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-This is a joint piece by me and the lovely folf Athest Nox. My iPad is being awkward so I can't link him right now but if you check out my profile you'll see his beautiful art EVERYWHERE and truly he deserves a watch. This story is a part one in a web comic series. I'll be providing a lot of plot, Noxy does the rest including the drawing. I'm so lazy and he knows it. ;3 Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!-

It was bound to happen one day. The end. Not for just one person or a species. No dragon, fox, wolf or simple feline could predict what was the end of the world itself. Not by destruction but by ruin, caused by the inhabitants throwing itself into chaos and war. At first continents simply argued and threw insults about who did what in the way of the world. Those insults and arguments grew and grew until the end result came.

No one knew who fired the first rocket or nuke. The only thing that people knew is that fire rained hard as militaries set out to destroy each other. Best way to do that is to destroy their people. At a push of a few buttons, millions were wiped out. Then another billion in the days following. In the aftermath survivors changed. Mutated. Became so far from who their friends and loved ones knew them as. At first the looters and scavengers blamed radiation poisoning.

However it was much much worse. A lot of the missles fired weren't made to irradiate but instead infect. An effective way to wipe out a people. For every person infected, that faction loses two people. The infected and the friend at the other end of a gun who can't bear to kill someone they know. A deadly mutagen fired upon several of the continents was because of this. A lot of which had hit the UK in a wave of fury and madness. London itself easily had a population of 9 million people at the time the rockets hit. Amongst the ruin and airborne virus, roughly only a few thousand had survived. They had either been deep in the underground subways or had been far enough away from the initial impacts.

Those that lived would've died hopelessly if it had not been for the UK's government taking preparation long before the Great War had broken out. Gas masks were never out of place in the subways. At each station there were lockers upon lockers filled with them and enough air filters to last for many years until the military came to evacuate them. But they never did. Within the first year alone those few thousand had quickly diminished.

People too accustomed to high-end suites and luxory didn't believe in scavenging; only that people would feed or take care of them. As harsh as it was, they were left to die. Those who could not fend for themselves in a fight were quickly slaughtered by looters in the shops just outside subway entrances, however never attacking anyone who didn't try to 'steal' their belongings. To avoid looters people went deeper into London itself, unknowing of what the deadly gas had actually done to the people who lived there. All that was heard of them were distant screams and what sounded like the snapping of bone combined with the ripping of flesh.

Anyone that was unfortunate enough to survive the initial blast and shockwave of the missles were forced to inhale the virus that came with it. Taken in small doses at a time, the virus posed no threat. However if one was left to breathe the deadly air for even a few minutes, their mind would go stir-crazy. Signals inignals in their nerves would make them feel constant hunger; the need to devour meat wherever they saw it. However the virus also induced a 'pack-like' state into their mind. Anyone infected had a distinct scent to another infected. As far as the infected cared, others were merely a means to get more meat by swarming the living.

Through tradgedy and death, the number of London's survivors dropped to just over a thousand with a good amount of them turning to murder and theivery just to sustain themselves. Other survivors, however, turn to honest scavenging in aims to find food or air filters. If not, to at least find something to trade for the items they desperately needed. One such survivor is a lone folf slowly making his way along one of the desolent streets; idly stepping around wrecked cars and walking over pot holes caused by debris during the first few days of the aftermath.

He was thankful in some ways. Last night he had traded a packet of cigarettes for a map; one showing him the layout of the local roads. He had already figured that most of these roads were 'safe' in the sense that after three years, the virus had actually cleared from it. There were areas like these all across London and he knew for a fact that most had been picked clean. However he believed it didn't hurt to try.

The folf was like any regular person walking along the underground stations when the missles fell. If anything he considered himself lucky. He was out in London on a business trip and had planned to return home but a routine stop for a cup of tea made him late; missing his train by barely a minute. Being stuck in the station though, his late arrival has saved his life. His name is Matt, and prefers to leave it at that formality. Being twenty-one at the time London was hit he was quite young and surprised himself with living for three years by scavenging the homes of those not so lucky as he was.

