It had been a while since the world ended.

A year and a handful of months beyond E-Day. Cliff had stopped counting the days after he lost his family during his nation's evacuation. He was one of the lucky ones, living so close, or so they told him. He'd never recover from the loss of his wife and children, no matter how many times they told him their sacrifice was not in vain. It was completely in vain. The wicked COG had scorched the planet in a 'strategic maneuver' against the horde, trying to wipe clean the plague of the Locust. All it did was cause death, pain, suffering, and destruction. Not to mention it left the COG vastly outnumbered, and stranded the majority of what was left of humanity in outposts they were forced to rebuild themselves. The COG sure wasn't going to do it. All they were concerned about was saving face these days.

Cliff mulled over these things constantly, reinforcing his hatred of the Coalition of Ordered Governments. He sat in silence as the transport carrying him, a squad of COG soldiers, and several of what have come to be aptly known as 'Stranded' humans to a safe zone. It was a feeble rescue/relocation mission led by Rho Squad as a sort of PR move. 'Saving face again,' he'd muttered as the transport had been pulling up to the community's gate. Still, it was a way to get these people away from the threat of Locust attack. The Oblivion Central Squatters Camp wasn't really safe enough anymore.

Looking around the cabin of the ground transport, Cliff took account of the faces in the room. Many were covered by standard-issue COG helmets, but the Stranded faces were those of women and children. Most of the men who participated at Oblivion were to be enlisted as COG soldiers. This was their 'reward' for their valiant efforts in staving off a Locust raiding party. Honorary membership to a death sentence. Again, the COG's methods are as clandestine as ever.

A bump in the makeshift road they were traveling shook Cliff from his angry stare around the vehicle. The near-gravel road they traversed wasn't exactly an interstate in the first place, but this bump was particularly jarring. An explosion? Cliff took to his feet somewhat lazily, considering the possibility of a military situation, and stepped towards the top hatch of the transport.

"Hold on," interrupted one of the COG soldiers, trying to halt Cliff's movement, "let me check it out."

Cliff shoved the soldier aside and climbed up to lift the hatch.

"You really shouldn't go up there!" the soldier called after Cliff.

Light poured into the dark vehicle and blinded Cliff for a moment while he raised himself up over the hole and hopped out onto the deck of the giant rig. Once he gathered his sight and looked back at the bump, it seemed someone had negleted to notice a pile of Locust carcasses in the road. Then he decided he should take a moment to enjoy the sun. They'd been riding in that transport for hours. That's when he shielded his eyes from the sun to survey his surroundings.

"What the...?"

Looking out over the expanse of what used to be his home, Cliff slumped to his knees. The seared earth before him bore no resemblance to the warm place which housed his hopes and dreams just months before. It was a cold, vapid pit. A hole where all manner of disease could spread and flourish. A hole where all manner of evil and despair could fester and survive. A hole where the Locust could thrive. Still, the familiarity of the clocktower face laying on the ground was unmistakable.

"Stop the rig," said Cliff as he rose to his feet and jumped down onto the lower part of the rig's roof, then proceeded to run for the edge and vault over the railing to the hard dust below. With a thud and a roll, Cliff was up on his feet and making tracks for that clock face.

"Captain!" came a shout from the rig. Cliff continued his charge toward what was left of his home. It certainly wasn't much to the naked eye, but this location housed the last memories he had with his family, and he wasn't about to leave here without them. He collapsed upon reaching the clock face and scooped it up, pressing it against his forehead as his body convulsed with anguish and despair. His mind drifted to his daughter, who he had just taught to tell time before he left that day, so she'd always know when it was time to come home for dinner. His son, young, but proud of his father, holding her hand as he followed their mother down the sidewalk to the local supermarket.

Mother. Cliff's wife. Her hair, red as the sun just before dusk. Her smile, brighter than the same sun's noon. Her skin, silken and white like the light of the moon. She was his Day and Night. His everything.

"...ord? Clifford!"

Their footsteps were practically on him. Hearing the sound of their equipment jostling, he knew they were soldiers. Soldiers... They had taken his wife from him. They'd taken his day and his night. They had taken everything from him.

He placed the clock face on the ground and stood quickly, spinning around to find the nearest soldier with his right uppercut. The soldier, not expecting the blow, was rendered unconscious almost immediately. Cliff's hand was already on the soldier's Lancer assault rifle, and pulling it free of the unconscious man's failing grasp, turned it on the other soldiers following him. Cliff squeezed the trigger and let loose a stream of lead that sliced open an arm or two.

"CAPTAIN!"

Cliff stopped his assault. What had he just done? He took a quick survey of his situation. He'd punched out a COG, opened fire on two others... Looks like jailtime, at first glance. Cliff dropped the lancer he held at his side to the ground and bent down to the soldier he'd layed out. Checking the man's pulse, he assessed the man would be okay and rose to move forward and check the others. He was met with two Lancer barrels.

"Hold it, Cliff," spat Sergeant James "Hawk" Jenson, an old friend of Clifford's who had enlisted with the COG many years ago. "I'm gonna have to ask you to stay right there. Barnes, check the wounded."

One of the COG soldiers removed his helmet and began assessing the damage to the wounded soldiers.

"You mind telling me what that was all about, Cliff?" asked Sergeant Jenson.

"I-I don't really know," Cliff managed to stammer out. "I just reacted."

"Just reacted?" Jenson huffed. "You put holes into two of our men, and laid flat another with one punch. I'm pretty sure there's more to that story than 'I just reacted.' What's going on here?"

Cliff took a moment to shake his head free of the hate cobwebs that had been forming in his mind since their trip began. He had to get rid of all his negative thoughts about the COG if he was gonna explain this away. Couldn't have them bubbling up and surfacing themselves.

"The wounds here are superficial, Sergeant," said Barnes, the medic. "They're clear to continue."

Cliff offered his help. "Cash is fine, too."

"Oh, now you're a medic too, Cliff?" laughed Jenson, sarcastically. "You're wearing all sorts of hats today, aren't you? Ninja, medic, traitor..."

"I am no traitor, Sergeant," Cliff interjected, regaining some of his natural composure. He noted his left hand was clenched and shaking, so he did his best to hide it from Barnes until he could stop himself.

Jenson's sarcastic smirk faded and he looked sternly at Cliff. "I know, man, I know. It just seems our Captain is incapacitated, and I'm a little new at taking over for him. He doesn't normally get incapacitated. Now would you mind telling your friend what's wrong with you?" He lowered his weapon and motioned for the COG standing next to him to do the same.

"...Would it be possible to talk alone, Hawk?" Cliff asked, unsure of the answer, given that he'd just assaulted three members of the squad.

"Sure," said the sergeant. "Barnes, treat these guys, and we'll be back in a sec. Max is in charge while I'm busy." Sergeant Hawk motioned for Cliff to follow him, but hesitated and turned to Barnes again. "...And get some smelling salts under that guy's nose, will ya?"