"Wh-what?"

Maddox turned his head to see the fully grown, white, feathered wings attached permanently to his back, ripping his shirt in half.

Three Months Earlier

"Temperatures are gradually beginning to increase. Curfew is in full effect: everyone must be in their homes from 6 a.m. to 8 p.m. to avoid too much contact with radiation from the sun. Prolonged exposure can lead to..."

The words scrolled across the bottom of the small television screen as Maddox watched from the comfort of a worn down couch, tearing at the seams. A box-fan sat in the corner of the room, blowing in only warm air. But still blowing, Maddox thought. He tipped up his drink, spilling some on the white tank-top he wore.

He hasn't shaved in weeks, and there was no need. He reeked of alcohol and stale potato chips, not bothering to shower. Everyone was sweaty, anyway.

Ever since the sun had warmed into a Red Giant a few years ago, he'd been in and out of abandoned homes. Maddox's mother had kicked him out at 16. He recalled the exact words she yelled at him as he walked out of the door of the run-down shack, only a spare t-shirt in his hand. He even recalled the doorknob burning his hand as he reached for it.

"You're worthless! You dropped out of school, you- you've been running around with that whore of a girlfriend! You're a disappointment of a son! I wanted a daughter, and I got a sorry excuse of a son!"

Lauren's stringy red hair was held up by a single clip, a mess around her head. Her face had become as red as her hair was as she screamed in a fit of rage, one that is unlikely for a mother toward her only child. Lauren had premature aging from all of the drugs and alcohol she had indulged in after the death of Maddox's father three years ago, when Maddox was only 13 years old.

A single tear ran down Maddox's cheek as he remembered that awful day of May 14th, the day he buried his father. He remembered a soldier handing a folded American flag to him, tears falling like a stream down his face as he tried to stay strong.

With a grunt, Maddox stood, rubbing his face free of the tear like one would when rubbing his face in the morning. Perhaps if he rubbed hard enough, he'd rub away the memory.

I'll never be half of the hero my father was.

The chipped baby blue paint of the walls in the worn down shack left the remnants of a 1960's style home. Not much was left of the place considering most wooden buildings catching fire in recent years. Part of the kitchen still held charred pieces of wood, leaving part of a wall open to any critters that could get inside.

That is, if any "critters" still existed. Most were probably fried by now.

He desperately needed a change of scenery, but all the Earth looked the same- scorched and full of upturned sand. Without hesitation, Maddox grabbed his small knife and a small pistol, secured the gun in a holster on his right side, and headed out of the door, securing the house tightly in locks before left.

Keeping a weapon on your person had become as basic as putting your clothes on in the morning. If anyone thought that you might have something they needed for their family, they wouldn't hesitate to attack you.

Of all places in the United States, Maddox believed that Arizona had the worst of the situation. Before the Red Giant took hold of the sun, Arizona already had a warm climate. Not to mention already being desert-like, complete with steep canyons.

The news of the sun itself captivated the world, undying in strength in the media over the last few years.

There weren't many people left to broadcast the news to, though. The first wave of excruciating heat and radiation had nearly wiped out the entirety of the United States, Europe, and Africa. Few remained, and of those few, groups of people stuck together. They were almost tribes like the Native Americans had been before Columbus.

It was group against group- a free-for-all. The government is trying to keep control over U.S. citizens, but there has been no avail. After all, you can't stop otherwise ordinary people from going mad in the midst of a crisis.

There had been a new advertisement that Maddox recalled from earlier on the television, one for "test trial suits against radiation." Beta testers are said to be needed.

The U.S. Government had been trying for the past two years to come up with a defense against radiation for the few citizens that remained in National shelters in Washington, D.C. The only hope came from "specialized" suits that blocked one's skin from the Red Giant's ultraviolet rays.

Maddox decided against the suits. In times like these, nothing could help. Nothing could solve the problem, especially since that problem is almost 93 million miles away. Going 2,232 miles to Washington, D.C. for a suit wouldn't solve the problem, either.

Instead, Maddox kept himself covered when going outside, often violating the curfew. He stayed armed with a few semi-automatic guns and a couple of pistols for good measure. He had stolen the guns from an older house he had stayed in a couple of months ago.

Maddox refused to be killed by the violence that had turned even children into monsters. He moved often, moving from that older house months ago. The house belonged to an old man, a Nazi and white supremacist advocate, who kept his weaponry stocked. While on the way to the bank, that man was struck by a grenade.

Five people died that day.

It was nothing for Maddox to stay hidden in shacks as he'd had been doing for the past year, carrying only as much as necessary for survival. Some things weren't "necessary," but rather a prize, such as the guns in a wooden box in the shack.

He kept a spare change of clothes, and for convenience, a pack of cigarettes. Though he was only 19 years old, the smoke seemed to provide enough of an escape to forget that he had to fight for his life every day, hiding until the Red Giant itself killed him. Or lung cancer.

He'd had decided for harder drugs, he thought, had he not witnessed the death of a close friend caused by an overdose. The very thought of his old best friend- Jamie, was his name- makes Maddox's stomach twist in knots. He bent down over the remnants of a wooden fence he had come across while taking a walk, glaring emptily at the desolate space that was Sedona.

"Hey, mind if I bum a cigarette?"

Maddox turned, hand reaching toward his pistol but not yet uncovering it, staring at the blond haired boy that stood behind him. His green eyes wore darkened circles around them, tear stains showing through the dirt that had built up on the frail boy's face. He seemed only 16 or so, too young to be smoking. "So am I," Maddox thought.

Without saying a word and keeping his eyes on the boy, Maddox handed out a cigarette and his lighter.

The boy seemed to be hesitant to approach Maddox, but the fear of being attacked made everyone hesitant to approach a stranger, much less to ask for something. Maddox looked at the boy inquisitively, wondering of where he might have come from. His uniform, worn down and blue, looked like scrubs that a nurse might wear. There was a small badge on the left breast of the uniform: "GUITH."

Without talking to anyone for months, he had nothing to lose by talking to the boy. If he tries anything, Maddox thought, I can take him on. He's smaller than I am.

"Goo-eeth?" Maddox pointed toward the badge, squinting under the nearly unbearable sunlight.

"Uh, Guy-th. My dad used to work at a hospital, this uniform was his. It's all I have left of him after he was taken out by spies. Still don't know who those bastards are that took him, though."

Maddox's eyes shot open as he remembered seeing a young girl with a black bag over her head being dragged down the street by spies about a month ago.

"Did they bag him?"

"What?" The boy cocked his head to one side, puffing on his cigarette.

"Did they put a black bag over his head?"

"Yeah, how did you-"

"It's an inside job. There's a group called Chaos. They've been riding around on a couple of old motorcycles and a black van kidnapping people to recruit into the group. They act like those spies that the news exposed a while back- dress like 'em too, but they're far from smart enough to be spies. They're all about the anarchy and violence. I think they're after some girl they think is magical or something. Biggest group out here so far."

"So, the U.S. isn't just fighting other countries, are we?" The boy's voice trembled and cracked as a child's voice would when losing a beloved pet.

"No, kid. We're fighting for ourselves against everyone else."