It is said that the world ended slowly. Economic crisis, global disputes, arms development. It is human nature to blame others for one's own faults. Thus began World War Three.
It was said to be a terrible war. Nuclear arms development had skyrocketed, and of course amongst world powers these explosives were favored. Once the first was fired, hundreds of others were shot in retaliation. Thousands of cities were destroyed, and the few survivors died in the years after from radiation.
As the phoenix rose from the ashes of its destruction, so did the next generation of beings on Earth. They were the creations, those who were stolen from their futures as mere infants and changed. They were abused, tested, trapped in cages, and dissected when a failure resulted in their deaths. Several of them, however, escaped, living on their own for nearly a decade before the outbreak of the war. These bird-children, in addition to several other groups of genetic experiments around the world, repopulated the earth, creating generations that gradually adapted to their surroundings, becoming similar to the animals they mimicked, creating slight genetic alterations over time, in addition to their already self-mutating DNA.
They became the children of the land, air, and sea. They were our ancestors. I know; I've read and reread every surviving text, committed each to memory. My flock doesn't know. I'm sure they'd prefer blissful ignorance to the horrible knowledge of the past I possess. They have more than enough to worry about with the wolf-creatures hunting us day by day.
They say that history repeats itself. I, for my flock's sake as well as my own, hope that it doesn't apply to the history that's been forgotten.
I'm baaaaaaack! ;) I'm going to be updating this once a week or so, depending on how fast I write it. The characters and plotline will be introduced in the next chapter. Reviews make me happy, which makes me write faster. *hint hint*
-Atrophic Reality