Past
Stalingrad, Russia, Year 6700
Department Of Militant Affairs, Office of Director Byrikov
The Department of Social Affairs was as silent as a grave, the offices empty, the computers shut down. All the lawyers had gone home, the social workers had clocked out and the pen pushers were all now sleeping happily in bed. At first glance, from the exterior, the Department seemed empty, as if some horrid plague had overcome the building, but near the top of the building an eerie glow shone through an office window. The glow pulsed, throbbing as if it were an injury on the body of some greater being. Within the office the man, Director Isaac Byrikov, lay asleep in a half inebriated coma. On his desk, a Pistolet Makarova Besporyadki lay half loaded next to an empty flask of cheap vodka. Across the room, in a trophy case, lay medallions and tokens from the old war, each glinting in the eerie glow produced from the vidbox that sat, still dancing with the images of the Late Evening News, in the corner diagonal from the Director's desk. The clock on top of vidbox read 11:59 in big red digital numbers, and the date on the evening news read December 31st. It was the turn of the century, life was good, and the world had been in peace for 100 years. Video feeds from all over the world flickered onto the screen as the countdown began, all throughout the world crowds cried out the numbers. 10, 9, 8, Director Byrikov stirred and raised his head, 7, 6, 5, he lifted a piece of paper in his hands and shook his head solemnly, 4, he knew some thing most of the world didn't, 3, he knew how the new year would start, 2, he knew that after this night the world would no longer be the same, 1, he took a swig of vodka, a deep breath and shook his head again.
"You poor bastards. Yes, celebrate, celebrate the new year, tonight the world will celebrate with fireworks, napalm and nuclear warheads." he said as the countdown reached zero. On the news screams could be heard as jets passed over head in Neo York. Suddenly the camera moved into an angle to catch a glimpse of the mushroom cloud forming only a couple miles away. The feed was cut, and one by one the feeds from the other major cities went offline. Director Byrikov groaned as the air raid sirens sounded, he sighed and walked over to his desk. He took another swig of vodka, put his PMB against his temple and pulled the trigger. The clock on the Vidbox read 12:00 Am., and the picture on the Vidbox read "experiencing technical difficulties". In three days the world would change, in three days the world would fall silent, in three days 80% of mankind would no longer exists. The clock on the top of the Vidbox read 12:01, 5% of mankind had already been wiped from the face of the earth.