Disclaimer: I am not ITV or Impossible Pictures which owns the property of Primeval and it's cannon characters. Though I did make up Ester and Mary, so if you'd like to use her PM me and we can talk.
A/N: So I had this idea of a Hunger Games type future for Matt, before it went down to nothing but living in shelters. It in ways explains later but he and some other people that were thought fit to be sent to the past to save them all were put in a game type Hunger Games to test them, and whoever wins would have the job that Matt was given in Primeval. This really could be a very long, chapter length story but I don't have the time for that at the moment so I just wrote a short little fic. I know, what a shocker! Connor's not in this at all, guys. Or Abby! That's impressive for me.
Enjoy!
The dirt was his air. The smell of something other than dead, rotting caucuses were like perfume to him. The sounds of screams were his dreams, his every waking moment. His food was what he killed. He killed what hunted him. What hunted him … well that was unknown.
This was hell. Some people called it the end, some people called it the apocalypse, and some people called it a test. In his mind, it was hell. There was no doubting it.
He used to hear stories of their past, the time where cars ran, the time when the sky was clear, the time when the laughter of children wasn't something unheard of. The time when anomalies were kept hidden and they caused no trouble or stress. The time when one didn't have to fight for his life to live. Paradise.
The stories of the past were nothing to people anymore… It was long gone now. An attempt to making clean energy being drawn into this fumed, dust filled world that brought nothing but pain. And for the incredibly wealthy, amusement.
"Matt!" His head turned to see his sister, Ester. She ran to his side, skidding across the loosened dirt and falling to her knees to look up in his eyes. "Where have you been? I was so worried you-!" she took a deep breath and shook it off. "Doesn't matter. Why are you just sitting here?"
"Keeps the entertainment off me."
She sharply exhaled and shook her head. "You can't just do nothing in spite. They want a survivor, so give them one."
"Etsy, you can survive – I know you can. There can only be one in the end, so here's your opportunity. There's only so many more left."
"I'm not leaving this spot 'till you get off your lazy rear and your spiteful ideas. We're in this bloody together, Mathew. If you like it or not."
He smiled at her, grasping her gloved covered hand. "I can't do this anymore, Ester."
"Yes," she grasped his hand tighter and looked into his eyes, "you can. Because I can't go to the past on my own – I can't save this god forsaken time on my own. It's up to both of us, all right? At least just … just get through this for me."
"All you've ever wanted was to save this world. Why?"
"Because no one deserves to die the cruel and unusual deaths we've all been condemned for, Matt. We've lived through this, and I don't want anyone to go through this if we can help it."
Matt nodded and sighed. "You should have been the first born."
She smirked up at him, her brown, tight curls framing her face. "Being the baby gave me more time to be raised in the pit of hell where no one gave you the sympathy for falling and scraping your knee, not to mention learning how to kill when you're but six years old."
He put out a hand, offering her to take it in a handshake. She cupped her palm in his and tightened their grip, nodding to each other in confirmation. "Let's kill us some predators."
The predator stared him down, growling, hissing, and spewing out blood from the snout of his muzzle. It flinched back and forth as it listened to his heartbeat, his breaths, his steps. The handle to his scythe was gripped tight, his fingers curling around the splintering wood.
Mathew Anderson: 5'11, Male, Age of 23. Skills are fighting, faults are emotion. Brother of Ester Anderson, son of Gideon Anderson and Mary Anderson. Gideon Anderson – living, Mary Anderson – deceased, Ester Anderson – living.
Matt gripped his handle even tighter, anger boiling through him, tears welling up in eyelids.
Update: Ester Anderson – diseased.
This monster wouldn't be getting passed Matt this time. It had seen the last of it days. He lifted his weapon, the predator charging towards him. Matt swiftly swung the scythe, ripping through the predator's skull and –
Mathew Anderson: Last to survive – killed the last of the Predators. The winner of the last to be run trial. Remaining family is to accompany his trip through the anomaly.
'Matt' Anderson was now their last hope of all mankind and this godforsaken world. He now could see that paradise he always imagined, he could breathe it, live it. With Ester in mind, he would change what needed to be changed. For her. He had to.
He closed his eyes and breathed in, dropping the scythe to his feet, and walking away. He had a world to save.
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