The Wasteland was covered in a dark, ashy cloud of death. The hills scattered with bodies and blood. No one knows why they fight, who they're fighting, or really how they got where they are today. But none of that matters, for the build up to the battle means nothing to the bloodshed happening now. The sound of bullets tearing through flesh, people screaming commands, innocents curled up crying all fill the battlefield. Day after day, week after week. It felt like eternity to them. A young soldier, no less than twenty, stands on top of his fallen friends and enemies. He is the only one left, the rest have fallen. The ash and dirt blow into the wind and hit his covered up face. The silence is cut by the intense wind, for its screams are the only screams now. The young soldier lifts his bandana off of his face. It's Franklin the Turtle. Playing on the playground and riding his bike could not have prepared him for this. After standing over the people he once knew and loved, he raises a phone to his head. "Yes, is this Domino's?" he whispers into the phone. "I would like one large deep dish pizza with pepperoni and olives." "Anything to drink?" replies the man on the phone, as Franklin responds "Berry Blue Typhoon" "I see" further replies the man on the phone. After hanging up, Franklin stands there in the wasteland and reflects on his life. After a few minutes, a helicopter arrives at Franklin's position. He steps onto the chopper, bbefore being whisked away into the night sky. His face is angered, not just at himself for not saving anyone, but at the world for letting this happen. No one deserved what he was put through. It was hell. It was hell.