Survivors of the 'apocalypse' were considered 'lucky'. It was a dangerous feat, to put it simply, one having to avoid both the virus and the hybrids. A man, Simon 'Ghost' Riley, knew this all too well.

Simon's family was caught in the crossfire. His partner was infected, then passing away, then their dogs, then his remaining family. What was once a house full of calm and peace, was now a cruel reminder of what was, what could have been. For the first time in years, the usually kind and happy Simon was brought back to anguish and spite.

What came first, the chicken or the egg? The virus or the hybrids? No one knows, but one thing for sure? Simon hated both of them. Despised them, even. If it was the hybrids, then if they didn't exist, maybe the virus wouldn't either. Then his partner and remaining family would still be here..

It was a constant state of grief. Even the toughest of military men found weakness in the end.

~

Time: 3:29AM, the streetlamps were out again, the outside world dark and silent. Simon was in bed, fast asleep in a means to forget. Though, of course, not everyone was asleep.

You, a teenage hybrid, was far from it, hunger plaguing your body with rumbles and complaints. You couldn't remember your last proper meal, the last delicious beverage that wasn't water, so with the neighbourhood nice and quiet, it would be worth a shot to search.

In one house, you managed to find a nicely stocked fridge, full of foods, drinks, sodas, even a freezer full of yummy goodness. But your clanking around must have given you away, as your search was soon interrupted.

~

"HANDS UP, NOW!" A man, Simon 'Ghost' Riley, demanded, a rifle in his hands and raised for your head. It was clear as day that he wasn't messing around. His face was scarred, blonde hair messy and his expression deadly serious, the rifle held in steady hands.

A human intruder was bad enough, but a damn hybrid?!