter. He had never seen the man's full body before, only his face through the small window.
"Is anything wrong?" Jordan muttered, trying to get out of his grip.
"Where did you steal this money from?"
"I already told you," Jordan began. "I don't know what you're—"
A fist crashed into his face.
Jordan fell to the ground, his eye stinging from the impact.
Before he could try to stand, the man began to kick him. His boots slammed against his face, his chest, his ribs.
Jordan tucked his body in, hands over his head, trying to avoid the hits.
Why was this happening? Was it because of the money? Was it something he had said?
"Of all the people you could've thought to rob," the man said as his boot slammed into Jordan's stomach once again. "It was my own family."
"What?" Jordan managed to utter. Everything hurt like hell.
"Kyle, Landon. Get over here."
Jordan could only ache on the ground, the warm touch of his own blood the only thing he could feel.
"Where's Gaz and Harlow?"
Kyle looked at the boy on the ground before looking back at his older brother. "They went into town to get food or something."
The storekeeper nodded, then held up the bill he had been handed. Written off to the side were the numbers: 13557.
"That's the bill I handed Gaz," Landon muttered, putting out his cigarette. "This little bastard stole it."
So that was what this was all about.
Jordan could barely hear them over his own heartbeat, but at least he knew why he was getting attacked.
He wanted to apologize, not because he felt sorry for what he had done, but because it might convince them to stop hurting him.
He opened his mouth, the words trickling out slowly.
"I'm sorry."
Click.
His voice died at once. That was the click of a gun. He could see it too. An old rusted pistol lay in one of their hands.
The storekeeper flipped the gun over, holding the barrel. "Landon, take this." He handed the gun to his brother before walking away. "Off him in a ditch or something."
"Alright," Landon muttered, watching as Jordan squirmed on the ground.
Moments passed.
How many, he could not tell.
Minutes became seconds and seconds became hours. Time blurred inconsistently, and after a few blackouts, Jordan found himself clutching his chest beside a trash heap.
"It stinks," Kyle muttered as he wiped his hands on his pants. "Kinda feels disrespectful to off him here, though."
"That's the life of a street urchin." Landon pulled the gun out, finger settling on the cracked trigger. "You live a life of theft until you steal from the wrong person."
"Still, it's unfortunate." Kyle shook his head.
"Any last words, kid?" Landon watched as Jordan, still lying on the ground, stared up at him. His grey eyes pierced even through the low light the moon gave off.
Jordan heard nothing.
A storm was brewing in the distance, and his brain was pounding.
All he could do was stare at them in pain.
This was all life had promised him: an unfortunate existence in the Bottom, a place without light, hope, or food, a place where he had to fight and steal for his next meal. Sometimes he wondered why he was ever born.
Why he kept trying to survive in a world as horrid as this?
Woof.
A dog's bark echoed through the night.
Jordan had no idea how he even heard it, but it reminded him of a stray that lived near his shack. That was why he had bought two sandwiches, the reason he could keep going in this shithole.
"Can... you please... take care of my... dog?" he asked, though he couldn't hear his own voice. "It's a shitty little... corgi... its growth was stunted... and it's a bit pale... but he's a good dog."
Landon raised the gun.
Lightning flashed in the distance, rain beginning to fall almost at once.
It was unfortunate, killing a child.
But that was the world they lived in.
An unfortunate place.
Click.
The sound of the bullet, even though shot at the same time a thunderclap began to mask it, was still extremely loud, though it didn't matter. Bullets flew by everyday in Downhaven. This wouldn't be seen as uncommon.
"Ouch." Kyle covered his ears, grimacing before turning away. "Let's go before the others get back."
"I haven't shot him yet," Landon muttered, pointing into the distance where a tear now hung in the sky. "That was what made the sound."
"What?" Kyle turned back. "What are you even talking about..."
In the sky, just ahead of them. A tear loomed, like a scar down a humans body. It lay there against the air.
"Is that... a void?" Landon questioned.
"You mean that old fairy tale Mum used to tell us?" Kyle waved a hand. "Hell no. It's probably the freaks at Uphaven using this place as a testing ground again."
"No... this is exactly what Mum described."
"And mom died twenty five years ago." Kyle replied. "She said voids happened nearly everyday, and all of a sudden it took a two decade long hiatus? C'mon. This is probably just the Uphaven bastards."
"Yeah." Landon gulped, pulling the gun up again. "Voids are a myth. I mean, if they were as a real as mum was describing them. We'd both be dead right now—"
Thump.