Just as he crossed a road he could feel a sudden but recognisable heaviness in his throat. He took a light breath at first, then a heavy one. In response the inside of his throat began to burn a bit. "Oh bloody hell......" He cursed to himself, looking at the satchel hanging off his left shoulder. Opening it he reached in, quickly pulling out a gas mask before fitting it over his face and muzzle. Once it was secured he reached into his bag again; this time pulling out an air filter before screwing it onto the front of his mask. He breathed deep again, smiling to himself when he noted that his throat didn't burn.

"Of course the guy lies to me..... A whole packet of cigarettes for a damn map and marking a green zone? Yeah, right. Arsehole." He spoke to himself as he kept walking, knowing that the air he now walked through was thick with the deadly virus. He went at a steady pace, finding no need to rush as he looked up at the buildings that towered him. They were all in ruin, each window shattered and each support column looking as if they were ready to give way at a moment's notice. Still, he didn't worry. He just kept his pace, sighing to himself before he looked back down just in time.

He yelped, stopping dead in his tracks as he looked at the floor in front of him. He blinked once, then twice just to make sure that he saw what he saw. It was a corpse, what appeared to be a wolf. However to Matt it was anyone's guess. The body was rotted, most of their guts hanging loose from a large cavity in their chest. Half their face was vacant too; completely missing with small bits hanging loose. Had it been three years ago he would've thrown up right on the spot, but the body was still; motionless in it's place. The folf had already seen infected rip people apart. The sight was common after all.

Once his mind grasped the reality of the sight before him, he began to take deep and heavy breaths as if he was about to heave but he didn't. Slowly he looked along the body once more, only to note the hands. One was laid upon their chest, or what was left, whereas the other was laid upon the ground with what seemed to be a handgun in their clutches. As if every fiber in his body ordered it, he bent down then carefully grabbed it; prying it from the dead hand with a nervous gulp. He was no expert with firearms, but he could see that the slide wasn't back; showing that the gun still had at least one shot in it. 'One in the chamber' as he thought.

Slowly he stepped around the corpse then continued on his way, still panting a bit faster than normal. He held his new weapon firmly, getting used to it being in his clutches. He had owned pistols on several ocassions, even fired a rifle once to scare off some raiders but he had no pistol to call his own. Each he had he always traded off for food at some point or another when scavenging turned up little. After a few moments he internally called himself paranoid then slipped the gun into his satchel, knowing that there could be no danger where he was. The corpse was rotted, none of it had been disturbed recently. That meant no infected. He also noted the gun. If bandits or raiders had passed through or used this area, they would've easily found that body laying in the iddle of the street and taken the gun.

After calming himself he kept walking for a few more streets, looking around as he went and making only a few stops. Most of the buildings he passed looked either looted or wrecked beyond access. He had popped into a shop now and then in hopes of finding something and by this point all he had found was a can of tuna, two packets of crisps and what he believed was a bottle of cheap ale. He considered the last one nearly sacred as he continued along his way.

Soon enough he noticed something.. Inhaling deeply he noted that his breath was cut short, that he was only able to take quick breaths. Panic finally set in as he realised his air filter was nearly empty. By this point he sealed his satchel then ran as quick as he cook, looking for an abandoned emergency center or anything that breathed the hint of an air filter. Imagining the map in his mind he recalled a hospital being only about two streets away from the shops he just searched. That thought got him moving much quicker, knowing that majority of hospitals were outfitted with some form of air supply. He didn't care if it was a filter or not.

He noted the streets in his mind, he quickly passed one and ran along the second. The folf believed that he should see the hospital at the left turn at the end of the street he was on. He had soon reached that turn and stopped. He looked left and could indeed see the hospital, appearing to be somewhat scavengable if his luck kept up with him today. However by his own personal rule of safety he looked to his right and what he saw made him go wide-eyed. There, in the shadow of a tall building, he could see a fire. Not just any old fire though, a small campfire. Fabric and snapped planks placed together under a cooking pot held up merely by a few small metal poles forming a pyramid. It was primitive in a way but obvious that someone had set up somewhere to rest. Next to the fire was two small rucksacks, quite rough around the edges but appearing to be sturdy.

