The 8th battalion. Sunrays absent form a pasty grey mass overhead. It’s the crux of Springtime in a long-since forgotten yesteryear, and the stench of desolation hangs heavy in the air. Charred vehicles pile themselves at the margins of the road, and skyscraper remains shudder in the coarse winds, freshly chewed to their core. The metroplois had been disintegrated by something much more powerful; a force capable of throwing man’s strongest machinery aside with ease. And obvious as it were, the troop continued to press on through the carnage, ignorant of their very own D-Day. They turned the corner into a plaza, gutted clean of all traces of life. There they found an abandoned shop for oriental noodle based sustenance laying dormant and inviting. Still no signs of sunlight. The door automatically shuts behind them. The “accident” is almost upon them now. A flash and a bang. The light is taking them to pieces. The bleached surroundings submit willingly, pale and insubstantial in the many refractions of infrared; the sudden flares of ultraviolet. Sunburn in April.
What you are about to see is real. The events that took place on that fateful day have been long kept confidential. Here exists the only record of the radiation victims, being released to the public under the code name:
If you have to ask for an explanation, there is a large chance you’re simply not meant to know what’s taking place. Take comfort in your ignorance and proceed fourth blindly with confidence.
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