Eyeing the area for a moment he noted that no one was actually there at the small cap. It was pretty much in the open of a level street with about three piles of rubble nearby, nothing more. Matt took a glance back to the hospital then his throughts raced as he questioned himself on taking an air filter from whoever had set up to rest. What if the hospital was empty? What if his filter ran out before he reached where he needed to be inside the hospital? These questions swung him over the edge. He didn't want to do it by any means but it meant his life. Slowly but surely he began to walk to his right, observing the campsite as he walked.

Nothing moved and the only sound heard was the crackling of the fire as it burnt. He was about twenty feet from the fire, something that seemed so close but so far in the same instance. One foot at a time he treat, breathing only lightly and trying his best not to breathe at all. Fifteen feet to go. Matt started to sweat a bit, nerves building up that someone would come up behind him and slit his throat or something like that. As that idea passed through his mind he turned to look behind him, being thankful that there wasn't anything with the intention of killing him stood there. Turning back he let out a light sigh. Eventually he had reached the bags, getting down onto his knees before opening one and stuffing his hands in. He began to quickly sift through the bag, feeling over several cans of food and bottles of liquid but nothing that felt like an air filter.

That's when he heard it. A quiet click that stood out from the sound of him searching the bag. It was more...... of a mechanical click. One caused when a piece of engineering is doing it's job. He looked up; staring at one of the pieces of the piles of rubble not too far from where he was. There was movement. In the dark shade he couldn't see this figure clearly until now that his eyes had adjusted. They had a rifle in their hands as they slowly stood up from what was a sat position on the rubble. Matt couldn't see who or what they were. The shade off the building made their mask tinted, not to mention that they were wearing a hoodie and a pair of gloves that hid a majority of hints.

"Raise your hands. Slowly. Anything else and I'll waste a bullet killing a theif......." They spoke in a firm tone, watching him as they stepped closer step by step. Of course the folf complied, shaking a small bit as he slowly pulled his hands from the bag then raised them up. After giving a flick of their mask, Matt could tell that he was being ordered to stand. He did so but slowly as the rifle reained locked on him. "P-Please, I was looking for a filter......." He spoke nervously, trying to choose his words wisely as the mere twitch of their finger would be all it would take to kill him right there on the spot. At that they lifted their head a bit, as if to exaine him for a moment. "You empty?" They asked blankly. "Almost......" He muttered.

A few moments of uneasy silence passed before the unknown gunman lowered their head again to aim up a shot once again. "I don't believe you....... Take your filter off. Throw it as far as you can...... If it's nearly empty, you shouldn't mind......" Their tone sounded serious, as if hinting that it was either their order or a bullet through his temple. His mind and heart raced for a moment, panicking beyond his own logical reason as he considered his options heavily; majority of him telling him to tackle the assailant but also risk his own death.

"Now!" They demanded sternly, causing the folf to panic and reach for the filter on the end of his mask. As instructed he began to twist and turn it until it came loose and he held it in his hand. Without hesitation he threw it far, tossing it past the hooded figure before he stood there; gulping nervously as he stared into that slightly-tinted gas ask. He could make out eyes but no distinct features in the shade.

As he gazed he could feel his breaths change dramatically. Only a few short breaths after the filter was tossed his throat began to burn again, breathing in the virus bit by bit as he had an internal breakdown and wished that he hadn't thrown his filter. "Please...... T-The filter....." He said in a near-pleading tone, knowing that if he waited too long he'd become infected from breathing the deadly air around him.

Instead of responding the figure simply stood there, their sights trained on the folf and showing no signs of changing. "Please, I'll die......" He asked for the filter yet again, but still nothing was said or done about it as the symptoms slowly hit the folf. His vision began to blur a bit, the first sign that he was breathing too much of the mutagen. He knew that in mere seconds or minutes he'd pass out then the virus would have no problem infecting him. Seconds dragged by like hours to Matt before he coughed loudly, his throat burning slightly from that alone. He imagined it was like swallowing gasoline then a match but he'd sooner pick that than die.

Slowly his sight began to darken before the folf groaned, staggering forward in his attempt to tackle the stranger. However he only got three feet before his legs gave out; making him trip and fall to the ground just inches from the person who was condemning him. He stared up at them as slowly inch by inch his visibility got weaker, until Matt finally passed out.